Cloudy Jewel: THE SUDDEN ENTERTAINMENT!
“Sure I dance!” said Leslie gayly, drawing up the delicate silk stocking over her slim ankles and slipping on a silver slipper. “You ought to see me. And Allison can dance, too. We’ll show you sometime. Don’t you like dancing, Cloudy? Why, Cloudy! You couldn’t mean you don’t approve of dancing? Not really! But where would we be? Everybody dances! Why, there wouldn’t be anything else to do when young people went out. Oh, do you suppose Cherry would press out this skirt a little bit? It’s got horribly mussed in that drawer.”
Once more, Cherry does the anything. Not too surprising, since the house isn't very big.
Julia Cloud had dropped into a chair with an all-gone feeling and a lightness in the top of her head. She felt as if the world, the flesh, and the devil had suddenly dropped down upon the house and were carrying off her children bodily, and she was powerless to prevent it. She could not keep the pain of it out of her eyes; yet she did not know what to say in this emergency. None of the things that had always seemed entirely convincing in forming her own opinions seemed adequate to the occasion. Leslie turned suddenly, and saw her stricken face.
Like any proper angel, she has a divine sensitivity to when the spiritual aura in the house is out of whack. Unlike any other angel, there's not much she can do besides wilt, suffer, and hope for deliverance.
“What’s the matter, Cloudy? Is something wrong? Aren’t you well? Don’t you like me to go to a dance? Why, Cloudy! Do you really object?”
“I have no right to object, I suppose, dear,” she said, trying to speak calmly; “but--Leslie, I can’t bear to think of you dancing; it’s not nice. It’s too--too intimate! My little flower of a girl!”
I would like Leslie to answer that she dances with so many men that it's not intimate at all, but instead she goes and gets dressed while Julia feels physical pain.
Leslie was enveloped in rose-colored tulle, with touches of silver, and looked like a young goddess with straps of silver over her slim shoulders and a thread of pearls about her throat. The white neck and back that the wisp of rose-color made no attempt to conceal were very beautiful and quite childish, but they shocked the sweet soul of Julia Cloud inexpressibly. She stood aghast when Leslie whirled upon her and demanded to know how she liked the gown.
She's been on the planet at least eighteen years, no matter how wildly her emotional maturity fluctuates, so I'm not sure how childish her shoulders and back can be.
“It is beautiful, darling, and you are--exquisite! But, dear! It seems terrible for my little girl to go among young men so sort of nakedly. I’m sure if you understood life better, you wouldn’t do it. You are tempting men to wrong thoughts, undressed that way, and you are putting on common view the intimate loveliness of the body God gave you to keep holy and pure. It is the way cheap women have of making many men love them in a careless, physical way. I don’t know how to tell you, but it seems terrible to me. If you were my own little girl, I never, never would be willing to have you go out that way.”
Surprisingly, "YOU ARE A NAKED TRAMP" is not the ray of heaven Julia was trying for.
“You’ve said enough!” almost screamed Leslie with a sudden frenzy of rage, shame, and disappointment. “I feel as if I never could look anybody in the face again!” And with a cry she flung herself into the jumble of bright garments on her bed, and wept as if her heart would break. Julia Cloud stood over her in consternation, and tried to soothe her; but nothing did any good. The young storm had to have its way, and the slim pink shoulders shook in convulsive sobs, while the dismayed elder sat down beside the bed, with troubled eyes upon her, and waited, praying quietly.
Tools in the Angel's arsenal: prayer, good works, reverse psychology, manipulation, and slut-shaming of girls in pretty dresses who are spending the evening out with their sibling chaperones. The brother comes in to find what the fuss is about, and listens to the story.
“Well, kid, I must say I agree with Cloudy,” he said half reluctantly at last. “The dress is a peach, of course, and you look like an angel in it; but, if you could hear the rotten things the fellows say about the way the girls dress, you wouldn’t want to go that way; and I don’t want them to talk that way about my sister. Couldn’t you stick in a towel or an apron or something, and make a little more waist to the thing? I’m sure you’d look just as pretty, and the fellows would think you a whole lot nicer girl. I don’t want you to get the nickname of the Freshman Vamp. I couldn’t stand for that.”
Poor Leslie sank into a chair, and covered her face for another cry, declaring it was no use, it would utterly spoil the dress to do anything to it, and she couldn’t go, and wouldn’t go and wear it; but at last Julia Cloud came to the rescue with needle and thread and soft rose drapery made from a scarf of Leslie’s that exactly matched the dress; and presently she stood meek and sweet, and quite modest, blooming prettily out of her pink, misty garments like an opening apple-blossom in spite of her recent tears.
Which is better than wrapping a towel around her tummy for the unattractively lumpy look that would probably shorten the skirt more anyway. The world has been saved from eighteen-year-old girl leg, or maybe back and shoulders, depending on where they tacked that scarf on. Allison is a male and therefore innately decent, so now they're ready to go.
“But when are you coming back?” asked Julia Cloud in sudden dismay, her troubles returning in full force as she watched them going out the door to the car, Allison carrying two bags and telling Leslie to hurry for all she was worth.
Should have sneaked the bags out to the car earlier and said "don't wait up!" Allison realizes the problem but is too late to head it off. Julia has seen all.
“Then--you won’t be back to-night! You are not going to church to-morrow! You will spend the Sabbath at a party!”
She said these things as if she were telling them to herself so that she could better take in the facts and not cry out with the disappointment of it. There was no quality of fault-finding in her tone, but the pain of her voice cut to the heart the two young culprits. Therefore, according to the code of loving human nature, they got angry.
And off they go, leaving the Angel of the House to suffer "as though a piece of herself had been torn away from her and flung out for the world to trample upon." She has palpitations. She goes to her room to pray. But in the very next start of the chapter, she hears a noise!
On the landing stood Leslie, lovely and flushed, with her hair slightly ruffled and her velvet evening cloak thrown back, showing the rosy mist of her dress. She stood with one silver slipper poised on the stairs, a sweet, guilty look on her face.
“O Cloudy! I thought you were asleep, and I didn’t want to waken you,” she said, penitently; “but you haven’t gone to bed yet, have you? I’m glad. We wanted you to know we were home.”
So what caused this?
They dance a lot nicer in colleges than they do other places. I know, for I’ve been to lots of dances, and I never let men get too familiar. Allison taught me that when I was little. That’s why what you said made me so mad. I’ve always been a lot carefuller than you’d think, and I never dance with anybody the second time if I don’t like the way he does it the first time. And everybody was real nice and dignified to-night, Cloudy. The boys are all shy and bashful, anyway; only I couldn’t forget what you had said about not liking to have me do it; and it made everything seem so--so--well, not nice; and I just felt uncomfortable; and one dance I sent the boy for a glass of water for me, and I just sat it out; and, when Allison saw me, he came over, and said, ‘Let’s beat it!’ and so I slipped up to the dressing-room, and got my cloak, and we just ran away without telling anybody.
Plot convenience and lingering damage to her self-esteem. Besides,
“Sure!” said Allison, trying not to look embarrassed. “I guess maybe I care about that, too, a little bit. To tell the truth, Cloudy, I couldn’t see staying away from that Christian Endeavor meeting after I’ve worked hard all the week to get people to come to it. It didn’t seem square.”
If they'd gone dancing they'd miss church. I had the impression CE ran at about 4:00 or so, before the real evening service, but it's hard to say. But we have a problem. That was our latest conflict, and it's done. The earlier conflicts are done. The nosy neighbor and miserable sister are back at home. We are out of antagonists! Luckily, from Grace's random hat of plot developments, the phone rings:
“Hello. Yes. Oh! Miss Bristol! What? Are you sure? I’ll be there at once. Lock yourself in your room till I get there.”
He hung up the receiver excitedly.
“Call up the fire department quick, Leslie! Tell them to hurry. There’s some one breaking into the Johnson house, and Jane Bristol is there alone with the children. It’s Park Avenue, you know. Hustle!”
We have a burglary! Quickly, everyone, do something!
“He went without his overcoat,” said Julia Cloud, hurrying to the closet for it. “It will be very cold riding. He ought to have it.”
Leslie hung up the receiver, and flung her velvet cloak about her hurriedly, grabbing the overcoat.
“Give it to me, Cloudy; I’m going with him!” she cried, and dashed out the door as the car slid out of the garage.
“O Leslie! Child! You oughtn’t to go!” she cried, rushing to the door; but Leslie was already climbing into the car, moving as it was.
“It’s all right, Cloudy!” she called. “There’s a revolver in the car, you know!” and the car whirled away down the street.
That... that wasn't what I meant.
“It was awfully exciting, Cloudy. I’m glad I went. There’s no telling what might have happened to Allison if somebody hadn’t been there. You see he shut down the motor as we came up to the house. We’d been going like a streak of lightning all the way, and we tried to sneak up so they wouldn’t hear us and get away; but there was one man outside on the watch, and he gave the word; and just as Allison got out of the car he disappeared into the shadows. The other one came piling out of a window, and streaked it across the porch and down the lawn. Allison made for him; but he changed his course, and came straight toward the car. I guess they thought it was empty. And then the other one came flying out from behind the bushes, and made for Allison; so I just leaned out of the car and shot.
I keep saying these books are never so interesting as when the heroine arms herself.
Allison didn’t see him coming. He had a big club in his hand. I saw it as he went across in front of the window, and I knew I must do something; so I aimed right in front of him, and I saw him go down on his knees and throw up his hands; and then I felt sick, and began to think what if I had killed him. I didn’t, Cloudy; they say I only hit his knee;
It still might screw him up and they don't have penicillin yet, so she still might get a body count to her name. So, to recap: the other guy jumps Allison, Leslie doesn't dare shoot, she does put a flashlight on them, and some random guy on a motorcycle comes flying in as the fire-sirens near and helps to subdue the second villain. Who is this young hero? Where did he go?
Into the midst of the excitement and explanations there came a loud knock on the door, and Allison sprang up, and went to see who was there. A young man with dishevelled garments, hair standing on end, and face much streaked with mud and dust stood there. A motor-cycle leaned against the end of the porch.
Well, that's handy. He materialized again to hand over the pearls that Leslie lost. How he knew where she lived is glossed over. And he gets his first look at Leslie.
He had seen her dimly a little while before in a long velvet cloak and a little concealing head-scarf, standing in a motor-car shooting with a steady hand, and again coming with swift feet to her brother’s side in the grass after he was released from the burglar’s hold; but he had not caught the look of her face. Now he stood speechless, and stared at the lovely apparition. Was it possible that this lovely child had been the cool, brave girl in the car?
Even he cannot get over how severely her age fluctuates. They sit up and have finger sandwiches and cocoa with whipped cream. They learn that the stranger that is Leslie's obvious match because Allison is obviously Jane's also works for his living. His name is Howard or something.
So marks the blossoming of the two's social life. Glee Club members come to visit. They think about Leslie joining a sorority, and of course Christian Endeavor gets more plugs. More friends begin to gather around the home.
Myrtle Villers was at once the most subtle and least attractive. Julia Cloud had an intuitive shrinking from her at the start, although she tried in her sweet, Christian way to overcome it and do as much for this girl as she was trying to do for all the others who came into their home. But Myrtle Villers was quick to understand, and played her part so well that it was impossible to shake her off as some might have been shaken. She studied Leslie like an artist, and learned how to play upon her frank, emotional, impulsive nature. She confided in her, telling the sorrows of an unloved life, and her longings for great and better things, and fell to attending Christian Endeavor most strenuously. She was always coming home with Leslie for overnight and being around in the way.
But enough of her for now. Time for lesser antagonists! We get a man who notices their picnics and pleasant outings are fun to party-crash, and does so repeatedly.
Nevertheless, the old pill continued to come early and often, and there seemed no escape; for he was continually stealing in on their privacy at the most unexpected times and acting as if he were sure of a welcome. The children froze him, and were rude, and Julia Cloud withdrew farther and farther; but nothing seemed to faze him.
This is an old, painful question. The job of the Angel of the House is to have a heavenly little oasis of peace and joy. Visitors are supposed to love it as well as household members. So what happens when you can't get a visitor to stop enjoying it? More importantly, this is Grace's paragon. How is she supposed to maintain her angelic bearing and convey to a man that he is intruding? Grace often uses her characters to shot how ladies should handle unwanted suitors, meddling in-laws, and intrusive neighbors. What kinds of mannerly lines can we use to put a stop to those who would treat our comfort as theirs?
They... heard their aunt open the door, heard Dr. Bowman’s slow, scholarly voice and Julia Cloud’s even tones, back and forth for a little while, and then heard the front door open and shut again, and slow steps go down the brick terrace and out to the sidewalk.
What passed in that interview no one ever knew. Julia Cloud came to the foot of the stairs, and called them down, and her eyes were shining and confident as she sat by the lamp and sewed while they studied and joked in front of the fire; but the unwelcome guest came no more, and whenever they met him in the street, or at receptions, or passing at a college game, he gave them a distant, pleasant bow; that was all. Julia Cloud had done the work well, however she had done it.
Uh... magic! So now that's done and we can return to Leslie's unfortunate friendship with the conniving Myrtle.
There had been a little friction between Allison and Leslie about the use of the car. Allison had always been most generous with it until his sister took up this absurd intimacy with Myrtle Villers.
So he hides the car key from her, and she orders her own. In a matter of days they are beetling about the roads taking in the sights. Allison, you dope.
Five miles from home two masculine figures came in sight ahead, strolling leisurely down the road. Any one watching might have seen Myrtle suddenly straighten up and cast a hasty glance at Leslie. But Leslie with bright cheeks and shining eyes was forging ahead, regardless of stray strollers.
So Myrtle says it's her cousin and her friend, asks Leslie to stop so she can talk to them, they jump into the car at Myrtle's invitation, and off they go! Leslie asks where she can drop off her unwanted passengers.
“Oh, that’s all right,” said Cousin Fred easily; “any old road suits us so it’s going in this direction. Want me to take the wheel?”
“No, thank you,” said Leslie coldly, “I always drive myself. My brother doesn’t care for me to let other people use the car.”
He tries to talk her into letting him drive, although she snubs him as hard as she can.
“Here’s a nice road off to the right,” he indicated, reaching out a commanding hand to the wheel suddenly. “Turn here.”
Leslie with set lips bore on past the suggested road at high speed.
“Please don’t touch my wheel,” was all she said, in a haughty little voice. She was very angry indeed.
So eventually she pulls over to try to throw them out of the car.
“Why, no, I can’t say I’m particularly anxious to get out, but I think I’d like to change around a little. If you’ll just step over here, I’ll run the car for you, my dear. I don’t think Myrtle is ready to go back yet. How ’bout it, Myrt?” He turned and deliberately winked at Myrtle, who leaned over with a light laugh, and patted Leslie on the shoulder.
“There, there, Leslie, don’t get up in the air,” she soothed, “I’ll explain all about it if you’ll just turn around and go up that road back there. It won’t take you much longer, and we’ll be back in plenty of time. The fact is, I had a little plan in the back of my head when I came out this afternoon; and I want you to help me out. Now be a good girl and let Fred run the car a little while. He won’t do it any harm, and your brother will never know a thing about it.”
They talk a little more, and it comes out that Myrtle is secretly engaged, wants to be married, and has chosen Leslie as her way to skip town and commence the nuptuals before her parents find out.
“And if I won’t?” asked Leslie calmly, deliberately, as if she were really weighing the question.
“Well, if you won’t,” put in the person called Fred Hicks, “why, Bart and I will just fix you up perfectly harmlessly in the back seat there, where you can’t do any damage”--and he put his hand in his pocket, and brought out the end of an ugly-looking rope--“and then we’ll take charge of this expedition and go on our way. You can take it or leave it as you please. Shut up there, Myrt; we haven’t any more time to waste. We’re behind schedule now.”
They've explained this before trying in any way to subdue Leslie, so of course she promptly pitches a spanner into the works.
Leslie’s mouth shut in a pretty little tight line, and her eyes got like two blue sparks, but her voice was cool and steady.
“Well, I won’t!” she said tensely; and with a sudden motion she grabbed the switch-key and, springing to her feet, flung it far out across the road, across a little scuttled canoe that lay at the bank, and plunk into the water, before the other occupants of the car could realize what she was doing.
And then Grace does something I didn't see coming:
“You little fool!” she said. “You think you’ve stopped us, don’t you? But you’ll suffer for this! If you make us late, I’ll see that you don’t get back to your blessed home for a whole week; and, when you do, you won’t have such a pretty reputation to go on as you have now! It won’t do a bit of good, either, for those two men can find that switch-key; or, if they can’t, Fred knows how to start a car without one. You’ve only made a lot of trouble for yourself, and that’s all the good it will do you. You thought you were smart, but you’re nothing but an ignorant little kid!”
But the ignorant little kid was not listening. With trembling fingers she was pulling off the wrappings from a small package, and suddenly a warning whir cut short Myrtle’s harangue. She lurched forward, and tried to pull Leslie’s hands away from the wheel.
“Bart! Come quick! She’s got another! Hurry, boys!”
Leslie took Allison's key to pick up her own key, and either hers or Allison's went into the drink with a backup to hand. So the two would-be kidnappers are now splashing around in the water. But this is not the only thing to make the gentle reader sit up!
while Myrtle’s best efforts were put forth to hinder Leslie’s movements, something cold and gleaming flashed in her face that sent her crouching back in the corner of her seat and screaming. Leslie had slipped her hand into the little secret pocket of the car door and brought out her revolver, hoping fervently that it was still loaded, and that Allison had not chosen to shoot at a mark or anything with it the last time he was out.
“You’d better sit down and keep quiet,” she said coolly. “I’m a good shot.”
Yes, Leslie still has the gun. Yes, she has to wonder if Allison, in addition to emptying the gas-tank, also emptied the gun at random targets.
Then she put her foot on the clutch, and the car started just as Fred Hicks lit on the running-board.
Leslie’s little revolver came promptly around to meet him, and he dropped away with a gasp of surprise as suddenly as he had lit. Suddenly Leslie became aware of the other young man dripping and breathless, but with a dangerous look in his eye, bearing down upon her from the lake side of the road; and she flashed around and sent a shot ringing out into the road, the bullet ploughing into the dust at his very feet. The car leaped forward to obey her touch, and in a second more they had left the two young men safely behind them.
And once again, firing pistols in all directions, a GLH heroine plunges from peril, scandal, and social ruin. You didn't know maintaining your upper-class aura took so much firearms training, now did you? Leslie drives around trying to figure out where they are and wondering if she is going to run out of gas. Myrtle spends a while sobbing in the back while Leslie plans to spiritually renew her life. Then, a new twist:
“You can put me out here, Leslie; I’m done with you,” she said haughtily. “I don’t care to go any farther with you. I’ll go back on the train.”
“No!” said Leslie sharply. “You’ll go home with me. I took you away without knowing what you intended, but I mean to put you back where you were before I’m done. Then my responsibility for you will be over. I was a fool to let you deceive me that way, but I’m not a fool any longer.”
“Well, I won’t go home with you, so! and that’s flat, Leslie Cloud. You needn’t think you can frighten me into going, either. We’re in a village now, and my aunt lives here. If you get out that revolver again, I’ll scream and have you arrested, and tell them you’re trying to murder me; so there!”
For answer Leslie turned sharply into a cross-road that led away from the settled portion of the town, and put on all speed, tearing away into the dusk like a wild creature. Myrtle screamed and stormed behind her, all to no purpose. Leslie Cloud had her mettle up, and meant to take her prisoner home.
Wait a minute! You can't just go kidnapping people!
“Well, you can let me out now, Leslie Cloud,” said Myrtle scornfully. “I suppose you won’t dare lord it over me any longer, and I’ll take good care that the rest of the town understands what a dangerous little spitfire you are. You ought to be arrested for this night’s work! That’s all I’ve got to say.”
“Well, I have one more thing to say,” said Leslie slowly, as she swerved into her own street and her eyes hungrily sought for the lights of Cloudy Villa. “You’re coming into the house with me first, before you go anywhere else, and you’re going to tell this whole story to my Aunt Jewel. After that--I should worry!”
And dragging them home to your aunt!
“Now, get out!” she ordered, swinging the door open and flashing her little revolver about again at the angry girl.
“O Leslie!” pleaded the victim, quickly quelled by the sight of the cold steel, and thrilled with the memory of that shot whistling by her into the road a few hours before.
“Get out!” said Leslie coolly as the front door was flung open and Julia Cloud peered through the brightness of the porch light into the darkness.
“Get out!” Leslie held the cold steel nearer to Myrtle’s face, and the girl shuddered, and got out.
“Now go into the house!” she ordered; and shuddering, shivering, with a frightened glance behind her and a fearful glance ahead, she walked straight into the wondering, shocked presence of Julia Cloud, who threw the door open wide and stepped aside to let them in. Leslie, with the revolver still raised, and pointed toward the other girl, came close behind Myrtle, who sidled hastily around to get behind Miss Cloud.
NOW WAIT JUST A MINUTE, YOUNG LADY. You don't point guns at people you don't intend to kill! That's not nice at all! And it violates basic gun safety! Although it does raise the question how an Angel of the House disposes of a body in her living-room after an accidental weapons discharge, and what pleasantly-scented cleaning supplies she would use on the lovely carpet.
“Tell her!” ordered Leslie, the revolver still pointed straight at Myrtle.
“What shall I tell?” gasped the other girl, turning a white, miserable face toward Miss Cloud as if to appeal to her leniency. But there was a severity in Julia Cloud’s face now after her long hours of anxiety that boded no good for the cause of all her alarm.
“Tell her the whole story!” ordered the fierce young voice of Leslie.
The problem is that Leslie was never successfully kidnapped or placed into physical pain or distress by Myrtle, just threatened, so this is a little over-the-top. This is the end result of over-prizing social status: you hold prisoners with guns to their faces in your aunt's parlor, demanding they confess their attempted elopement and threatened kidnapping when you thwarted that.
“Tell it all,” said Leslie, looking across the barrel of her weapon. “Tell who wanted to go on that ride.”
And you should probably have that gun taken away before you go interrogate the neighbors on when they are going to trim their hedges and put property-values back where they should be.
“Tell how you asked the boys to get in the car!” ordered the fierce voice again; and Myrtle, recalled from another attempt to pass it all off pleasantly, went step by step through the whole shameful story until it was complete.
Then Leslie with a sudden motion of finality flung the little weapon down upon the mahogany table, and dashed into Julia Cloud’s arms in a storm of tears. “O Cloudy, I’ll never, never do any such thing again! And I hate her! I hate her! I’ll never forgive her! Can you ever forgive me?”
And having put someone in fear of their lives at gunpoint, you should probably NOT throw the gun down and hug your family members.
Myrtle suddenly looked up, thinking the time had come for her to steal away unseen; and there in the two doorways that opened on either side of the fireplace stood, on one side Allison Cloud and the dean of the college, and on the other side two members of the student executive body, all looking straight at her! Moreover, she read it in their eyes that they had heard every word of her confession. Without a word she dropped white and stricken into a chair, and covered her face with her hands. For once her brazen wiles were gone.
When did the dean start visiting??!
Once more, Cherry does the anything. Not too surprising, since the house isn't very big.
Julia Cloud had dropped into a chair with an all-gone feeling and a lightness in the top of her head. She felt as if the world, the flesh, and the devil had suddenly dropped down upon the house and were carrying off her children bodily, and she was powerless to prevent it. She could not keep the pain of it out of her eyes; yet she did not know what to say in this emergency. None of the things that had always seemed entirely convincing in forming her own opinions seemed adequate to the occasion. Leslie turned suddenly, and saw her stricken face.
Like any proper angel, she has a divine sensitivity to when the spiritual aura in the house is out of whack. Unlike any other angel, there's not much she can do besides wilt, suffer, and hope for deliverance.
“What’s the matter, Cloudy? Is something wrong? Aren’t you well? Don’t you like me to go to a dance? Why, Cloudy! Do you really object?”
“I have no right to object, I suppose, dear,” she said, trying to speak calmly; “but--Leslie, I can’t bear to think of you dancing; it’s not nice. It’s too--too intimate! My little flower of a girl!”
I would like Leslie to answer that she dances with so many men that it's not intimate at all, but instead she goes and gets dressed while Julia feels physical pain.
Leslie was enveloped in rose-colored tulle, with touches of silver, and looked like a young goddess with straps of silver over her slim shoulders and a thread of pearls about her throat. The white neck and back that the wisp of rose-color made no attempt to conceal were very beautiful and quite childish, but they shocked the sweet soul of Julia Cloud inexpressibly. She stood aghast when Leslie whirled upon her and demanded to know how she liked the gown.
She's been on the planet at least eighteen years, no matter how wildly her emotional maturity fluctuates, so I'm not sure how childish her shoulders and back can be.
“It is beautiful, darling, and you are--exquisite! But, dear! It seems terrible for my little girl to go among young men so sort of nakedly. I’m sure if you understood life better, you wouldn’t do it. You are tempting men to wrong thoughts, undressed that way, and you are putting on common view the intimate loveliness of the body God gave you to keep holy and pure. It is the way cheap women have of making many men love them in a careless, physical way. I don’t know how to tell you, but it seems terrible to me. If you were my own little girl, I never, never would be willing to have you go out that way.”
Surprisingly, "YOU ARE A NAKED TRAMP" is not the ray of heaven Julia was trying for.
“You’ve said enough!” almost screamed Leslie with a sudden frenzy of rage, shame, and disappointment. “I feel as if I never could look anybody in the face again!” And with a cry she flung herself into the jumble of bright garments on her bed, and wept as if her heart would break. Julia Cloud stood over her in consternation, and tried to soothe her; but nothing did any good. The young storm had to have its way, and the slim pink shoulders shook in convulsive sobs, while the dismayed elder sat down beside the bed, with troubled eyes upon her, and waited, praying quietly.
Tools in the Angel's arsenal: prayer, good works, reverse psychology, manipulation, and slut-shaming of girls in pretty dresses who are spending the evening out with their sibling chaperones. The brother comes in to find what the fuss is about, and listens to the story.
“Well, kid, I must say I agree with Cloudy,” he said half reluctantly at last. “The dress is a peach, of course, and you look like an angel in it; but, if you could hear the rotten things the fellows say about the way the girls dress, you wouldn’t want to go that way; and I don’t want them to talk that way about my sister. Couldn’t you stick in a towel or an apron or something, and make a little more waist to the thing? I’m sure you’d look just as pretty, and the fellows would think you a whole lot nicer girl. I don’t want you to get the nickname of the Freshman Vamp. I couldn’t stand for that.”
Poor Leslie sank into a chair, and covered her face for another cry, declaring it was no use, it would utterly spoil the dress to do anything to it, and she couldn’t go, and wouldn’t go and wear it; but at last Julia Cloud came to the rescue with needle and thread and soft rose drapery made from a scarf of Leslie’s that exactly matched the dress; and presently she stood meek and sweet, and quite modest, blooming prettily out of her pink, misty garments like an opening apple-blossom in spite of her recent tears.
Which is better than wrapping a towel around her tummy for the unattractively lumpy look that would probably shorten the skirt more anyway. The world has been saved from eighteen-year-old girl leg, or maybe back and shoulders, depending on where they tacked that scarf on. Allison is a male and therefore innately decent, so now they're ready to go.
“But when are you coming back?” asked Julia Cloud in sudden dismay, her troubles returning in full force as she watched them going out the door to the car, Allison carrying two bags and telling Leslie to hurry for all she was worth.
Should have sneaked the bags out to the car earlier and said "don't wait up!" Allison realizes the problem but is too late to head it off. Julia has seen all.
“Then--you won’t be back to-night! You are not going to church to-morrow! You will spend the Sabbath at a party!”
She said these things as if she were telling them to herself so that she could better take in the facts and not cry out with the disappointment of it. There was no quality of fault-finding in her tone, but the pain of her voice cut to the heart the two young culprits. Therefore, according to the code of loving human nature, they got angry.
And off they go, leaving the Angel of the House to suffer "as though a piece of herself had been torn away from her and flung out for the world to trample upon." She has palpitations. She goes to her room to pray. But in the very next start of the chapter, she hears a noise!
On the landing stood Leslie, lovely and flushed, with her hair slightly ruffled and her velvet evening cloak thrown back, showing the rosy mist of her dress. She stood with one silver slipper poised on the stairs, a sweet, guilty look on her face.
“O Cloudy! I thought you were asleep, and I didn’t want to waken you,” she said, penitently; “but you haven’t gone to bed yet, have you? I’m glad. We wanted you to know we were home.”
So what caused this?
They dance a lot nicer in colleges than they do other places. I know, for I’ve been to lots of dances, and I never let men get too familiar. Allison taught me that when I was little. That’s why what you said made me so mad. I’ve always been a lot carefuller than you’d think, and I never dance with anybody the second time if I don’t like the way he does it the first time. And everybody was real nice and dignified to-night, Cloudy. The boys are all shy and bashful, anyway; only I couldn’t forget what you had said about not liking to have me do it; and it made everything seem so--so--well, not nice; and I just felt uncomfortable; and one dance I sent the boy for a glass of water for me, and I just sat it out; and, when Allison saw me, he came over, and said, ‘Let’s beat it!’ and so I slipped up to the dressing-room, and got my cloak, and we just ran away without telling anybody.
Plot convenience and lingering damage to her self-esteem. Besides,
“Sure!” said Allison, trying not to look embarrassed. “I guess maybe I care about that, too, a little bit. To tell the truth, Cloudy, I couldn’t see staying away from that Christian Endeavor meeting after I’ve worked hard all the week to get people to come to it. It didn’t seem square.”
If they'd gone dancing they'd miss church. I had the impression CE ran at about 4:00 or so, before the real evening service, but it's hard to say. But we have a problem. That was our latest conflict, and it's done. The earlier conflicts are done. The nosy neighbor and miserable sister are back at home. We are out of antagonists! Luckily, from Grace's random hat of plot developments, the phone rings:
“Hello. Yes. Oh! Miss Bristol! What? Are you sure? I’ll be there at once. Lock yourself in your room till I get there.”
He hung up the receiver excitedly.
“Call up the fire department quick, Leslie! Tell them to hurry. There’s some one breaking into the Johnson house, and Jane Bristol is there alone with the children. It’s Park Avenue, you know. Hustle!”
We have a burglary! Quickly, everyone, do something!
“He went without his overcoat,” said Julia Cloud, hurrying to the closet for it. “It will be very cold riding. He ought to have it.”
Leslie hung up the receiver, and flung her velvet cloak about her hurriedly, grabbing the overcoat.
“Give it to me, Cloudy; I’m going with him!” she cried, and dashed out the door as the car slid out of the garage.
“O Leslie! Child! You oughtn’t to go!” she cried, rushing to the door; but Leslie was already climbing into the car, moving as it was.
“It’s all right, Cloudy!” she called. “There’s a revolver in the car, you know!” and the car whirled away down the street.
That... that wasn't what I meant.
“It was awfully exciting, Cloudy. I’m glad I went. There’s no telling what might have happened to Allison if somebody hadn’t been there. You see he shut down the motor as we came up to the house. We’d been going like a streak of lightning all the way, and we tried to sneak up so they wouldn’t hear us and get away; but there was one man outside on the watch, and he gave the word; and just as Allison got out of the car he disappeared into the shadows. The other one came piling out of a window, and streaked it across the porch and down the lawn. Allison made for him; but he changed his course, and came straight toward the car. I guess they thought it was empty. And then the other one came flying out from behind the bushes, and made for Allison; so I just leaned out of the car and shot.
I keep saying these books are never so interesting as when the heroine arms herself.
Allison didn’t see him coming. He had a big club in his hand. I saw it as he went across in front of the window, and I knew I must do something; so I aimed right in front of him, and I saw him go down on his knees and throw up his hands; and then I felt sick, and began to think what if I had killed him. I didn’t, Cloudy; they say I only hit his knee;
It still might screw him up and they don't have penicillin yet, so she still might get a body count to her name. So, to recap: the other guy jumps Allison, Leslie doesn't dare shoot, she does put a flashlight on them, and some random guy on a motorcycle comes flying in as the fire-sirens near and helps to subdue the second villain. Who is this young hero? Where did he go?
Into the midst of the excitement and explanations there came a loud knock on the door, and Allison sprang up, and went to see who was there. A young man with dishevelled garments, hair standing on end, and face much streaked with mud and dust stood there. A motor-cycle leaned against the end of the porch.
Well, that's handy. He materialized again to hand over the pearls that Leslie lost. How he knew where she lived is glossed over. And he gets his first look at Leslie.
He had seen her dimly a little while before in a long velvet cloak and a little concealing head-scarf, standing in a motor-car shooting with a steady hand, and again coming with swift feet to her brother’s side in the grass after he was released from the burglar’s hold; but he had not caught the look of her face. Now he stood speechless, and stared at the lovely apparition. Was it possible that this lovely child had been the cool, brave girl in the car?
Even he cannot get over how severely her age fluctuates. They sit up and have finger sandwiches and cocoa with whipped cream. They learn that the stranger that is Leslie's obvious match because Allison is obviously Jane's also works for his living. His name is Howard or something.
So marks the blossoming of the two's social life. Glee Club members come to visit. They think about Leslie joining a sorority, and of course Christian Endeavor gets more plugs. More friends begin to gather around the home.
Myrtle Villers was at once the most subtle and least attractive. Julia Cloud had an intuitive shrinking from her at the start, although she tried in her sweet, Christian way to overcome it and do as much for this girl as she was trying to do for all the others who came into their home. But Myrtle Villers was quick to understand, and played her part so well that it was impossible to shake her off as some might have been shaken. She studied Leslie like an artist, and learned how to play upon her frank, emotional, impulsive nature. She confided in her, telling the sorrows of an unloved life, and her longings for great and better things, and fell to attending Christian Endeavor most strenuously. She was always coming home with Leslie for overnight and being around in the way.
But enough of her for now. Time for lesser antagonists! We get a man who notices their picnics and pleasant outings are fun to party-crash, and does so repeatedly.
Nevertheless, the old pill continued to come early and often, and there seemed no escape; for he was continually stealing in on their privacy at the most unexpected times and acting as if he were sure of a welcome. The children froze him, and were rude, and Julia Cloud withdrew farther and farther; but nothing seemed to faze him.
This is an old, painful question. The job of the Angel of the House is to have a heavenly little oasis of peace and joy. Visitors are supposed to love it as well as household members. So what happens when you can't get a visitor to stop enjoying it? More importantly, this is Grace's paragon. How is she supposed to maintain her angelic bearing and convey to a man that he is intruding? Grace often uses her characters to shot how ladies should handle unwanted suitors, meddling in-laws, and intrusive neighbors. What kinds of mannerly lines can we use to put a stop to those who would treat our comfort as theirs?
They... heard their aunt open the door, heard Dr. Bowman’s slow, scholarly voice and Julia Cloud’s even tones, back and forth for a little while, and then heard the front door open and shut again, and slow steps go down the brick terrace and out to the sidewalk.
What passed in that interview no one ever knew. Julia Cloud came to the foot of the stairs, and called them down, and her eyes were shining and confident as she sat by the lamp and sewed while they studied and joked in front of the fire; but the unwelcome guest came no more, and whenever they met him in the street, or at receptions, or passing at a college game, he gave them a distant, pleasant bow; that was all. Julia Cloud had done the work well, however she had done it.
Uh... magic! So now that's done and we can return to Leslie's unfortunate friendship with the conniving Myrtle.
There had been a little friction between Allison and Leslie about the use of the car. Allison had always been most generous with it until his sister took up this absurd intimacy with Myrtle Villers.
So he hides the car key from her, and she orders her own. In a matter of days they are beetling about the roads taking in the sights. Allison, you dope.
Five miles from home two masculine figures came in sight ahead, strolling leisurely down the road. Any one watching might have seen Myrtle suddenly straighten up and cast a hasty glance at Leslie. But Leslie with bright cheeks and shining eyes was forging ahead, regardless of stray strollers.
So Myrtle says it's her cousin and her friend, asks Leslie to stop so she can talk to them, they jump into the car at Myrtle's invitation, and off they go! Leslie asks where she can drop off her unwanted passengers.
“Oh, that’s all right,” said Cousin Fred easily; “any old road suits us so it’s going in this direction. Want me to take the wheel?”
“No, thank you,” said Leslie coldly, “I always drive myself. My brother doesn’t care for me to let other people use the car.”
He tries to talk her into letting him drive, although she snubs him as hard as she can.
“Here’s a nice road off to the right,” he indicated, reaching out a commanding hand to the wheel suddenly. “Turn here.”
Leslie with set lips bore on past the suggested road at high speed.
“Please don’t touch my wheel,” was all she said, in a haughty little voice. She was very angry indeed.
So eventually she pulls over to try to throw them out of the car.
“Why, no, I can’t say I’m particularly anxious to get out, but I think I’d like to change around a little. If you’ll just step over here, I’ll run the car for you, my dear. I don’t think Myrtle is ready to go back yet. How ’bout it, Myrt?” He turned and deliberately winked at Myrtle, who leaned over with a light laugh, and patted Leslie on the shoulder.
“There, there, Leslie, don’t get up in the air,” she soothed, “I’ll explain all about it if you’ll just turn around and go up that road back there. It won’t take you much longer, and we’ll be back in plenty of time. The fact is, I had a little plan in the back of my head when I came out this afternoon; and I want you to help me out. Now be a good girl and let Fred run the car a little while. He won’t do it any harm, and your brother will never know a thing about it.”
They talk a little more, and it comes out that Myrtle is secretly engaged, wants to be married, and has chosen Leslie as her way to skip town and commence the nuptuals before her parents find out.
“And if I won’t?” asked Leslie calmly, deliberately, as if she were really weighing the question.
“Well, if you won’t,” put in the person called Fred Hicks, “why, Bart and I will just fix you up perfectly harmlessly in the back seat there, where you can’t do any damage”--and he put his hand in his pocket, and brought out the end of an ugly-looking rope--“and then we’ll take charge of this expedition and go on our way. You can take it or leave it as you please. Shut up there, Myrt; we haven’t any more time to waste. We’re behind schedule now.”
They've explained this before trying in any way to subdue Leslie, so of course she promptly pitches a spanner into the works.
Leslie’s mouth shut in a pretty little tight line, and her eyes got like two blue sparks, but her voice was cool and steady.
“Well, I won’t!” she said tensely; and with a sudden motion she grabbed the switch-key and, springing to her feet, flung it far out across the road, across a little scuttled canoe that lay at the bank, and plunk into the water, before the other occupants of the car could realize what she was doing.
And then Grace does something I didn't see coming:
“You little fool!” she said. “You think you’ve stopped us, don’t you? But you’ll suffer for this! If you make us late, I’ll see that you don’t get back to your blessed home for a whole week; and, when you do, you won’t have such a pretty reputation to go on as you have now! It won’t do a bit of good, either, for those two men can find that switch-key; or, if they can’t, Fred knows how to start a car without one. You’ve only made a lot of trouble for yourself, and that’s all the good it will do you. You thought you were smart, but you’re nothing but an ignorant little kid!”
But the ignorant little kid was not listening. With trembling fingers she was pulling off the wrappings from a small package, and suddenly a warning whir cut short Myrtle’s harangue. She lurched forward, and tried to pull Leslie’s hands away from the wheel.
“Bart! Come quick! She’s got another! Hurry, boys!”
Leslie took Allison's key to pick up her own key, and either hers or Allison's went into the drink with a backup to hand. So the two would-be kidnappers are now splashing around in the water. But this is not the only thing to make the gentle reader sit up!
while Myrtle’s best efforts were put forth to hinder Leslie’s movements, something cold and gleaming flashed in her face that sent her crouching back in the corner of her seat and screaming. Leslie had slipped her hand into the little secret pocket of the car door and brought out her revolver, hoping fervently that it was still loaded, and that Allison had not chosen to shoot at a mark or anything with it the last time he was out.
“You’d better sit down and keep quiet,” she said coolly. “I’m a good shot.”
Yes, Leslie still has the gun. Yes, she has to wonder if Allison, in addition to emptying the gas-tank, also emptied the gun at random targets.
Then she put her foot on the clutch, and the car started just as Fred Hicks lit on the running-board.
Leslie’s little revolver came promptly around to meet him, and he dropped away with a gasp of surprise as suddenly as he had lit. Suddenly Leslie became aware of the other young man dripping and breathless, but with a dangerous look in his eye, bearing down upon her from the lake side of the road; and she flashed around and sent a shot ringing out into the road, the bullet ploughing into the dust at his very feet. The car leaped forward to obey her touch, and in a second more they had left the two young men safely behind them.
And once again, firing pistols in all directions, a GLH heroine plunges from peril, scandal, and social ruin. You didn't know maintaining your upper-class aura took so much firearms training, now did you? Leslie drives around trying to figure out where they are and wondering if she is going to run out of gas. Myrtle spends a while sobbing in the back while Leslie plans to spiritually renew her life. Then, a new twist:
“You can put me out here, Leslie; I’m done with you,” she said haughtily. “I don’t care to go any farther with you. I’ll go back on the train.”
“No!” said Leslie sharply. “You’ll go home with me. I took you away without knowing what you intended, but I mean to put you back where you were before I’m done. Then my responsibility for you will be over. I was a fool to let you deceive me that way, but I’m not a fool any longer.”
“Well, I won’t go home with you, so! and that’s flat, Leslie Cloud. You needn’t think you can frighten me into going, either. We’re in a village now, and my aunt lives here. If you get out that revolver again, I’ll scream and have you arrested, and tell them you’re trying to murder me; so there!”
For answer Leslie turned sharply into a cross-road that led away from the settled portion of the town, and put on all speed, tearing away into the dusk like a wild creature. Myrtle screamed and stormed behind her, all to no purpose. Leslie Cloud had her mettle up, and meant to take her prisoner home.
Wait a minute! You can't just go kidnapping people!
“Well, you can let me out now, Leslie Cloud,” said Myrtle scornfully. “I suppose you won’t dare lord it over me any longer, and I’ll take good care that the rest of the town understands what a dangerous little spitfire you are. You ought to be arrested for this night’s work! That’s all I’ve got to say.”
“Well, I have one more thing to say,” said Leslie slowly, as she swerved into her own street and her eyes hungrily sought for the lights of Cloudy Villa. “You’re coming into the house with me first, before you go anywhere else, and you’re going to tell this whole story to my Aunt Jewel. After that--I should worry!”
And dragging them home to your aunt!
“Now, get out!” she ordered, swinging the door open and flashing her little revolver about again at the angry girl.
“O Leslie!” pleaded the victim, quickly quelled by the sight of the cold steel, and thrilled with the memory of that shot whistling by her into the road a few hours before.
“Get out!” said Leslie coolly as the front door was flung open and Julia Cloud peered through the brightness of the porch light into the darkness.
“Get out!” Leslie held the cold steel nearer to Myrtle’s face, and the girl shuddered, and got out.
“Now go into the house!” she ordered; and shuddering, shivering, with a frightened glance behind her and a fearful glance ahead, she walked straight into the wondering, shocked presence of Julia Cloud, who threw the door open wide and stepped aside to let them in. Leslie, with the revolver still raised, and pointed toward the other girl, came close behind Myrtle, who sidled hastily around to get behind Miss Cloud.
NOW WAIT JUST A MINUTE, YOUNG LADY. You don't point guns at people you don't intend to kill! That's not nice at all! And it violates basic gun safety! Although it does raise the question how an Angel of the House disposes of a body in her living-room after an accidental weapons discharge, and what pleasantly-scented cleaning supplies she would use on the lovely carpet.
“Tell her!” ordered Leslie, the revolver still pointed straight at Myrtle.
“What shall I tell?” gasped the other girl, turning a white, miserable face toward Miss Cloud as if to appeal to her leniency. But there was a severity in Julia Cloud’s face now after her long hours of anxiety that boded no good for the cause of all her alarm.
“Tell her the whole story!” ordered the fierce young voice of Leslie.
The problem is that Leslie was never successfully kidnapped or placed into physical pain or distress by Myrtle, just threatened, so this is a little over-the-top. This is the end result of over-prizing social status: you hold prisoners with guns to their faces in your aunt's parlor, demanding they confess their attempted elopement and threatened kidnapping when you thwarted that.
“Tell it all,” said Leslie, looking across the barrel of her weapon. “Tell who wanted to go on that ride.”
And you should probably have that gun taken away before you go interrogate the neighbors on when they are going to trim their hedges and put property-values back where they should be.
“Tell how you asked the boys to get in the car!” ordered the fierce voice again; and Myrtle, recalled from another attempt to pass it all off pleasantly, went step by step through the whole shameful story until it was complete.
Then Leslie with a sudden motion of finality flung the little weapon down upon the mahogany table, and dashed into Julia Cloud’s arms in a storm of tears. “O Cloudy, I’ll never, never do any such thing again! And I hate her! I hate her! I’ll never forgive her! Can you ever forgive me?”
And having put someone in fear of their lives at gunpoint, you should probably NOT throw the gun down and hug your family members.
Myrtle suddenly looked up, thinking the time had come for her to steal away unseen; and there in the two doorways that opened on either side of the fireplace stood, on one side Allison Cloud and the dean of the college, and on the other side two members of the student executive body, all looking straight at her! Moreover, she read it in their eyes that they had heard every word of her confession. Without a word she dropped white and stricken into a chair, and covered her face with her hands. For once her brazen wiles were gone.
When did the dean start visiting??!