THE NOWADAYS CLUB

The chugging taxicab stopped in front of the apartment on Central Park,
West, and the uniformed door attendant bowed out of it, and into the
marble vestibule, a demure girl with rosy cheeks.

“Miss Pursell?” she asked, and there was that in her voice which made
the elevator boy look a second time; and he was not unused to seeing
pretty girls and hearing them speak.

“Third floor, miss,” he said, with a quick touch of his hand to his
much-gold-braided cap. Then, as he clanged the steel-grilled door shut,
he favored the hall-man with a distinct wink, which Rose Bancroft did
not see. But had she seen it she would, perhaps, have given it little
consideration, since it did not concern her.

What did concern her was reaching her friend Sylvia Pursell as soon
as possible. There were more reasons than one for this, but perhaps
the one with which we may now concern ourselves was that Rose had been
travelling since early morning, having but just arrived at the Grand
Central Terminal from Syracuse.

Travelling in even the best-portered Pullman, in the middle of the
“Chicago Special,” is very apt to grime one up, especially if the
aforesaid one be wearing a particularly light and dainty dress. So
Rose, as she was shot upward in the smooth-running elevator, wondered
whether the coloured maid at the Grand Central had made sure that there
was no cinder dust on the end of her nose.

“For,” reflected Rose to herself, “if there is one thing more than
another, that makes a girl lose her smartness and dignity, it is a
black spot on the end of her nose.”

And Rose had her special reasons for wanting to look at least “smart”
when she reached Sylvia’s apartment. I’ll tell you why later. She
ventured to glance into the bevelled mirror which made up the whole
back of the car, but the electric bulb was shaded with a rose-tinted
glass, and while it made a very pretty effect, still it was not
conducive to illumination.

“I’m almost sure there’s a spot,” thought Rose, but she dared not
raise her veil to make sure. And just then the elevator lad, who had
been favouring his solitary passenger with more than one surreptitious
glance, called out, in a most respectful tone of voice, a voice not at
all in keeping with his previous facetious wink:

“Your floor! Miss Pursell’s!”

“Thank you,” said Rose, quietly, and stepped out.

A few moments later, Rose having been ushered into a pretty reception
hall, and thence to the drawing-room, she and Sylvia had their arms
around each other, and Sylvia was kissing her friend, regardless of
whether or not there was a spot on Rose’s face–her nose or anywhere
else.

“It was so sweet of you to come down from Syracuse, my dear!”

“Nonsense, it was just perfectly lovely of you to ask me. I am _so_
interested!”

“I thought you’d be! Did you have a tiresome trip?”

“Oh, not especially so. We were a little late, but made it up. Mrs.
Blake, mamma’s friend, you know, came part way with me.”

“That was nice. Janet, take Miss Bancroft’s things, and then tell
Perkins we’ll have tea in here.”

“Yes, Miss Pursell.”

“Are the other girls here?” asked Rose, as she made sure this time, by
a hasty glance in a well-lighted mirror, that there was _not_ a spot on
her nose.

“No, they’re coming to-night, I presume. Hazel was away when my
telegram reached her, but she left Chicago last night, and ought to be
here now. I’m not so sure when Alice will arrive. You know her style.”

“Indeed I do. If she doesn’t arrive to-day, next week will do. But are
you really going to carry out your plan?”

“I most certainly _am_, my dear! I don’t plan things and then not do
them.”

“Yes, I know, Sylvia, but this going off to the Adirondacks, all by
ourselves—-“

“But we’ll not be by ourselves. Aunt Theodora Leigh Brownley will
chaperon us, and—-“

“You didn’t leave out any of her name; did you?” and Rose laughed a
merry laugh, that sounded like the tinkle of ice in a strawberry-tinted
pitcher of lemonade on a hot day.

“She rather likes her whole title,” answered Sylvia. “But you knew she
was going with us; didn’t you?”

“I wasn’t sure,” and Rose turned at the entrance of the butler with the
tray of tea things as though she expected to see some one else.

“Oh, indeed mamma wouldn’t consent to my making up the party at all
until I had arranged for a chaperon. Of course Aunt Theodora Leigh
Brownley is rather a handicap in ways, but she _is_ so good, and she
doesn’t mind sitting up until all hours at a dance.”

“Oh, then we _are_ going to dance!” and the eyes of Rose glistened,
while her breath seemed to come faster between her parted lips.

“Of course, my dear! There will be some men up there, I _hope_!”

“Oh, won’t it be just perfectly all right!”

“I hope you’ll find it so. Let me see–you take lemon?” and Sylvia
paused questioningly with a slice held over Rose’s cup.

“Lemon, yes. And two lumps, please.”

The tinkle of silver on eggshell china filled a pause, and then the
girls looked into each other’s eyes. In Rose’s was a question she
wanted to ask, but hardly dared. Several times it was at her lips, but
somehow she forced it back. And when she had made up her mind to ask it
there came a ring of the bell.

“Telephone?” questioned Rose.

“No, the entrance hall. I wonder—-“

Sylvia paused, listening, and when she heard the unseen caller ask for
her she started at the sound of a drawling voice–a voice of Southern
unctuousness and richness. Then she arose from the little table, so
precipitately as almost to overturn it, though Rose saved it in time.

“Sylvia!” gasped Rose. “You—-“

“It’s Alice,” was the excuse offered. “Here we are, Alice!” she went
on, and a girl–a tall, slender girl, with dark eyes, that sparkled
from underneath dark brows, and lighted up a face of pure olive-brown
tint–fairly swept into the apartment.

“Alice!” cried Sylvia, as she kissed her and then passed her on to Rose
for a like ceremony. “How ever did you get here?”

“Why, yo’all seem surprised,” was the retort in that slow, unctuous,
Southern voice. “I hope I didn’t arrive too early,” and Alice Harrow
flung, rather than “draped” herself, as Sylvia would have done, into a
chair.

“Early! It’s early for _you_,” commented Rose.

“I did get here sooner than I expected,” Alice went on. “But I made up
my mind, if we were to carry out the rules of our club, that being
ahead of time was better than being late.”

“Good for you!” cried Sylvia. “Tea?” she asked, indicating the little
table.

“Land, no! It’s too hot! Lemonade if you have it, with a bit of mint
crushed in it–not too much crushed, and a slice of real lemon floating
on top. Then just a suggestion of nutmeg. But if you haven’t it, ice
water will do as well,” and she suddenly switched off, as she saw Rose
gazing at her with rather open-mouthed wonder.

“No, indeed. Janet shall make it at once!” exclaimed Sylvia.

“Well, are you surprised to see me?” demanded Alice, a moment later,
when the maid had left the room.

“Surprised isn’t the word for it!” Sylvia said. “We were just talking
about you—-“

“I wondered why my ears burned!” laughingly broke in Alice, who seemed
unusually bright and crisp for a native of the Southern clime.

“We were just saying that we feared you would be the last to arrive,”
went on Sylvia, with a smile. “As it is you have reached here before
Baby!”

“No! You don’t mean it!”

“But I do, my dear!”

“To think of besting Hazel Reed! Oh, that’s just splendid. I—-“

Alice arose and was about to execute a few steps of a new dance, but,
at that moment, the maid came with the elaborately ordered glass of
lemonade on a little silver tray, and it was only by the most skilful
turn, as though extricating herself and her partner from a crowded
corner of the ballroom floor, that Alice saved herself from an accident.

“Oh, that’s delicious!” she murmured, as she sipped the spiced, icy
drink. “Your butler must be a Southerner, Sylvia.”

“We never knew it. But I’m glad you like it. Yes, you are here before
Hazel, though she may arrive any minute.”

“And when she comes,” said Rose, “the Nowadays Club will have a full
membership present. Then, I suppose, Sylvia will condescend to give a
more detailed explanation of the mysterious telegrams she sent us. All
I know is that we’re going to spend the summer in the Adirondacks.”

“Isn’t that enough to know?” asked Alice. “Why seek to force the hands
of Fate?” and she reclined lazily in her chair, and languidly closed
her eyes.

She opened them a moment later, however, and a bright, vivacious look
came over her dark face. She clapped her hands and cried out:

“Oh, girls, I _must_ tell you! It’s the greatest surprise. You know
Minnie Reynolds, that demure, mouse-like girl that was in our class?”

“You mean, Cheese?” asked Rose.

“Yes, that’s what we called her–she reminded one so of a mouse, and
cheese always has that association for me. Well, Minnie has ‘done gone
an’ got he’se’f engaged,’ as my old coloured mammy would say.”

“Who’s the fellow?” asked Sylvia. “Any one we know?”

Alice took a long breath, preparatory to answering, but just then the
bell rang again.

“Oh, if that _should_ be Baby!” murmured Sylvia.

“It _is_ Baby!” called out a breezy voice in answer, for the pretty
hostess had spoken even as the maid opened the door. “It _is_ Baby! Who
all’s in there?” she went on, eagerly, joyously.

“Hazel Reed!” murmured Alice. “She’ll be _furious_ when she finds I’m
here ahead of her. She can’t call me the late Miss Harrow now.”

“Oh, you’re _all_ here!” gasped the newcomer, as she swept into the
room–literally swept in, for her dress caught in a light chair that
she dragged after her.

“Hello, girls!” she went on. “Oh, Sylvia! _Such_ a trip. Two accidents;
the taxicab driver nearly ran over an old man, I lost my purse–found
it again though, thank goodness. Mislaid your address and I’ve been
telephoning all over for two mortal hours. But here I am. Kiss me,
_everybody_! Oh, but it’s good to see you all again.”

There was a little cyclone of laughter, and then Sylvia, tinkling a
spoon against a cup to attract attention, called out:

“Girls, the Nowadays Club will come to order!”