They took a walk, and followed a roundabout way. Then they sat on a bank, and his arm followed a roundabout way.
She seemed more young and tender than ever, in a simple white muslin frock and blue sash. Her broad-leafed hat was decked with a few pink roses, and roll-top white socks added a good deal to the picture.
Petticoat was charmed.
Golly, but I love you, Warble! he cried.
She did not answer, but she touched the upper edge of the wallet in his breast pocket with an exploring gesture.
You think Im too darn aesthetic! Well, youre not, and so we ought to mate. Were complementary to one another, like air and sunshine or light and shade.
Or pork and beans, or pie and cheese.
Yes, or like stout and porterIll be the porter, ohwhats the use of talking? Let my lips talk to you!
He kissed her cheek, imprinting thereon a Cupids bow, by reason of his own addiction to the lipstick.
Warble rubbed it off with the back of her hand, and said, Oh, pleathepleathe.
She wondered if she ought to have said thank you, but it was only a drifting thought and she turned the other cheek. Then she smiled her engaging smile and they were engaged.
Later in the game, she said, with pretty diffidence, I would like to thee Butterfly Thenter. And she blushed like the inside of those pink meat melons.
I knew it! and Petticoat produced a pile of Sunday Picture Supplements.
Her cheek nested in his permanent wave, Warble studied the pictures.
They were the last word in artistic architecture. Truly, Butterfly Center, where Petticoat lived, was a veritable Utopia, Arcadia, Spotless Town and Happy Valley all rolled into one. Broad streets, arching trees, sublimated houses, glorified shopsit seemed to Warble like a flitter-work Christmas card from the drug-store.
Howd you like to scoot up there with me in a fast aeroplane? he jollied her.
It might bea lark she dubioused.
But heres the picture! and proudly he exhibited a full length view of his own home.
Ptomaine Haul, he exploited, proudly. Built every inch of it from the busy little ptomaines. Coral insects nothing on that, eh? And heres the sort of people I practice on. Old Leathersham, nowhe has a corking châteauFrench Renaissance. And Mrs. Charity Givensshe has a Georgian shack. And, oh, yes, heres Iva Payne. Shes one of my most profitable patientssick all the time.
Warble studied the pictures.
What expensive people, she said, dearso dear.
Yes, great people. Youd love em. Theyre just layin for you. Come on, Warble, will you?
Yop, she murmured, from his coat pocket, Sweet, so sweet.
CHAPTER III
Among the rolling stock of a great railroad, a moving mass of steel. A soft sludge as it came noiselessly to rest beneath the glazed chintz awnings of the Butterfly Center station.
A faint scent of chypre from Petticoats cigarette as he alit.
From his private train, which had slithered across the intervening spaces and slid into its moorings as butter slides from a hot plate.
It is September, cool, green and well-sprinkled.
The obviously important man was followed by a yellow-topped, rose-cheeked girl, whose eyes were all blue and a yard wide as she looked about.
About what?
About eighteen.
They were Dr. Big Bill Petticoat and his bride, Warble.
They had been married and had spent their honeymoon in riotous loving.
It had been transforming. Warble had been frightened to discover how hungry she could be even on a wedding trip.
Bill had mused to himself; whats the difference between an optimist and a pessimist? One honeymoon. And now they had reached their home town. People were not altogether new to Warble. She had seen them before. But these were her own people, to bathe and encourage and adornand, they didnt seem to need it.
They distressed her. They were so smart. She had always held that there is no style in America, no chic effects out of Paris.
But here on the terrace of the simple little hewn stone station were hordes of men and women who seemed to be, mentally, morally and physically, literally butterflies.
Isnt there any way of waking them up? she begged of Petticoat, grabbing his arm and shaking him.
These guys? Wake em up? What for? Theyre happy.
But theyre so smugno, that isnt what I mean. Theyre so stick-in-the-mud.
Look here, Warble, you want to get over your fool idea that because a woman is slender she isnt adorable. These folks are up to date, snuff and mischief.
I know, thats whats biting me. Life seems so hard for them.
Oh, they dont mind it. Now you must meet the bunch. Theyre all down here to meet their husbands or something just as good. Now you behave yourself.
Yop.
She had a grip on herself. She was ready to kiss and be friends with them all. But she was scared at the rackety pack who ballyhooed like Coney Island and surged down upon her like a Niagara Falls.
She had the impression that all the men had soft voices, large, embracing arms, gimlet eyes and bored, impersonal smiles. She knew they were taking her in. Their pleasant hoots and yells of greeting overcame her.
Oh, pleathepleathe, she lisped.
In her fresh frilled dimity and soft sash of baby-blue Surah, her rolled white socks disclosing but a few tantalizing inches of seashell-pink calf, Warble stood, eyes cast down, a pretty, foolish thing,
As soft as young,
As gay as soft,
and, to a man, the male population of Butterfly Center fell for her.
Not so the remainder of the citizens.
One of the men was yelling at Petticoat:
Hop into my car, Bill, Dont see yoursIll tote the bride-person youve got therewith joy and gladness. Warble looked at the yeller.
Cant quite place me, chick, can you? he grinned at her. Well Im only old Goldwin Leathershamno use for me in the world but to spend money. Want me to spend some on you? Heres my old thingstep up here, Marigold, and be introduced. Shes really nicer than she looks, Mrs. Petticoat.
Indeed Im not, Marigold Leathersham cried gaily, I couldnt benobody could be!
She came runninga beautiful, slim young woman, with a wealth of expensive looking gold hair, white and gold teeth that broke into a lavish smile. Her voice was rich and though she looked above, away from and through Warble, yet she saw her.
So glad to welcome you, you pretty baby, she chirruped. Youre going to love us all, arent you?
Yop, said Warble, and smiled her engaging smile.
You bet shell love us, declared Leathersham, shell make the world go round! Hello, Little One, he turned to pat the cheek of a white-haired, red-faced old lady, who hawk-eyed and hawk-nosed, stood by, listening in. This, Mrs. Petticoat, is our Lady Bountiful, Mrs. Charity Givensnoted for her generosity. She ostentatiously heads all Donation Lists, and shes going to start a rest cure where your husbands unsuccessful cases may die in peace. And heres one of the cases. Hello, Iva Payne!
Hello, languidly responded a girl like a long pale lilya Burne-Jones type, who sometimes carried around a small stained-glass window to rest her head against.
Are you really Bills wife? she asked, a little disinterestedly, of Warble.
Yop, said Warble, and made a face at her.
How quaint, said Iva.
How quaint, said Iva.
Whoopee, Baby! Here we are, and Petticoat rescued his bride from the middle of a crowd and yanked her toward his car.
The car was a museum piece, and as Warble caromed into its cushions she felt that her lines had fallen in pleasant places.
That was the way Fate came to Warble. In big fat chunks, in slathers. Unexpected, sudden, inescapablethats Fate all over.
I shall like Mr. LeathershamI shall call him Goldie. Theyre all nice and friendlythe men. But this town! Oh, my Heavens! This Jewel Casketthis Treasure Table! I cant live through it! This Floating Island of a Tipsy Charlotte! Her husband nudged her. You look like you had a pain, he said; Scared? I dont expect you to fit in at first. You have to get eased into things. Its different from Pittsburgh. But youll come to like itlove is so free here, and the smartest people on earth.
She winked at him. I love you for your misunderstanding. Im just dog-tired. And too many chocolates. Give me a rest, dear. Im all in from wear sheeriness.
She laid her feet in his lap and snuggled into the corner of the pearl-colored upholstery.
She was ready for her new home, beautiful, celebrated Ptomaine Haul. Petticoat told her that his mother had been living with him, but had fled incontinently on hearing a description of Warble.
The bride chuckled and smiled engagingly as the car slithered round a corner and stopped under the porte cochère of a great house set in the midst of a landscape.
Neo-Colonial, of a purity unsurpassed by the Colonists themselves.
A park stretching in front; gardens at the back; steps up to a great porch, and a front door copied from the Frary house in Old Deerfield.
A great hallat its back twin halves of a perfect staircase. To the right, a charming morning room, where Petticoat led his bride.
You like it? Its not inharmonious. I left it as it isin case you care to rebuild or redecorate.
Its a sweet home she was touched by his indifference. So artistic.
Petticoat winced, but he was a polite chap, and he only said, carelessly, Yes, home is where the art is, and let it go at that.
In the hall and the great library she was conscious of vastness and magnificent distances, but, she thought, if necessary, I can use roller skates.
As she followed Petticoat and the current shift of servants upstairs, she quavered to herself like the fat little gods of the hearth.
She took her husband into her arms, and felt that at last she had realized her one time dreams of the moving pictures, ay, even to the final close-up.
What mattered, so long as she could paw at the satin back of his shirt, and admire his rich and expensive clothing.
Dearso dear she murmured.
CHAPTER IV
The Leathershams are giving a ball for us to-night, Petticoat said, casually, as he powdered his nose in the recesses of his triplicate mirror.
A ball?
Oh, I dont mean a danceI meanerwell, what youd call a sociable, I suppose.
Oh, aint we got fun!
And, I say, Warble, Ive got to chase a patient now; can you hike about a bit by yourself?
Course I can. Whos your patient?
Avery Goodmanthe rector of St. Judas church. He will eat terrapin made out ofyou know what. And so, hes all tied up in knots with ptomaine poisoning and Ive got to straighten him out. It means a lot to us, you know.
I know; skittle.
Left alone, Warble proceeded systematically to examine the interior of Ptomaine Haul. She gazed about her own bedroom and a small part of its exquisite beauty dawned upon her. It was an exact copy of Marie Antoinettes and the delicately carved furniture and pale blue upholstery and hangings harmonized with the painted domed ceiling and paneled walls.
The dressing table bore beautiful appointments of ivory, as solid as Warbles own dome and from the Cupid-held canopy over the bed to the embroidered satin foot-cushions, it was top hole.
The scent was of French powders, perfumes and essences and sachets, such as Warble had not smelled since before the war.
Can you beat it, she groaned. How can I live with doodads like this? She saw the furniture as a circle of hungry restaurant customers ready to eat her up. She kicked the dozen lace pillows off the head of the bed.
No utility anywhere, she cried. Everything futile, inutile, brutal! I hate it! I hate it! Why did I ever
And then she remembered she was a Petticoat now, a lace, frilled Petticoatnot one of those that Oliver Herford so pathetically dubbed the short and simple flannels of the poor.
Yes, she was now a Petticoatone of the aristocratic Cotton-Petticoats, washable, to be sure, but a dressy Frenchy Petticoat, and as such she must take her place on the family clothesline.
She drifted from oriel window to casement, and on to a great becurtained and becushioned bay, and looked out on the outlook.
She saw gardens like the Tuileries and Tuilerums, soft, shining pools, little skittering fountains, marble Cupids and gay-tinted flowers. This was the scene for her to look down upon and live up to.
I mustnt! I mustnt! Im nervous this afternoon! Am I sick? Good Lord, I hope it isnt that! Not now! Id hate itId be scared to death! Some daybut, please, kind Fate, not now! I dont want to go down now with ptomaine poisoning! Not till after Ive had my dinner! Im going out for a walk.
When Warble had plodded along for six hours, she had pretty well done up the town.
Ptomaine Street, which took its name from her husbands own residence, was a wide, leafy avenue with a double row of fine old trees on each side. They were Lebbek trees, and the whole arrangement was patterned after the avenue which Josephine built for Napoleon, out to the Mena House.
She passed the homes of the most respectable citizens. Often they were set back from the road, and the box hedges or tall iron fences prevented her from seeing the houses. But she saw enough and sped on to the more interesting business and shopping section of Butterfly Center.
She passed Ariel Inn, the hotel being like a Swiss Chalet, perched on some convenient rocks that rose to a height above street level. A few fairly nimble chamois were leaping over these rocks and Warble heard a fairy-like chime of bells as afternoon tea was announced.
A man in an artists smock sauntered across the street. A palette on one thumb, he scratched his chin with the other. A hearse, its long box filled with somebody, crawled down the block. A dainty Sedan with a womans idle face at its window wafted by. From a Greek Temple came the sound of Interpretative Dancing, and the applause of perfunctory hands.
She wanted to elope. Her own ideas of utility, efficiency, and economy were being shatteredbroken in pieces like a potters vessel. Her sense of proportion, her instinct for relative values, her abhorrence of waste motion, her inborn system and method, all were swept away as a thief in the night. Could she reform this giddy whirl? Could she bring chaos out of cosmos? Was her own ego sufficient to egg her on in her chosen work?
She haed her doots.
She maundered down the street on one sideback on the other.
Dudies Drug-store was like unto a Turkish Mosque. Minaret and pinnaret, battlement and shuttle-door, it was a perfect drug-store, nobly planned. The long flight of steps leading up to its ptortal was a masterpiece in the step line.
Inside, the Soda Pagoda was a joy of temple bells and soft, sweet drinks, while at the prescription counter, the line formed on the right, to get Dr. Petticoats prescriptions filled for their ptomaines.