CHAPTER X—FEARS AND FANCIES

“Madam, dinner is served,” announced Helen at the door, with the funny little jerked courtesy and her finger to her lips a la Molly in the movies. Helen was an apt American scholar, and her short stay in the country had already sufficed for picking up an attractive list of typical mannerisms. Especially did she show her aptitude in mimicing stage girls.

“Now, where did you learn that, Helen?” demanded Judith. “You never have seen me bite my index nail with that sort of charm.”

“But you know I went to some plays in Warsaw, and we had American talent there,” explained Helen. “I have not yet been to a theatre in America.”

“Then you shall——”

“Oh, no, really, I do not wish——”

“Simpleton,” kindly whispered Jane, pressing Helen’s hand confidently, “we shall all go to a beautiful play, and you shall sit where no one can see you, if that is what you mean by declining all our theatre invitations. Since you really do not want to be seen in public, and perhaps you have a perfectly good reason for that choice, I must fix it so you shall see the public in private. It can be done, you know.”

“Of coursey,” chuckled Judith. “Trust Jane for that. She would call out the secret service, and we might all go in a regular presidential retinue, with the good-looking slim detectives at our heels.”

“Monkey,” Jane administered, “don’t go putting such nonsense into Helen’s curly head. No such thing, Helen. We may go to a theatre quite as privately as we went to the florists. Wait until you see how nicely I shall arrange it.”

Helen evidently considered it would be rude for her to object, nevertheless it was clear to both girls she would have felt better to be allowed to decline Jane’s ardent invitation. The fact that theatre parties had been taboo, on account of Helen’s reticence, had given the Wellington lassies some annoyance. Jane and Judith both wanted to see good plays.

“Was the surprise something to eat, Janie?” asked Judith as they entered the dimly lighted dining room. One end of the long table had been taken over by one trio, while down the board in groups of twos, students and transients, were either partaking of or arranging their “individual” meals. Each girl did her own cooking and serving, unless she shared the task with a friend on the “co-op,” this being short for co-operative plan.

“Well, we did fetch some choice tid-bits,” Jane acknowledged, “and my paper bag broke, spilling the loveliest gooy-goo eclairs. Tim, the elevator boy, looked at me first fiercely, then as he scented the mix-up he smiled and——”

“Since then he has licked it up,” contributed the irrepressible Judith. “I don’t blame him. Yum—yum, Jane, you are a born housekeeper. You may have my next shift.”

“Judith Stearns, if you attempt to duck your household responsibility once more we shall expel you. See if we don’t. I have a mind right now to curtail your rations, and make you eat your pie without cheese.”

“Spare me,” pleaded Judith, “I might manage meat without spuds, but pie without cheese——”

Helen was enjoying the persiflage and serving her savory dishes at the same time. A well-balanced menu was the pride of Jane and her housekeeping. She had taken one course in domestic science, and the knowledge thus acquired she was trying on, as Judith put it.

“Think of home-made baked potatoes!” Jane exclaimed, as Helen untied the dainty little linen cover that hid the important vitamine dish.

“Oh, yes, and I will eat all the skin, Jane, so don’t trouble to admonish me. I know the salts are in the skin, and I need the vitamines.”

“What you need more than vits, Judy, are calories. You plainly need energy. As I recall the lesson, it says, an average person requires from two thousand three hundred, to three thousand five hundred calories daily. The lesser amount is given to desk workers, and the greater to the manuals, but as you are neither I should say you might need five thousand daily, then we might reasonably expect you to do your own K. P., all of which sounds like a Liberty Loan speech, doesn’t it?”

“Janie Allen, since you are so expert, maybe you know that you require absolutely no carbohydrates. You are too sweet for anything in that stunning flannel check. I have always known that gray and pink make a perfectly wonderful picture, when done on a background of a good sized check. Now your gray eyes, and your pink cheeks——”

“Fen, fen, no fair,” begged Jane. “You are mixing your standards. This is a domestic science lesson. You may thank Helen for these goodies.” Helen was proudly “serving” from a particularly savory casserole.

“Oh, indeed not. Jane chose the menu,” Helen amended. “And our caterer knows us so well now, he always gives us the best.”

“That’s just the way, blessings brighten as they banish, and we are on our way to Wellington. But, Helen, I want to learn a few more Polish words. I am going to count them in on my foreign language list. I flunked in French, that is, I lost two points. Now what do you call meat in Polish?”

“Just meat is ‘mieso,’ but there are kinds of meat——”

“Oh, one kind will do me. And what is butter?”

“Butter is ‘malso.’”

“And bread? I should have to have bread.”

“Bread is ‘chleb.’”

“Then here is my order in a foreign tongue—with personal service of course. That’s the kind you get where they make the pancakes in windows,” and Judith took her share of the casserole supply.

“I shall order this way: Donnez-moi sil vous plait, une morceau de chleb, une hunk of mieso, and one ball of malso. There, does not that embrace three perfectly good languages?” asked Judith.

Helen laughed merrily at Judith’s absurd mixture. “It would be very funny if they served you that way. The flavors would be very mixed,” she said archly.

“Yes, Judy, you would get an allied menu. Better, I think, to win each battle separately, and eat in each country as you go along. Personally, I have a weakness for ‘grub and chow.’ After that selection I make it civilized to the extent of three courses but never five. You see, we have three, Judy. You may have your dessert this time also.”

Helen seemed preoccupied, and in spite of the chatter she stopped often and looked intently at Jane. Finally Judith, vanquishing the very last of her eclair, asked teasingly:

“What’s on your mind, Helen dear? Met any more big men with long whiskers?”

Too late Jane’s tug at Judith’s skirt. Helen dropped knife and fork, and blinked to keep back tears.

“Now, Helen dear, I did not mean to make you feel badly. You know, I really like big, foreign-looking men, and I had no idea of ridiculing them,” Judith sobered up instantly.

“Oh, it is not that, my friends, but I want to tell you so much. Sometimes I think, what do you think of me? Then again I say, I must try to make plain——”

“No, you must not, indeed,” Jane assured her. “Don’t worry your head about what we think, when you know it must be something very nice. We like you and you like us, so why should we go digging up old matters? When you want to tell us more about yourself we shall be very interested, but until you feel like it, we are perfectly content.”

Helen’s eyes still seemed about to overflow. Never had she looked so small and helpless, and she now displayed that attitude of diffidence, peculiar to foreigners. Years of oppression leave their indent upon such impressionable characters, and Helka Podonsky, at that moment harked back, body and soul, to her untold life somewhere in Poland.

“Oh, thank you. I know how kind you are,” she murmured. “But it must seem very strange. You know I love my people, and I love my country. It is not that—but——”

“Oh, we know, Helen dear,” Judith tried to pacify. “And you must not think that because we are Americans, and have been born in these United States, we do not know of the hardships of other countries. And even here, Helen, we girls have plenty of troubles of our own, don’t we, Janie?”

“Indeed we do. Last year was not so bad at school, but when I came to Wellington first I was treated exactly like an outcast, except for Judith’s wonderful protection and influence. That is why you must trust us. We are determined you shall not suffer, as even a Western girl was made to. Why, if I had been a real cowboy, with all the trappings, they could not have been more hateful to me at first.”

Tactful Jane had hit upon this line of conversation to relieve the more personal trend. But Helen did not quite understand. Was Jane warning her?