Evening Republican, Volume 14, Number 307, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 27 December 1910 — Willful Cinderella [ARTICLE]

Willful Cinderella

By IZOLA FORRESTER

“When must I go back home?” demanded Bess suddenly as she turned from the window and faced the family. The question plainly disconcerted the family. Mrs. Dudley Graham tapped uneasily on the desk with her eyeglasses and regarded her unruly niece in puzzlement. Winifred frowned and sighed, but was silent. Only Billie remained unmoved, and it was at Billie that Bess looked. Lounging comfortably over in the window seat, he bent forward, stroking the tawny, glossy head of Bruce, his collie. The taming of Bess he had left entirely to his stepmother and sister ever since her arrival from Idaho. And it had not proved • a successful taming. “Understand me, Elizabeth,” began Mrs. Dudley Graham, with infinite tact and patience, “there is no real necessity for your returning to Idaho at all—” “Didn’t you just say it was the only future you could see for me, Aunt Honoria?” demanded Bess, eyes and tone belligerent. "I said if,” responded her aunt firmly. "Your position has changed materially within the past two/,.months. Before your father lost his fortune you were an assured success. Now, if you refuse to accept the changed conditions, the —er —responsibilities of your position—” "You mean if I refuse to marry a man I don’t give a rap for, just because it’s a bully chance and he’s a thundering good match.” Mrs. Dudley Graham raised deprecating shoulders, and shrank slightly from the tone and words; Bess was so uncompromisingly frank jn her point of view that the atmosphere at West Brooksmere suffered. So did the temper of its mistress. But she had accepted the responsibility of Bess and meant to fulfill it to the letter. “Listen, dear,” she began; “this change has happened so suddenly that it is quite natural you should not realize your position. Three years ago your father was the richest silver mine owner In Idaho. The panic came—” “Oh, don’t drag that poor old panic into it, auntie,” interposed Bess, pushing back her brown curls restlessly. “Dad was speculating long before that happened. He wasn’t satisfied with the ranch and just plenty: He went in over his head and swamped everything. Why not tell the truth? New there’s nothing left but the ranch, is there, and the stock?” “Oh, there’s a little bit more.” Billie spoke up for the first time, in his lazy, nonchalant way. “About fifty thousand. Enough for you to be interesting still to Hartley Chambers." “Well, I don’t care whether’s fifty thousand or fifty cents, I won’t marry Mr. Chambers. I'd rather go home tonight.” “Bess, you’re a perfect little idiot,” said Winifred, with sudden fury. "Whether you love Hartley or not, you might at least have sense enough to see that it is a compliment for a man in his position even to want to marry a girl out 'of the west like you—” Bess leaned back her head and laughed merrily, her eyes full of mischief. “He doesn’t love me, Winnie. Poor fellow, he’s simply letting Aunt Honoria here herd him into the corral to be roped and branded. That’s why I wouldn’t marry him—one of the reasons. He’s too tame. He doesn’t even put up a fight. He isn’t worth even Aunt Honoria’s trouble.” Right at this interesting moment in the family council the curtains parted at the end of the room and Barton announced Mr. Hartley Chambers, and from the amused gleam in Mr. Chambers’s gray eyes as he took in the situation it would appear that the last ringing remarks of Bess had reached his ears. But Bess cared not. Tall and dauntless, she arose and cast the burden of the strain on the rest of the company. “I’m going for a ride, auntie,” she announced. “Coming, Bill?” "Where to?” asked Bill the indolent. “Miss Collier owes me a ride,” said Hartley Chambers deliberately. “Since we are to lose her so soon I shall have to claim it. Condolences, Billie.” Billie shrugged his shoulders and grinned sympathetically. He did not envy Mr. Chambers that ride with the girl front Idaho. Scornful, mischievous, daring, she had accepted the challenge; and it was a challenge. She knew he had heard her words, and yet he held her to her promise. Very well. She would ride with him. And the three remaining members of the family council stood in silence for a full five minutes after the departure of the two. Then, as her mother left the room, Winifred suddenly sank down in a chair and laid her head on her folded arms on the table. Billie whistled softly to himself —waiting. He was only twenty-two, but he was very wise, especially in the ways of West Brooksmere. And in his boyish way he was mighty proud and fond of this tall-clear-eyed, blonde sister. “Say, Win, you like Hartley, don’t you?” he asked suddenly. Winifred lifted a flushed, tearstained face. “Billie, there are times when I hate you.” “Perzactly,” laughed Billie. “When I tell the truth as Bess does. I like that girl. Win, even if you and the mater do think she’s an irresponsible kid. It I were twenty-five Instead of

just starting in, I’d set old Hart a pace.” Out on the open road that led hillward it did not appear that “old Hart” needed a pacesetter. He was doing very well alone. For perhaps the first time in her lively life, Bess was silent and listening attentively. Once or twice' a quick flush swept over her face and left it, despite its youth, full of a certain womanliness and serious intent. “But how do you know?” she demanded suddenly. “He has never said one single word,” “How do you know?” smiled back Chambers. “I have never spoken one word to her.” And Bess laughed a low, joyous laugh, and bent low over her horse’s neck, as a sweeping willow branch came below her hat brim with a soft swish. “Love is blind, isn’t it?” she said. “As a bat,* 1 "' replied Chambers, cheerfully. “And the trouble is, we let pleasant old ladies like —well, like somebody we both know, manage the outward view for us. Now, listen to a sage. Billie’s a youngster, and he’s facing college. It -won’t do him any good. What he needs is the fresh toning up that only life out west would give him. He’s an anomaly that sometimes happens here in this eastern society of ours. He’s a primitive, earnest, overgrown cub, with big ideals and great intentions, and he hates the life here. Another thing, he has a couple of elder brothers ahead of him already entering the business game. It’s up to Billie to make good himself, somehow. He won’t do it, loafing around on a football team as halfback, and running a swell “frat” suite for four years. I’m going back to ask Winifred to be my wife. Can’t you manage Billie?” “Manage Billie?” She lifted bewildered eyes to his. “Take him west with you. You don’t like it here. I saw you were homesick, weeks ago, when you first came out. Let the boy tell you what he’s longing to, and take him back with you, and find happiness in God’s country, while you’re both unspoiled youngsters.” Bess rode along silently. She was eighteen, and as she listened to the even, kindly voice beside her, she felt even ten years less. Instead of the low Westchester rolling land, she saw the home ranch, circled by mountain peaks and purple haze that wreathed the foothills, miles upon miles of rich, primeval country, waiting for the newer blood, for newer hopes to stand by it, and believe in its promise. And she thought of the look in Billie’s eyes when she told him of the land she loved. But she said no more. When they rode up to the broad portico, Chambers dismounted, and she watched him as he strolled leisurely along the smooth walks to where Winifred stood, white-clad and fair-haired, gathering the chrysanthemum blooms. Bess stood with one small-booted foot resting on the first step, striking at a clump of ferns with her whip—and thinking. Suddenly came Billie’s voice from the veranda rail overhead. . “Well?” She did not look up. “Is it to be Mrs. Hartley Chambers?” She could have laughed from sheer happiness pt the wretchedness in the boy’s voice. “I don’t blame you,” he went on. '“Any girl would choose this if she had the chance in preference to an Idaho ranch. Of course, the mater is your own aunt, and my stepmother, so I suppose I’m prejudiced against her good advice. But if I dared —’’ Then Bess looked up at him. “Coward,” she whispered. I dare you.” He stared at her for a moment, then took the railing at one spring, crushing the ferns and flowers, and landing beside her, with a new-born authority about his voice and manner. “Bess,” he demanded, “have you refused Hartley?” Bess laughed. "Billie, Billie boy, if you aren’t just like a stumbling cub broncho! He never asked me to marry him. He’s talking it over with Winifred this minute. I’m going back to Idaho—” “And I’m going with you.” Billie’s tone was low. He caught her to him almost roughly. “Bess, look at me.” “I won’t!” She struggled rebelliously. “Billie, don’t. They’ll see you—” "They?” Billie retorted triumphantly. “They’re too busy, themselves!” Mrs. Dudley Graham, on the second verandah above, bent forward to catch the next words, but everything wa* very quiet. She adjusted her eyeglasses thoughtfully, and smiled. Even a willful Cinderella may be disciplined by the right prince.