We Save Evelina May

by Elizabeth Jordan

WE SAVE EVELINA MAY

By Elizabeth Jordan

THIS is the story of how we girls at St. Monica's Academy saved our dear classmate, Evelina May Vanderwater, from dire poverty, and of what happened after we did it.

It will be very exciting, with a great many climaxes in it. I have always wanted to write that kind of story, and once I asked Sister Seraphica, who criticizes our essays and teaches us rhetoric, why someone did not write a story that was climax from beginning to end, instead of just working one up to a dramatic finish the way most of them do. Sister Seraphica said something about such a thing not being in accordance with the rules of literary art, whatever that means; but she did not convince me. For somehow, though I am only fourteen years old and perhaps have things yet to learn about literature, I felt 'most sure it could be done. And now I know it can, for here it is. If this doesn't convince Sister Seraphica and the gentle reader, I don't know what will.

It has taught me something, too, about critics. Critics are people who are always thinking you cannot do things because they know they cannot. I hope a great many of them will sink into a reverential silence after they read this story.

There is one climax to begin with. "The goods follow," as Evelina May's father always used to telegraph her when she wrote and asked him for boxes of things.

Mr. Vanderwater was a very rich man indeed, and Evelina May was his only child, so he spoiled her dreadfully. We girls used to feel quite sad about seeing her lovely nature warped, as real writers would say, but we felt more reconciled and cheerful as time passed; for Evelina May always shared her boxes with us and we saw that she was thus learning beautiful lessons in unselfishness and generosity. Sometimes, after we had all had things from Evelina May's box, there wasn't anything left for her. Then she would telegraph to her father to send more, and he always did, right away; but, of course, Evelina May had to wait till it came, and that taught her patience, too.

All this brings me right straight to another climax, for only last month, just before Christmas, we learned that Evelina May's father would never again send her great boxes of dresses and jams and pickles and cheques for hundreds of dollars, the way he used to do. Evelina May's father had failed! And Evelina May, instead of being the richest girl at St. Monica's Academy and one of the richest girls in America, was now very, very poor and could never again ask her dear father for more money, and perhaps would have to leave school.

The gentle reader may stop here to breathe while I think of what to say next. I guess Sister Seraphica will be surprised when she sees two climaxes as soon as this. I will now continue without calling attention to any more climaxes, but I hope the gentle reader will watch for them and not miss them when they come.

It was Nettie Chapman who first read the dire news about Mr. Vanderwater. We have class talks every week on current events and we are supposed to read between times "all the news that's fit to print," and discuss it intelligently with Sister Seraphica. So sometimes we read the newspapers very carefully and find out all about the trusts and strikes and how no public official is fit for his great responsibilities; and then again sometimes we forget and just read about the monkey dinners at Newport and the clothes society leaders are wearing. Well do I remember, for instance, the sad, sad morn when Sister Seraphica asked Nettie Chapman what impressed her most in the week's events, and Nettie spoke right up and said it was Mrs. Waldorf's gown at the Charity Ball, because the front breadths were all white silk and the back breadths were all black silk. And Nettie said she had been wondering ever since she read it how people knew whether Mrs. Waldorf was going to the ball or coming away. Sister Seraphica frowned, and no wonder, for it was indeed all too characteristic of our frivolous friend Nettie to fasten her mind on a silly thing like that, and waste the golden hours of her school days trying to think it out, when all the time we are surrounded by the grim mysteries and terrible responsibilities of vital, throbbing human life. That about "vital, throbbing human life" comes from a book Nettie lent me.

However, this particular morning Nettie was really reading the news, and she was perched up in a window-seat in her room, and Emily Paxton and Hope Murray and I were with her. We were all studying—even Hope Murray, for a wonder. Hope is not a studious and thoughtful girl, like the rest of us, but she has a lovely nature and makes the best fudge in school.

The room was very quiet. All of a sudden I heard Nettie gasp, and when I looked at her the paper had fallen into her lap and her hands were trembling, and she was staring at us as if her eyes were coming out of her head. We all jumped up, but before we could speak Nettie gasped out her terrible message.

"Oh, girls," she said, "Evelina May Vanderwater's father has failed!"

Then we rushed for the paper and Emily took it and Hope and I looked over her shoulders, and we saw a great black headline like this going clear across the page:

 

WILLIAM GEORGE VANDERWATER SENT TO THE WALL

 

Under it there were more lines telling how Mr. Vanderwater had tried to "force a corner" in wheat and "the market had fallen on him" and "flattened him out." Hope thought that must be the worst of all, to have him crushed flat, and she wondered if he would die; but the rest of us knew it was only a figure of speech, though, of course, we did not have time just then to point out the dear child's error. We were all dreadfully shocked, but Emily began to look thoughtful right away and I could see that she was thinking hard. It made me feel better, for I knew that if Emily Paxton set her mind to it something would soon happen—which was, indeed, the case, as you will see when you read on.

Nellie and Hope and I began to talk, of course, and Nettie said doubtless Evelina May would have to leave school right off and go to work, and we tried to think what she could do. It was very hard, for Evelina May, though she is indeed the noblest of us all now, owing to the splendid training we gave her in unselfishness, is not gifted as we are, so we could not think how she could earn any money.

I said how lovely it would be if she could go to Mr. Vanderwater and say: "Father, weep no more. See these willing hands. They will work to the bone for you and yours, and you shall miss none of the luxuries to which you have been accustomed. You have borne the heat and burden of the day long enough. 'Tis my turn now.' And then she would support him and her mother the rest of their lives. But when I got this far I got anxious, for I couldn't see just how Evelina May could support them. Then Hope Murray spoke up and asked if it wouldn't be perfectly beautiful if it turned out that Evelina May had been saving money all this time and had a big bag of gold hidden away, and could take it to her father and say: "See what I have laid aside for a rainy day. Take it and save your fortune."

Even Emily looked up for a moment when Hope said that, but her face fell again when Nettie groaned and said she knew Evelina May hadn't saved a cent, because Evelina had borrowed two dollars from Ada Thorne that very morning and told Ada she was down to her last penny and must telegraph her father. Then we remembered that Evelina May had given about ten "spreads" within three weeks. They were expensive, too, because she always asked the whole class and let them bring their friends in other classes, too, if they wanted to. Of course they always did want to, so the spreads cost Evelina May a great deal. Thus that bright dream faded, as the poet says—I mean the bright dream about Evelina May having any money saved, and we all sank once more into an awful abyss of black despair.

All this time Emily had kept on thinking and thinking and had not said a word; and none of us disturbed her, because we wanted to save Mr. Vanderwater and Evelina May, and we knew she could do it if anyone could. But pretty soon Emily murmured, with a long sigh:

"We can do nothing for the father, alas! It is Evelina May we must consider now." Then she went on to say that probably Evelina May would have to leave St. Monica's at Christmas, as her bills, like ours, were only paid till then. Emily groaned, she felt so dreadfully, and said: "What shall we do? What shall we do?"

Hope Murray asked if we couldn't pay the rest of the bill for the year. She said she was 'most sure her father would give her a hundred dollars toward it, for Hope's father is quite "affluent," whatever that means. But Emily said that would hardly do, because in the first place Evelina May would not take it from us, and in the second place, perhaps we couldn't all get the money. Most of the girls at St. Monica's are rich, for it is an expensive school, but we haven't very large allowances, as the nuns do not approve of such things. Emily said she was afraid she couldn't contribute as much as she wanted to, for at vacation time she had heard her father say his income could no longer bear the strain of his son's repeated demands. Emily's brother is in the army, and I guess he spends a great deal and perhaps has some bad habits. That made me remember it was all too possible that my father might not have a whole hundred dollars to spare, either. I bowed my head in grief and so did Nettie, for the same reasons.

All this time the nasty little clock in Nettie's room kept ticking off minutes, showing how time was flying. We were afraid Evelina May might come in and weep on our necks, and we would have, alas! no beacon light of hope to point out to her. Just as I was getting discouraged Ada Thorne burst into the room and said had we heard the news, and wasn't it a mercy Evelina May had gone to spend the day with a friend in the town near St. Monica's? Then we all drew long breaths and felt better, because, of course, with Evelina May away we had lots more time to plan her future and decide what she was to do.

The next instant Emily jumped to her feet as if someone had touched a button and she had done the rest, and she clapped her hands and said, "I have it!" and her eyes filled with tears, she was so pleased.

Emily is an emotional girl, but I will add hurriedly that she sheds tears of joy just as quickly over the nice things you do as over the nice things she does. Oft have I observed this when she has been listening to my stories: so you can see she has a noble nature.

Well, of course, we crowded round her and Emily calmed down and got dignified and kind of queenly, the way she does when she is very serious, and began to tell us her plan. She said at any cost we must keep Evelina May at school the rest of the year, and Nettie spoke right up and said the cost would be about four hundred and fifty dollars. She had figured it all out with a pencil on her bureau-cover. Emily went on to say it would not do to offer Evelina May money, even if we had it; we must consider her pride and her self-respect, and we must help her to help herself. Then Emily said very slowly and impressively that she had discovered how it could be done, and that her plan was to have an auction sale of all Evelina May's things that very day. She said we could have the whole school come and buy them, and then give the money to Evelina May when she came back broken-hearted that night. Emily said we could make quite a little party of it in the evening and have a presentation speech when we gave Evelina May the money, and then sit back and watch her gratitude and joy. Then Emily cried again, she was so excited, and a big lump came into my own throat as I thought of poor Evelina May staggering home in the blackness of her terrible grief and getting right into the sunshine of our love and foresight as soon as she reached St, Monica's.

Wasn't the way I put that nice? I wrote it over and over, for somebody says something about condemning those lines that haven't been revised, so I always do.

We went into executive session right away, for there were many things to do, as you can imagine. We decided to go to Evelina May's rooms first—she has two, a little sitting-room and a bedroom—and to examine all her things and make lists of them, and select those that would sell the best. There are more than four hundred quite grown-up girls at St. Monica's—between ten and seventeen, I mean—and Emily pointed out that if each one bought something for a dollar Evelina May could stay at school. But of course we knew a great many would buy more than that, and Emily added that perhaps there would be enough left to help Mr. Vanderwater, too.

Well, we all trooped into Evelina May's rooms and, as I am a literary artist and strive to write about things as they are, I will admit right here that it was fun going through Evelina May's things. She had such lots and lots, and they were so pretty. A great many of them we hadn't even seen, for Evelina May had so many dresses she couldn't possibly wear them all. It took a great deal of time to examine everything, especially as we kept trying on gowns and jackets to see if they would fit if we wanted to buy them for ourselves. We were very, very sad when we began, but we cheered up a lot; for of course, as Nettie pointed out, there wasn't so much to be sad about now we knew that Evelina May was to be saved.

Finally we got through and made lists of everything in a very business-like way. Emily made us do that. I am afraid we might not have thought of it. Then we wrote a big card like this:

 

PRIVATE AND EXTRAORDINARY SALE

A SALE OF CLOTHES, JEWELRY, BRIC-À-BRAC AND FURNITURE WILL BE HELD THIS AFTERNOON IN ROOM 206, IN BEHALF OF EVELINA MAY VANDERWATER, BECAUSE HER FATHER HAS FAILED. IT WILL BEGIN AT FOUR O'CLOCK AND LAST ONE HOUR. COME ONE, COME ALL, AND BRING ALL YOUR MONEY! THIS SALE IS FOR A NOBLE PURPOSE

 

Of course we had not time to write out many of these, but we made half a dozen and then we went out to show them to all the girls in school and explain our plan. It was a holiday, which shows how in every way Providence seemed to have tempered the wind to poor Evelina May. If it hadn't been a holiday we wouldn't have had time to do all this for her. Who, in the presence of such proof, could deny that the undevout astronomer is mad! We have that sentence in our rhetoric.

Well, most of the girls had heard the news about Evelina May's father, and they were interested in the sale, of course. They came running right off to buy things, but we had to send them away, for we were not ready. We were going to auction everything off, and Emily had to write out a little speech and learn it by heart. It was very sad. I cried quarts over it, I guess, and so did Emily. As soon as I heard it—Emily tried it on me first—I made up my mind to spend every cent I had, and I went right back to my room and got the five dollars I had left in my drawer. I had thought I might need it, and I guess I would have, too, had things—but we anticipate, as real writers say.

At four the girls came trooping back, with their hands full of money. They had to come quietly, of course, and we had to have sales in all our rooms as well as in Evelina May's, on account of the crowd. So Emily took charge of the clothes, and I said I'd sell Evelina's jewelry in my room, and Nettie took all her underwear.

Of course we didn't let the Sisters know a thing about it—not that we blushed for our noble act, but because grown-ups are so queer they don't always seem to know when acts are noble! And we had not time to waste explaining things to adult minds. When we are together we catch things like a flash, but when we talk to the Sisters we have to explain and explain, and often they don't see even then. Besides, they 'most always want to waste our time explaining things themselves. So, as I said before, we just didn't tell them anything about it.

All this time I've left those poor girls, with their money, waiting to buy Evelina May's things. That was rude of me, but I have discovered much since I began to practice writing stories, and one thing is that it is dreadfully hard to keep to the point. You think of other things and then of others, and you ramble on and on— Why, once when I was a mere beginner, 'most six months ago, I began to write a story about a classmate who died of brain fever—not one of us has dared to study much since then—and when I got through the story was all about the "Lover's Leap" rock that hangs over our river, and the Indian maiden who jumped from it and perished on a cold, starlight night. Poor Fannie wasn't in the story at all, after the first few pages. Fannie was the girl who worked so hard and died, and sometimes she sat on the rock to study. I think that was what started me about the rock and the Indian girl, and it was so interesting I couldn't get back to Fannie. What a power is love in this weary world!

Now I've got to read this story all over to find where I was, or it will be about Zulieka, too. Zulieka was the beautiful Indian maiden. I don't know how to return to Evelina May in any subtle way, as Henry James would, so I'll just return.

The girls were all there at four o'clock, with every cent of their money, and the sale began. Emily came to each room and made her little speech, and it was so impressive and touching that when she stopped most of the girls wanted to leave their money for Evelina May and go away without anything. But Emily showed them that would not be businesslike, so they calmed down and began to try on hats and select the things they liked best. It was lots of fun, and the queerest things happened. The girl Evelina May disliked the most of all those at school bought her very nicest Paris hat—and got it for three dollars, too. For when the girls really grew interested, of course they wanted to make their money go as far as it could, so they didn't bid large sums.

None of Evelina May's dresses would fit me, so I bought jewelry and bric-à-brac. I bought a beautiful Russian chain for two dollars and fifty cents, and an emerald ring for five dollars. The prices seemed low, but of course we didn't know what Mr. Vanderwater had paid for the things; and, as Emily pointed out, there are times when a loaf of bread is worth all the jewelry in the world—like when one is stranded on a desert island, you know, with no food, and bags and bags of pearls and yellow gold.

So the girls bought and bought and bought. They would stagger down the halls to their own rooms carrying armfuls of Evelina May's dresses and hats, and her chairs and pictures and vases, and even her bath-robes and shoes and slippers. I thought we ought to leave some things for her, but Emily said no, we must get all the money we could and Evelina May could wear our things the rest of the year. So the sale went right on. Of course some of the Sisters met us in the halls carrying things, but we are always borrowing each other's furniture for "spreads," so I guess they thought it was something of that kind.

By six o'clock everything was sold and Evelina May's rooms looked like the study-halls the morning after a holiday. Isn't that a clever way of saying there was nothing in them? I am always so glad when I think of things like that, which lend such charm to literary style.

We left Evelina May her bed and her toothbrush, but that was all. She had a polished floor, and her rugs were sold. When we counted up the money we had exactly four hundred and fifty-two dollars and sixty-three cents—enough, you see, to keep Evelina May in school all year, and perhaps help her poor father, too. The girls gave three cheers when Emily announced this glorious result. Then they went off, for I guess they were tired.

After it was over we five—Emily, Nettie, Hope, Ada and I—met in Evelina May's rooms to talk about it. They did look queer! Even the curtains were gone, and of course there were no chairs, so three sat on the bed and Emily and I sat on the floor. We were tired, but we were proud and happy, too. Verily, virtue is its own reward.

Suddenly the door opened and Evelina May entered. She had a telegram in her hand, so we saw at once that she must know the terrible truth about her father, but she smiled bravely as we jumped up and rushed to her and put our arms around her and cried. We all cried—we were so tired and happy.

Evelina May just patted our backs and said, "Why, girls, girls—you dear girls." But even as she spoke I saw her eyes roaming around the empty room, and I could see that she thought she must have blundered into the wrong place by mistake. Then she began to look frightened and queer.

Of course we hadn't meant to have it happen that way at all. We had intended to meet her when she got back, and take her to our own rooms, and make a little speech and give her the money. But the girl who had promised to watch for her and tell us when she came was so busy trying on Evelina May's clothes in her own room that she forgot all about her great responsibility. Sometimes the young are indeed heedless. So that was why Evelina May came right in.

I saw Emily wipe her eyes and begin to act queerly, so I hoped all would yet be well. But even Emily seemed to lose her head, for, instead of leading up to it with a little speech, she picked up all the money—it lay on the bed—and stuffed it into Evelina May's hands and burst out crying again. Then we all joined in, for the artistic nature is emotional, and we all have some of it. I have most of all, so I cried loudest; but just the same I was looking at Evelina May to see what she would do.

What she did was to take Emily by the shoulders and shake her good and hard. She had stopped smiling, and she began to look white and queer about the mouth. She had lots of photographs of her father, and just then she looked exactly like him. Her lips were a straight line and her eyes fairly pierced us. They were as cold as pieces of ice.

"What does this mean?" she said. "What have you done?"

Her voice made me shiver, but I spoke right up. For the very first time it occurred to me that perhaps Evelina May would not like what we had done.

"It is because we love you so much, Evelina May," I said. "And we were sorry your father failed, and we wanted to help you. So we—we sold all your things, and here is the money. Now you won't have to leave school."

It was not an eloquent speech, like the one Emily had ready, but, after all, it had what our history teacher calls "the salient points." Evelina May dropped her hands from Emily's shoulders and staggered back against the wall and dropped all the money on the floor as she did it. No one picked it up. Somehow the surprise for Evelina May was turning out all wrong, and we saw this and cried harder than ever. But the whole time I kept one eye on Evelina May. It is my artistic temperament that makes me so observant. Her eyes kept getting smaller and her forehead got creased, and she stared very slowly around the room. She was taking everything in and thinking hard.

AH of a sudden her face cleared, and she smiled again and came toward me with a rush.

"Oh, you dears!" she said. "You dears! I see it all now. You meant to be kind!"

Then she kissed me and I kissed her, and the other girls fell on us in a bunch, and everybody talked at once. Evelina May kept trying to say something, but nobody heard it, for we were all telling her about the auction, and no one could hear anything but her own voice. At last Evelina May backed against the wall again and put her fingers in her ears and shook her head at us; and after she had done that for a while we saw she wanted us to stop talking. We didn't at first, for I guess everyone hoped the others would stop and let her tell the story. But finally I stopped and pushed Emily in front of Evelina May and signed to the others to be quiet, and a great silence fell, as Stevenson says. Then Emily told everything as well as she could, and when she got through Evelina May kissed us all again, and for the first time she cried a little.

"You're just as good as you can be, every blessed one of you," said Evelina May. "And I shall never forget it. But, girls, I've got glorious news. It's all a mistake. Papa hasn't failed at all. Here, read his telegram." And we read it:

 

Pay no attention to false reports in morning papers. Had a close shave, but your Uncle Jack and others jumped in and helped me, and tonight Vanderwater & Co. are stronger than ever. Give the class a spread to celebrate.

 

For just a moment we all had that tired feeling the newspapers talk about—the kind you get when you know you've been silly. Emily said faintly that of course we could buy Evelina's things back, but Evelina May only laughed.

"Yes," she said, "I'd like a few of those that have associations. It doesn't matter about the rest. Papa will love to buy more." Then her eyes twinkled in the cutest way and she said, "Let's forget all but the kindness—and let's plan for the 'spread.’"

We did, and we had it, and Emily Paxton spent two days in the infirmary after it. But I won't speak of that, as this story ends so happily.