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Dorothy Dale In The City

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<h2 id="c13">CHAPTER XIII THE SHOPPING TOUR</h2> “I guess I’ll wear my skating cap, the wind blows so on top of those ’buses,” remarked Tavia, as she and Dorothy prepared to go downtown to see the shops. It was their second day in New York. “And I’ll wear my fur cap,” Dorothy announced, “as that sticks on so well. It is windy to-day.” “Wasn’t it too funny about the little boys? I do believe if that janitor had caught them he would have punished them somehow. The idea of their kite dropping around the neck of the old gentleman on the next floor! I should have given anything to see the fun,” and Tavia laughed at the thought. “The poor old gentleman,” Dorothy reflected. “To think he was not safe taking the air on his own balcony. I was afraid that Ned would be blamed. Then our apartment would be marked as something dangerous. But Aunt Winnie fixed it all right. Janitors love small change.” <div class="pb" id="Page_119">[119]</div> “Most people do,” Tavia agreed. “I hope we find things cheap in New York. I do want so many odds and ends.” “It will be quite an experience for us to go all alone,” Dorothy said. “We will have to be careful not to—break any laws.” “Or any bric-a-brac,” added Tavia. “Some of those men we saw coming up looked to me like statues. I wonder anyone could enjoy life and be so stiff and statuesque.” “We will see some strange things, I am sure,” Dorothy said. “I’m ready. Wait. I guess I’ll take my handbag. We may want to carry some little things home.” “And I’ll take your silk bag if you don’t mind,” Tavia spoke. “I did not bring any along.” So, after accepting all sorts of warnings from Ned and Mrs. White, each declaring that young girls had to be very well behaved, and very careful in such a large city, the two companions started off for their first day’s shopping. Climbing up the little winding steps to the top of the Fifth Avenue ’bus Tavia dropped her muff. Of course a young fellow, with a fuzzy-wuzzy sort of a hat, caught it—on the hat. Tavia was plainly embarrassed, and Dorothy blushed. But it must be said that the young man with the velvet hat only looked at Tavia once and that was when he handed her muff up to her. <div class="pb" id="Page_120">[120]</div> On top of the ’bus, away from the crowd (for they were alone up there), Dorothy and Tavia gave in to the laughter that was stifling them. They knew something would happen and it had, promptly. “Perhaps that is why they wear such broad-brimmed hats,” Dorothy remarked, “to catch things.” Soon an elderly woman puffed up the steps. She was so done up in furs she could not get her breath outside of them. Tavia and Dorothy took a double seat nearer the front, to allow the lady room near the steps. “Oh, my! Thank you,” gasped the lady who had a little dog in her muff. “It does do one up so to climb steps!” The country girls conversed in glances. They had read about dogs on strings, but had never heard of dogs in muffs. “Lucky that muff did not drop,” Dorothy said, in a whisper. “I fancy the little dog would not like it.” “I wish it had,” Tavia confessed. “The idea of a woman, who fairly has to crawl, carrying a dog with her.” <div class="pb" id="Page_121">[121]</div> Once settled, the woman and the dog no longer interested our young friends. There were the boys on the street corners with their trays of violets; there were the wonderful mansions with so many sets of curtains that one might wonder how daylight ever penetrated; there were the taxicabs floating along like a new species of big bird; then the private auto conveyances—with orchids in hanging glasses! No wonder that Dorothy and Tavia scarcely spoke a word as they rode along. There is only one New York. And perhaps the most interesting part of it is that which shows how real people live there. “I wonder who’s cooking there now,” misquoted Tavia, as she got a peek into an open door that seemed to lead to nowhere in particular. “Can you imagine people living in such closed-in quarters?” Dorothy remarked, “I should think they would become—canned.” “They don’t live there,—they only sleep there,” Tavia disclosed, with a show of pride. “I do not believe a single person along here ever eats a meal in his or her house. They all go out to hotels.” “But they can’t take the babies,” said Dorothy. “I often wonder what becomes of the babies after dark, when the parks are not so attractive.” “Do you really suppose that people do live in those vaults?” musingly asked Tavia. “I should think they would smother.” “We can’t see the back yards,” Dorothy suggested. “Perhaps New York is like ancient Rome—all walls and back yards.” <div class="pb" id="Page_122">[122]</div> “But the fountains,” exclaimed Tavia, “where are they?” “There are sunken gardens behind those walls, I imagine,” explained Dorothy, “and they must be there.” For some moments neither spoke further. The ’bus rattled along and as they neared Thirty-fourth Street stops were made more frequently. <div class="fig">> <ANTIMG src="images/fig0.jpg" alt="THE ’BUS RATTLED ALONG AS THEY NEARED THIRTY-FOURTH STREET." width-obs="502" height-obs="783" /> THE ’BUS RATTLED ALONG AS THEY NEARED THIRTY-FOURTH STREET. </div> “We will get off at the next corner,” Dorothy told Tavia, “I know of one big store up here.” They climbed down the narrow, winding stairs and with a bound were in the midst of the Fifth Avenue shopping crowd. Dorothy shivered under her furs. “Where,” she asked, “do all the flowers come from? No one in the country ever sees flowers in the winter, and here they are blooming like spring time.” “Do you feel peculiar?” demanded Tavia, stopping suddenly. “Why, no,” answered Dorothy innocently; “do you?” “I feel just as if I needed a—nosegay,” said Tavia, laughing slily. “We’re not at all as dashing as we might be!” They purchased from a thinly-clad little boy two bunches of violets, sweetly scented, daintily tasseled—but made of silk! <div class="pb" id="Page_123">[123]</div> “The silkiness accounts for the always fresh and blooming violets,” Dorothy said ruefully. “Now, we look just like real New Yorkers.” “Now where is that store?” said Dorothy, looking about with a puzzled air. “I’m sure it was right over there.” “Isn’t that a store,” said Tavia, “where all those autos and carriages are?” “Where?” asked Dorothy, still bewildered. “Where the brown-liveried man is helping ladies out of carriages and things,” Tavia answered. “Oh,” said Dorothy meekly, “I thought that was a hotel!” If there was anything in the world more subduedly rich, or more quietly lavish, than the shop that Dorothy and Tavia entered, the girls from the country could not imagine it. The richest and most costly of all things for which the feminine heart yearns, were displayed here. For the first few moments the girls did not talk. They were silent with the wonder of the costliness on every side. Then Tavia said timidly: “Nothing has a price mark on!” “Hush!” whispered Dorothy, “they don’t have vulgar prices here. They only sell to persons who never ask prices.” “Oh!” said Tavia, with quick understanding, “however, dare me to ask that wonderful creature with the coiffure, the price of those finger bowls,” murmured Tavia, a yearning entering her soul to possess a priceless article. <div class="pb" id="Page_124">[124]</div> “What do you want with finger bowls?” asked Dorothy, mystified. “How do I know? I may yet need a finger bowl,” enigmatically responded Tavia, “maybe to plant a little fern in.” She handled the finger bowl tenderly. Dorothy, too, picked up a tiny brass horse, hammered in exquisite lines. “Isn’t this lovely!” she exclaimed. “It’s a wonderful piece of work,” admired Tavia, while she clung with intense yearning to the finger bowl. “How much are these, please?” Dorothy asked the saleswoman. The saleswoman carefully brushed back two stray locks that had escaped from their net, and gazing into space said: “Five dollars and Six dollars and ninety-seven cents.” Her attitude was slightly scornful at being asked the very common “how much.” The scorn was too much for Tavia’s spirit. She lifted her chin: “I’ll take two of each kind, if you please, send them C.O.D.,” and, giving her Riverside Drive address, Tavia, followed by Dorothy, turned and gracefully swayed from the counter, in grand imitation of an elegantly gowned young girl who had just purchased some brass, and had it charged. <div class="pb" id="Page_125">[125]</div> “Tavia, how awful!” gasped Dorothy. “Whatever will you do with those things!” “Send them back,” answered Tavia, with great recklessness, her chin still held high. Dorothy admitted that of course it wasn’t at all possible to back away from such a saleswoman, but she felt quite guilty about something. “We shouldn’t have yielded to our feelings,” she said gently, “it would, at best, have been only momentary humiliation.” “We’re in the wrong store,” said Tavia, decidedly, “I must see price signs that can be read a block away. This place is too exquisite!” “Isn’t this the dearest!” Dorothy darted to the handkerchief counter, and picked up a dainty bit of lace. Tavia gazed at the small lacy thing with rapt attention, cautiously trying to see some hidden mark to indicate the cost, but there was none. “Something finer than this, please,” queried Tavia, of the saleswoman, “it’s exquisite, Dorothy, but not just what I like, you see.” Dorothy kept a frightened pair of eyes downcast, as the saleswoman handed Tavia another lace handkerchief saying, with a genial smile: “Eighteen dollars.” Tavia held up the handkerchief critically: “And this one?” she asked, pointing to another. <div class="pb" id="Page_126">[126]</div> “Twelve dollars,” replied the saleswoman, all attention. “We must hurry on,” interposed Dorothy, grasping Tavia’s arm in sheer desperation, “there are so many other things, suppose we leave the handkerchiefs until last?” Critically Tavia fingered the costly bits of lace, as if unable to decide. Then she smiled artlessly at the saleswoman. “It’s hard to say, of course, we’re so rushed for time, but we’ll look at them again.” Together the girls hurried for the street door. “That was really New York style; wasn’t it?” triumphantly declared Tavia. “Never again will I submit to superior airs when I want to know the price.” “Hadn’t we better ask someone where stores are that sell goods with price marks on them?” laughingly asked Dorothy. They followed the crowd toward Broadway and Sixth Avenue. Gaily Tavia tripped along. She never had been happier in all her life. She loved the whirl and the people, and the never-ending air of gaiety. Dorothy liked it all, but it made her a bit weary; the festal air of the crowd did seem so meaningless. <div class="pb" id="Page_127">[127]</div> When they reached Sixth Avenue it took but an instant for both girls to pick out the most enticing shop and thither they hurried. It was brilliantly lighted, the gorgeous splendor was Oriental in its beauty, there was no quiet hidden loveliness about this store, it dazzled and charmed and it had price signs! Just nice little white signs, with dull red figures, not at all “screeching” at customers, but most useful to persons of limited means. One could tell with the merest glance just what counter to keep away from. A struggling mass of humanity, mostly women, were packed in tightly about one counter. The girls could not get closer than five feet, but patiently they stood waiting their turn to see what wonderful thing was on sale. It was Tavia’s first bargain rush, and for every elbow that was jammed into her ribs, she stepped on someone’s foot. Dorothy held her head high above the crowd to breathe. At last they reached the counter, and the bargains that all were frantically aiming to reach were saucepans at ten cents each. “After that struggle, we must get one, just for a memento of the bargain rush,” exclaimed Dorothy, crowding her muff under her arm. Something fell to the floor with a crash at the movement of Dorothy’s arm. Immediately there was great confusion, because, a little woman, flushed and greatly excited had cried out, “My purse! I beg your pardon madam, that is my purse you have!” <div class="pb" id="Page_128">[128]</div> The small, excited woman was clinging desperately to the arm of another woman, who towered above the crowd. “Why, that’s Miss Mingle!” cried Tavia to Dorothy. “Oh, Miss Mingle!” called out Dorothy. “Girls,” cried the little Glenwood teacher, excitedly, “this woman snatched my purse!” They were all too excited at the moment to find anything strange in thus meeting with one another. The big woman calmly surveyed the girls: “She, the blond one, knocked your purse down with her muff, I was goin’ to pick it up, that’s all. It’s under your feet now.” The woman slowly backed into the crowd. Dorothy’s eyes opened wide with wonder! The thing that had fallen had certainly made a crash! and the leather end sticking from the cuff of the woman’s fur coat sleeve surely looked like a purse! Dorothy gasped at the horror of it! What could she do? The woman was moving slowly farther and farther away. Miss Mingle stooped to the floor in search of the purse. As quick as a flash the woman slipped out of the crowd, as Miss Mingle loosened her hold. Amazed and horrified at the boldness of the theft, Dorothy for one instant stood undecided, then she sprang after the woman and faced her unflinchingly: <div class="pb" id="Page_129">[129]</div> “Give me that purse! It’s in the cuff of your coat sleeve!” The woman drew herself up indignantly, glared at Dorothy, and would have made an effort to get away, scornfully ignoring the girl who barred her path, when a store detective arrived on the spot. She, too, was a girl, modestly garbed in black. In a perfectly quiet voice she spoke to the woman. “These matters can always be settled at our office, madam. Come with me.” “The idea!” screamed the woman. “I never was insulted like this before! How dare you!” “There is nothing to scream about,” said the young detective, in her soft voice, “I’ve merely asked you to come to the office and talk it over. Isn’t that fair?” “Indeed, I’ll submit to nothing of the sort! A hard-working, honest woman like I am!” She made another effort to elude her accusers by a quick movement, but Dorothy kept close to one side and the store detective followed at the other. The woman stared stubbornly at the detective. Disgusted with the performance, Dorothy quietly reached for the protruding purse and held it up. “Is this yours?” she asked, of Miss Mingle. “Yes, yes, my dear!” cried Miss Mingle, gratefully accepting the purse, “I’m so thankful! I caught her hand as she slipped the purse away from my arm. How can I thank you, Miss Dale?” <div class="pb" id="Page_130">[130]</div> Tavia led the way out of the crowd, and the store detective took charge of the woman, who was an old offender and well known. “Dorothy Dale and Tavia Travers!” joyfully exclaimed Miss Mingle, when the excitement was over. “Where did you come from, and at such an opportune moment?” “We are as surprised as you,” exclaimed Dorothy, “and so glad to have been able to be of assistance!” “We’ll hang the saucepan in the main hall at Glenwood in honor of the bargain rush,” said Tavia, waving the parcel above her head. “Girls, I’m still picking feathers out of my hair!” said Miss Mingle, laughing gaily. “Don’t you love New York?” burst from Tavia’s lips. “I’m dreading the very thought of returning to Glenwood and school again!” But Miss Mingle sighed. “I’m counting the days until my return to Glenwood, my dears. But, you don’t want to hear anything about that, you’re young and happy, and without care. Come and see us—I’m with my sister, and I would just love to have you.” At mention of her sister, Miss Mingle’s lips involuntarily quivered and she partly turned away. “Do come, girls, this is my address. I’m glad you’re enjoying New York; I wish I could say as much.” <div class="pb" id="Page_131">[131]</div> As she said good-bye, Dorothy noticed how much more than ever the thin, haggard face was drawn and lined with anxiety, and the timid dread in her eyes enhanced by the bright red spots that burned in the hollows of her cheeks. “We must call,” said Dorothy, when Miss Mingle had disappeared. “There is some secret burden wearing that little woman to a shred.” “Her eyes have the look of a haunted creature,” said Tavia, seriously. “We can’t call to-morrow; we have the matinee, you know.” “Yes, that’s always the way, one must do the pleasant things, and let misery and sorrow take care of themselves,” sighed Dorothy. “Well, we can the following day.” <div class="pb" id="Page_132">[132]</div> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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