Chapter XIII: Peggy Gives a Dinner Party

RUTH moped after Nelson's departure. Just how much her depression was due to missing him, and how much was the result of self-reproach, she could not have told. Each time she realized his absence she remembered with a pang the hurt wonder of his face that night in the station. It did not help matters that Nelson seemed to consider himself entirely to blame for what had happened, and had written her from the train a most humble apology for failing to be at her home at eight o'clock as he had promised. In fact, his assumption that she could not possibly be in the wrong only made Ruth the more conscious of her pettiness.

It was largely on Ruth's account that Peggy resolved on her dinner party. For after scolding Ruth soundly, and giving her to understand that she was very much ashamed of her, Peggy had set herself resolutely to cheer her despondent friend. On the Friday following Nelson's departure something went wrong with the heating plant at college, and the classes were dismissed at ten o'clock. At once Peggy determined to celebrate.

"Father and mother have gone away for the week end, and Dick's going home with his chum after school, and I shan't see him till bed-time. Come to dinner all of you. We'll have an old-fashioned good time."

The recipients of this invitation accepted promptly. They were in the rather hilarious mood which for some reason characterizes the most ambitious student when school is dismissed for the day, college seniors as well as kindergarten tots. "Only you must let us come over and help you," stipulated Ruth.

"Yes, come on, and then if anything doesn't turn out well, I can blame some of you. I wonder--do you know, I've half a mind to invite Hildegarde Carey."

The others approved, especially Priscilla who had a great admiration for Bob's attractive sister.

"She took us out that evening, you know," Peggy continued. "She's always been awfully sweet to me and I've never done anything for her. The only thing--well, I feel a little bit afraid of her."

"I'll testify that she can eat a very simple meal and seem to enjoy it." And Amy chuckled as she always did when she recalled the first time Hildegarde had sat at her table.

Peggy laughed understandingly. "I think I'll ask her. I've always thought it was a sort of snobbishness to be ashamed to give your best to people who have more than you do. Though I'm not sure that a party of girls will appeal to her."

Apparently she had misjudged Hildegarde. For the latter's tone, when she responded to Peggy's invitation given over the phone a few minutes later, was unmistakably enthusiastic.

"A dinner party and just girls! How cute! I'd adore to come, Peggy, but would it put you out if I brought my friend Virginia Dunbar? She's a New York girl who's making me a little visit and she's perfectly fascinating."

"Why, bring her of course. I shall love to meet her." Peggy's hospitality rendered her response sufficiently fervent, but as she hung up the receiver, her face wore a thoughtful expression. The little dinner party, which had seemed pure fun when her three chums were her prospective guests, had become a responsibility, as soon as Hildegarde was added to the number. And with a New York girl coming, it seemed distinctly formidable.

It had not previously occurred to Peggy that the house was not in suitable order for the reception of guests, but now as she looked about the dining-room its shortcomings were painfully evident. She donned a long apron and a sweeping cap, and set resolutely to work. When the dining room was swept and garnished, the living room across the hall suffered comparison, and Peggy gave that equally careful attention. And as by this time she was on her mettle, she went to work cleaning the silver. The twelve o'clock whistles surprised her in this exacting task, and she swallowed a peanut-butter sandwich by way of luncheon, promising herself to make up for this abstemiousness at dinner, Peggy was not one of the temperamental cooks who cannot enjoy their own cooking.

At half past one she hurried forth with her market basket to make the necessary purchases. She left by the back door and took the key with her. A little after two she was back again, the loaded basket on her arm. Peggy set her burden down, rubbed her aching muscles, and felt in her coat pocket for the key. Then she felt in the other pocket. Then she continued to search one pocket and then the other, with increasing evidences of consternation. But it was of no use. The key was gone.

"I must have had it in my hand and laid it down on the counter somewhere," thought Peggy. "Was ever anything so exasperating." She left the basket outside the locked door, and hurriedly retraced her steps. The butcher, whom she had visited first, shook his head in answer to her question. No, he had not seen a stray door-key. It was the same at the grocer's, the same at the bakery where she had bought Parker-house rolls. Peggy walked home over the route she had traversed, her eyes glued to the side-walk, but she did not find the key.

Ruth was waiting for her by the front steps. "I thought I'd come over and help you. I hope you haven't finished everything."

"I haven't even started," replied Peggy in a hollow voice, and explained the situation. Ruth was a girl of resources and at once she had a bright idea.

"Peggy, our front door key looks a good bit like yours. Perhaps it will open the door. I'll run over and get it."

"Then, fly," pleaded Peggy, "It's simply awful to be locked out of your house when you have a million things to do."

Ruth sped on her errand at a pace which satisfied even the impatient Peggy, and returned with a key which really did look like the latch key with whose appearance Peggy was most familiar. Hopefully she inserted it in the appropriate key-hole. Patiently she turned it this way and that. The latch key was like a great many people, encouraging one's expectations by almost doing what it was asked to do, but never quite succeeding. In the end Peggy mournfully relinquished all hope of entering the house by its aid.

"I can't waste any more time on that key. It won't work, and I've got to get in."

"How about the windows," suggested Ruth.

"The windows on the first floor are all locked, for I made sure of that before I started out."

"If we could borrow a ladder--"

"I don't know anybody who owns a ladder. No, there's just one chance as far as I can see. I've always wondered if I could get in through the coal shute and now I'm going to see."

"But, Peggy, it's so dirty."

"I know, but it's got to be done."

"You might get stuck," exclaimed Ruth, turning pale. "Wait a little, Peggy. Perhaps something will happen."

"Unless an air ship comes along and takes me to a second story window, I can't think of anything that could happen that would be of any help to me."

The narrow, inclined passage through which the coal was chuted from the side walk to the cellar bin, looked small enough and black enough to justify Ruth's forebodings. But Peggy's impatience had reached the point where anything seemed better than inaction. She lowered herself into the chute, and when she released her hold of the edge, her descent was so rapid that Ruth shrieked. But after a moment of suspense she heard an encouraging rattle of coal, and then steps slowly ascending the cellar steps. A little later the front door was shaken violently without opening, however, and Peggy's face presently appeared at one of the living-room windows. Regardless of the fact that her friend was attempting to tell her something, Ruth screamed with laughter, for Peggy's face was so begrimed as to suggest that her habitual occupation was that of a chimney-sweep. Ruth's laughter was short-lived, however, for raising her voice, Peggy made herself heard, and with an accent of authority by no means characteristic.

"Stop laughing, Ruth, and help me. In fooling with your key I've done something to that wretched lock, and now I can't open the door even from the inside."

"The front door?"

"I can't open either door," cried Peggy. "I can't open _any_ door. The only way to get into the house is by the window, and Hildegarde Carey is coming to dinner and a girl from New York."

"What do you want me to do, Peggy?" Ruth was so carried away by her friend's excitement that for the moment she was unable to see anything humorous in the situation.

"Bring me my market basket, first. It's on the back steps. And then find a locksmith and bring him here. Don't be satisfied with having him say he'll come. Bring him with you."

Ruth hurried to the back of the house, secured the heavy basket, and returned with it to the living room window. And then she astonished Peggy by setting the basket down and beginning to laugh hysterically.

"What on earth--"

"Oh, Peggy, please excuse me. I really didn't mean to laugh, but honestly you're the funniest sight I've ever seen. You're striped just like a zebra."

Curiosity led Peggy to consult the mirror over the mantel. But instead of laughing as Ruth had done, she uttered a tragic groan.

"It's going to take a terrible time to clean that off, if it ever does come off. Oh, Ruth, hurry! When I think of all that will have to be done before six o'clock, my head just whirls."

Ruth took a hasty departure and Peggy, having carried the basket to the kitchen, rushed upstairs to remove all traces of her recent novel entry. As this necessitated an entire change of clothing and the use of a prodigious amount of soap and hot water, her toilet consumed more time than she could well spare. But at length, clean and extremely pink, and attired in a little frock not too good for getting dinner and yet good enough to pass muster at the table, she rushed downstairs and attacked her vegetables. And still no sign of Ruth, bringing the locksmith.

About five o'clock Priscilla arrived ready to lend a hand. Peggy answered her ring at the window, instead of at the door, and after a brief conversation, the tall Priscilla made an unconventional entry. Amy arriving twenty minutes later was admitted by the same entrance. The girls made themselves useful and speculated on what was detaining Ruth.

"I don't mind letting you girls in through the window," groaned Peggy. "But it's different with Hildegarde. And that New York girl. Oh, heavens!"

At five o'clock they were all too nervous to know what they were doing. Peggy set skillets on the stove with nothing in them, and snatched them off again, just in time to avert disaster. She salted vegetables and then forgot and salted them all over again. Priscilla was trying to set the table, and making a poor job of it, as is generally the case when one is doing one thing and thinking of another. Amy, after going to the front window on the average of once in every two minutes to see if Ruth were coming, felt that she could bear inaction no longer.

"Peggy, where's the latch key to your front door?"

"Hanging on a hook over by the umbrellas. But you can't do anything with it. I've tried."

"What a key has done a key can undo," replied Amy, sententiously; and possessing herself of the magic piece of steel, she climbed out of the window and set to work. For fifteen or twenty minutes she continued to fumble at the lock without results, and she was on the point of deciding that she might be putting in the time to better advantage, when something clicked encouragingly. Amy turned the knob, and squealed with delight; for the door opened.

Before she could proclaim her success, Priscilla had made a discovery. Lying across a chair in the kitchen was a garment of some indeterminate shade between blue and black. "What's this?" asked Priscilla, pausing to examine it.

"It's my old blue coat. But since I came down the coal chute, I don't know as I can ever wear it again. It isn't worth sending to the cleaner's, and I'm afraid it's beyond my skill."

"I'll hang it in the laundry," said Priscilla, and lifted the smutty garment daintily by the tips of her fingers. The coat swung against the round of the chair with a distinct clink, and Peggy looked up quickly. "What was that?"

"A button, wasn't it?"

"The buttons are cloth. And that was such a queer sound--like metal."

Priscilla had a brilliant idea. Disregarding the fact that the coal dust with which the garment was covered came off on her hands, she began eagerly feeling along the lower edge. And just as Amy heard the click that meant victory, Priscilla uttered an ecstatic cry.

"The key, Peggy! I've found your key!"

"What? Where? Oh, Priscilla, not really?"

"There must have been a hole in your pocket," declared Priscilla. "The key slipped down between the outside and the lining. You can feel for yourself. There's a key all right, and it's not likely it's a different one."

"Take a knife and rip up the lining at the bottom," ordered Peggy recklessly. "Yes, of course it's the key. I wonder if I'd rather have that New York girl come in by the back door or the front window."

That query had hardly left her lips, when Amy rushed in. "I've done it, Peggy, I've done it."

"You don't mean you've got the door open?"

"Yes, I have. I was just ready to give up and then I tried again and something clicked and the deed was done."

"And Priscilla's found the back-door key. Now Ruth will come with the locksmith."

They heard footsteps even as she spoke, and then Ruth's voice explaining to the locksmith that the only way to get into the house was by the window. Peggy went to meet them, assuming a very dignified air that she might not look sheepish.

"We succeeded in opening the doors that were troubling us, but there's a key broken off in a lock upstairs. Since you're here, you might as well attend to that. Will you take him upstairs Ruth? It's the door of the den." And then Peggy beat a retreat to the kitchen, leaving Ruth to propitiate the locksmith, who had left his shop reluctantly, yielding to her impassioned representations of the urgency of the case.

Dinner was more than half an hour late, and failed to justify Peggy's reputation as a cook, for some dishes were over-salted and others entirely lacking that essential ingredient, while the pudding was so overdone that it was necessary to remove the top layer, and conceal deficiencies by a quite superfluous meringue. But since Peggy had planned her dinner party with the purpose of distracting Ruth's thoughts, she had every reason to consider it an unqualified success.