The Queen of Clubs

THERE are eighteen clubs and classes in Riverside, and my sister Eleanor was asked to join thirteen of them, but compromised on eight. I am glad that I am still a schoolgirl, for I am sure that I should die if I had to go to eight clubs. In addition to these festive gatherings among the rich she spends one evening in the week at a Girls’ Club for the poor. I always supposed that one of the advantages of poverty was that you did not have to belong to clubs, but it seems that even the poor cannot escape the weight of their environment.

Eleanor’s clubs differ in importance : there is one glory of the sun, and another of the moon, while besides these luminaries there are some small stars and one or two unimportant fireflies. There is in especial a club that meets in Boston every Saturday morning that might be called the sun.

Well, as I remarked before, I am glad that I am only seventeen. My sister Eleanor is twenty-eight, but nobody would ever imagine it. I am sometimes mistaken for her, which makes me furious; but I ought to feel flattered, I suppose, for she is prettier than I am. Although she is so much quieter than I, she is a great favorite. I should like to be such a favorite, except that it means making one’s self agreeable to so many stupid people, and — eight clubs ! If I were a man, I should fall in love with Eleanor ; not that it would do the smallest good, only I could not help it, for she is so sweet. I know that is what Mr. Morris thinks; and he would agree with me in being certain that it did not do any good. Indeed, I should suppose he would feel that it did a great deal of harm, poor fellow. I am sure that he has been in love with her for six years, — ever since she has lived with aunt Esther, in fact; and six years make a great deal of difference, at his age. He never was very young, — that is, since I have known him; but now he is really old, forty-one, with gray hair, and a face that looks as if it had seen better days. 1 mean in the way of looks; it could never have been any more amiable than it is now. I know Eleanor would like him if she lived in less of a whirl, but she has not any time to fall in love.

Lord Byron said : —

Poor antiquated Lord Byron ! It is plain to see that he did not live in the present day in Massachusetts! What time has Eleanor to think of love as she eats a hurried breakfast, and flies — no, not flies, for Eleanor is always dignified, but strolls down town rather fast on a Monday morning, to do her marketing early, so that she may not be late for the Musical Club ? That Musical Club is the one thing I envy her, for I can play pretty well, and I have quite a good voice. I am not musical enough for the club, however, for the members have to play and sing uncommonly well, or else not at all. Eleanor neither plays nor sings, but she looks so exquisitely refined and so pretty in her brown hat and gown that she lends distinction to the occasion ; and then she is always delightfully sympathetic. What people want is sympathy. I have come to the conclusion that it is better not to try to accomplish some great work in the world, but simply to go about, like my sister Eleanor, sympathizing with the people who do things well. Of course there are plenty of things that she does well, but they are all of a domestic nature, — all of them, at least, except whist. Eleanor has gone into whist lately, and she plays a fine game. She belongs to three whist clubs ; two of them meet in the afternoon, and one meets in the evening. The Tuesday afternoon club is very swell, and aunt Esther insists upon her going to it every week, but she can’t understand why she wastes her time with the Wednesday club. Eleanor says they play whist better in the Wednesday club, but aunt Esther does not see why this is of any consequence. Eleanor certainly has no time to think of love on Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday ; and Thursday is equally full, for there is the Renaissance Club in the afternoon, and the Whist Club in the evening ; while on Friday — dear me, I have forgotten what happens on Friday morning, but it is something very important, and then there are the Symphony Rehearsals in the afternoon, and the Girls’ Club in the evening; and as for Saturday, it is the busiest day of all, Eleanor leaves home directly after breakfast, and does not appear again until tea time. I wish it were late dinner, but it is n’t, because aunt Esther is so old fashioned ; it is only plebeian. unsubstantial, unsatisfactory tea.

When I came to spend the winter here, mamma told me to be sure to keep a journal and record my impressions. She said I must give up being frivolous, and become precisely like a Boston girl. She said that they were all so intellectual here ; but I am sure that Eleanor is n’t; she hardly reads at all. She is read to, however, a great deal at her clubs. This saves time, because she does not have to stop to hunt up the books, and it is more sociable. They tell you in New York that everybody is reading in Boston all the time, in all sorts of odd places, but I have never noticed it, except among the men in the horse cars, and they all read the newspapers diligently, especially when there are ladies standing in the car. I have discovered why men in other cities are so much more polite about giving up their seats : it is because the cars are not so crowded, and they never have to stand long. There are some men. however, who cheerfully relinquish their seats here, and Edward Morris is one of them. I always come back to him, no matter with what subject I start. He is very nice. I wish that he were twenty-one instead of forty-one, and were in love with me. We are excellent friends, and I often think of advising him to offer himself to Eleanor by letter. There is never any time for him to do it in any other way, for on the rare occasions when she is at home the house is filled with people. I believe that if he were to offer himself to her often enough by letter lie might make an impression on her after a while, just as an advertisement, which they say nobody sees at first, catches the eye when it has been read several times. He might say : —

“ MY DEAR ELEANOR, — Won’t you cease to be queen of clubs, and be queen of my heart ? Pray listen to me on account of my long suit. It has lasted for six years; and although it is not a suit of diamonds, at least, thank Heaven, it is not a suit of clubs.”

If this failed to touch her heart, he could send a Musical Club offer a little later: —

“MY DEAR ELEANOR, - The andante movement has been going on for six years. Let us have something a little more rapid. My life has hitherto been in a minor key; won’t you henceforth make it in A major ? ”

If this did not suffice, it could be followed by an offer appropriate to a young woman who founded a club to investigate the Middle Ages and the Renaissance : —

“ MY DEAR ELEANOR, — I am now in a position thoroughly to understand the middle age; and as you are evidently anxious to learn about that period, I would suggest that, instead of going to a club once a week for that purpose, you should study the subject in a tranquil manner at home every day with me. It would truly be a renaissance to me if you would take me, my dear girl.”

How could she resist such appeals, especially if they were followed by five other equally appropriate offers ?

Poor Mr. Morris is so busy that he does not often get an evening to himself, much less an afternoon ; but once in a great while he makes an effort, and comes to see us. Eleanor once told him that she was always at home on Monday, and he said, “ If you will tell me when you are not ‘ at home,’ I will come then.”

“How flattering! ” she retorted, with a little laugh.

“ I mean that I would rather come when you are by yourselves, without all the world,” he explained.

“ All the world does not come on Monday,” said Eleanor. “ On the contrary, sometimes aunt Esther and I sit here alone the whole afternoon.”

In consequence of these encouraging words, he tried it one Monday; but, unfortunately, two of the Turners and Fanny Williams and old Mrs. Grant dropped in at the same time. He sat on a small chair, looking very unhappy, and drinking tea out of an eggshell cup because Eleanor had made it,— the tea, I mean. There was a thimbleful of tea in the cup, and also a big lump of sugar which he stirred with a tiny spoon, the right size for a Tom Thumb, and he is so large; he positively seemed like a giant. I could see that aunt Esther was eying her slender, spindle-legged chair with apprehension. All he gained by the call was the pleasure of seeing Eleanor behind a little tea-table, looking awfully pretty in a pink gown while she chatted with Fanny Williams. Eleanor does not talk much, but she listens so intelligently that you always feel as if the conversation had been equally divided. Mr. Morris had a good deal of talk with his cousin, Mrs. Grant; or, to speak accurately, he did a good deal of intelligent listening, and I hope he did not find her such a bore as I do. When he saw me passing through the hall in my school things he rose with alacrity, for I made a face at him as he sat there looking as if he had lost his last friend.

“ Must you leave us so soon ? ” Eleanor asked him, in surprise.

“ Yes, I am going to take a little walk with your sister.”

“ I know that it was very wrong of me to make up that face,” I said, as we set off together, “ but next year I shall be grown up and can’t do such things, so I must make the most of my time.”

“ I suppose you will come out next winter, Julia, and go to parties and clubs like all the rest of the world,” he said, with a little sigh.

“ I am never coming out,” I replied. “ I am going to stay in always. I shall be at home every day in the week.”

“ So you think now, — so Eleanor thought once ; but the pressure is too strong on you girls.”

We had a nice walk, and a long talk about my school and all the girls, and I forgot all about Eleanor and his love for her. He is the kind of person who makes one talk about one’s own affairs.

He did not try coming again on a Monday, poor man ! As ill luck would have it, he selected a Thursday afternoon when the Renaissance Club met at our house. He was shown into the parlor, through some mistake ; perhaps the maid thought that he was the lecturer. He was well inside the door before he discovered what was going on, for he is very near-sighted, and then he looked so blank. The ladies were intensely interested ; most of them know him a little, and they have been wondering for the last six years whether Eleanor would marry him or not. I am sure they must have thought that the wedding day was set. Eleanor was not in the least embarrassed when she saw him. My sister Eleanor is always perfectly calm, and rather cold.

“ I am very glad to see you, Mr, Morris,” she said. “ 1 will tell Julia that you are here.”

She did not know that I was peeping through the dining-room door.

It happened, therefore, that Mr. Morris and I had another walk, and he heard more about my school and the Saturday evening dancing class, and he appeared very much interested. Men are so much more sympathetic than women.

I suppose it is because nowadays men don’t have half so much on their minds.

That evening aunt Esther spoke to me seriously. She said that she did not like the way in which I was devoting myself to Edward Morris, for it seemed disloyal to Eleanor. I laughed at first, and I can’t remember all that passed, but she implied, finally, that I was trying to make him fall in love with me for the sake of amusing myself, and she told me he was too good a man for me to make unhappy. I grew very angry at last, and I said, “I am not amusing myself; I can promise you safely that if he asks me to marry him I will do it. I am seventeen and he is forty-one, to be sure, but when I am fifty-seven and he is eiglity-one we shall be practically of the same age.”

It was very silly of me. I don’t know what aunt Esther thinks. Sometimes I fancy that she believes I was in earnest. As for Eleanor, she is more wrapped up in her clubs than ever.

January 9. Mr. Morris came one evening last week, but, unfortunately, he hit upon a night when Eleanor was at the Girls’ Club. I advised him to come some Sunday evening, and last night he appeared; but Eleanor was so worn out with the fatigue of the week, joined to the depraved actions of her Sundayschool class, that she had gone to bed early.

January 17. Mr. Morris called again last night. I was determined that he should have a chance to see Eleanor alone, so I brought my German books, and asked aunt Esther if she would not come into the other room and help me with my lesson; but the dear soul proposed a game of whist. Theoretically she realizes that Mr. Morris comes to see Eleanor rather than herself, but practically there is never any especial occasion when it occurs to her to leave them to themselves. She says that it is a good thing for a man to see a girl in her home, with her family about her ; but I think that it is pleasanter for the family than for the man and the girl.

Aunt Esther delights in whist, but she does not play the modern game. She always tells her partner, with one of her pleasant smiles, that she has never learned how to make trump signals, and that she has played all her life and has found it to her advantage to lead from her short suit. I like that kind of a game, and as Eleanor and Mr. Morris prefer science, I proposed that she should play with me ; but she said she would rather have Edward Morris for a partner, as in that case she would be more likely to beat. Aunt Esther was especially trying last night. It took her a long time to decide what to play. She has been taking lessons in the Delsarte system, and has learned how to relax ; and once, when she was particularly long, I could not help saying that I was afraid Eleanor and Mr. Morris did not like relaxed whist.

Life is an odd mixture, and most of it is a great deal duller than novels lead one to expect, as I am sure Mr. Morris must have thought as he sat there all the evening opposite placid, aggravating aunt Esther. Life is very like the Saturday evening dancing class. There is a good deal of sitting around and waiting ; there are a few adorable turns and a kaleidoscopic change of partners, then — silence ! The evening is over, and the lights are put out. Life is n’t very serious, at least in the nineteenth century in Boston, but it is rather amusing, and I suppose we should all miss the hurry, the rush, and the mad dance.

January 21. How lightly I wrote only four nights ago ! A terrible thing has happened that has changed the whole world. How could I ever have thought that life was anything but solemn and serious and awful ?

I will begin at the beginning, and write it all out just as it occurred. Thursday evening Mrs. Emery sent over to say that she was in dire need of a substitute at her whist club, and to ask if Eleanor would bring me. Poor woman, she must have been in sore distress indeed before she sent for me ! Eleanor arranged that I should be her partner. The dear girl hates to play with me, but she dislikes still more to inflict me on any one else. I was frightened at the idea of playing in a whist club, so of course I made more mistakes than ever. Eleanor did not scold me, — she never scolds, — but she grew a little stiffer and a shade quieter. It appeared at the moment as if her whole mind, her whole heart, her whole son!, were set upon winning that especial rubber of whist. I wanted to laugh, as I looked around the room and saw the intense, anxious faces. There was no “ relaxed whist ” that night.

I don’t remember how long we had been playing, when the maid came and whispered something into Dr. Emery’s ear. He rose quickly and left the room. He was followed by his wife and Mr. Armstrong. Mrs. Emery came back directly.

“ There has been an accident,” she said. “ A man has been run over by one of those terrible electric cars. [ can never get used to them ; they seem to me like steam engines let loose.”

We stopped for a few minutes to discuss the accident; but whist is whist, and a game in the hand is worth more than an unknown man under the wheel.

“ Probably he is an Irishman, and I have no doubt that he had been drinking,” said Mrs. Emery.

We all accepted this comfortable theory, and those of us who were not playing at Dr. Emery ’s table were soon once more cheerfully absorbed.

At the end of half an hour Mr. Armstrong returned. I heard a whispered consultation between him and Mrs. Emery, and caught the words, “You had better not tell her.” I also overheard Edward Morris’s name.

The room swam before my eyes, and I caught at the table to prevent myself from falling. I lost all presence of mind.

“ Is Mr. Morris dead ?” I gasped.

“ No, dear; no, indeed,” Mrs. Emery answered, in a soothing tone. “ There is no danger, we trust; but he has met with severe injuries, and my husband has gone with him to the hospital.”

It was singular what a difference it made in our feelings when we found that the man who had been run over was not a stranger. Everybody was so sorry and so sympathetic; every one, at least, except Eleanor. She sat there as rigid as a statue, and looking as if she wished all this commotion were over, so that she might finish her game, I could have killed her ; I really could, if the ace of clubs in my hand had been the implement of that name instead of a bit of pasteboard. I could see that all the ladies in the room were looking stealthily at her, and then at me. She could see it, too. She drew herself up a little straighter, if that were possible, and then she said, “Julia, you must control yourself ; everything is being done for Mr. Morris that can be done ; you must not spoil the evening. Spades are trumps, I believe.”

I am sure they all knew then that she was not engaged to Edward Morris.

I tried to play. I tried to keep back my tears, but a few would fall on the ace of clubs, and I ended by putting the hateful thing on Eleanor’s king.

“ I had taken that trick,” she said quietly.

“ I don’t care if you had! ” I burst out. “ I don’t care anything about this wretched game. I want to go home. I am very unhappy ; please, please take me home.”

Eleanor rose. “ I hope you will excuse us, Mrs. Emery,” she said. “ Pray do not let us break up your evening, but I think that I had better take my sister home. She and Mr. Morris are old friends, and she feels this very much.”

Mr. Armstrong telephoned for our carriage, and he also telephoned to the hospital to learn the latest news concerning Mr. Morris. It seemed that he had reached his destination safely, but was unconscious; and although his life was in no immediate danger, he would probably have a long, serious illness. We all recognized the reserved nature of the message, “in no immediate danger,”and our hearts sank.

Eleanor was very gentle with me. She did not reprove me for my outburst, and after we were in the carriage she took my hand in hers, but I snatched it away.

“ Don’t touch me ! ” I cried fiercely.

“ You are as cold and hard as a stone. You ought to love him with your whole heart, but you have no heart, and you leave it to me to grieve for him; to me, when I am only the least of his friends.

Eleanor said nothing.

“I am sure that you are responsible for this accident,” I went on, rendered quite beside myself by her calmness. “ He was thinking of you when his foot slipped. If you had been a little good to him, instead of trying to help a lot of people in clubs, it would not have happened. And perhaps you have killed him,” I added.

“ Don’t. Julia.” she said, with a little shudder.

At this point I began to cry, and I sobbed all the way home as if my heart would break.

Aunt Esther met us at the door with a surprised but an approving face.

“ How early you are ! “ she said. “ This is a sensible hour. Edward Morris was here this evening, Eleanor, and he seemed quite hurt when he did not find you. He said he had written to tell you that he was coming.”

“ I never got the note,’ said Eleanor.

“ No, it came at noon, and I put it on the mantelpiece in the library with your other letters, and I did not remember to give them to you ; for you were at home only long enough to take your tea and dress for the club.” Aunt Esther handed her the letters, and Eleanor took them and started to go upstairs.

“I am tired,” she said, “and so I will say good-night. Julia, you must tell aunt Esther why we came home early.”

“ I hope you were not badly beaten, said aunt Esther.

“ Beaten ? ” Eleanor repeated vaguely, with a curious, absent look on her face. “ Oh. in whist ? No, thank you ; at least I don’t remember. I think —

I think I will say good-niglit.”

I told aunt Esther the news, and then I hurried upstairs ; but, quick as I was, Eleanor had already locked the door between her room and mine. I knocked, but had no response. I knocked again, and again there was no answer. I paused and listened. There was a faint, muffled sound on the other side of the door. I knew then that Eleanor was crying, and the fact awed me, for I could not remember having heard her cry since father died, six years ago.

“ Eleanor, let me in,” I begged. “ I understand it all now, dear. Please forgive me, and please, please let me in.”

But Eleanor would not open the door.

I was so wretched that I was sure I should stay awake all night; for how could I sleep until she had forgiven me? And then I fell asleep while I was thinking it over, miserable, faithless wretch that I was I

In the morning I awoke earlier than usual. The door was open between Eleanor’s room and mine, and everything looked so pleasantly familiar that my first feeling was, what it always is, joy that I was in this happy world. Then I remembered that perhaps there would never be any joy for us again.

I went softly into Eleanor’s room.

She was lying on the sofa, with her wrapper on, and a letter tightly clasped in her hand. Her face was so pale that I was frightened at first, and thought she had fainted ; hut I soon found she had fallen asleep after a long, anxious night. How long and how anxious it had been I could only faintly fancy, for a glance at her face made me conscious that my sorrow was a childish feeling compared with hers.

While I was standing by her, Eleanor opened her eyes. I shall never forget the look on her face when she tried to smile as if nothing had happened.

“ We shall hear some good news today, clear,” she began ; then her lip trembled, and then — it was she who was sobbing, with her head on my shoulder and my arms around her neck.

“ Julia, he does love me,” she said.

“ You need not tell me that when I have known it for six years.”

“ I did not know it, and I don’t think he knew it until lately, but ” — She held up the letter by way of an ending to her sentence. I could not help seeing the first words.

“ ‘ My dear Queen of Clubs,’ ” I read aloud, half unconsciously.

Eleanor covered the precious document with her hand, and we both laughed forlornly.

“ Eleanor, how could you be so calm when you heard the news of the accident ? I asked impetuously.

“ Would you have had me show all those people what I felt, when I did not know that he cared for me? ” she demanded.

“ If you did not know that he loved you, you were a very stupid person.”

” We were always good friends,” said Eleanor, “ and my life was such a full one that until lately I never felt the need of anything else ; and then — then —I thought he was in love with you.”

“ With me ? ” I said scornfully.

“ Julia dear.” she began eagerly, “ I hope — I hope ” —

At last I comprehended everything.

“ Yes, I love him,” I said firmly. “ I love him like a brother, like a father, — like a grandfather, if you will. Darling, does that make you jealous ? Are n’t you willing that I should love him like a grandfather, Eleanor dear ? ”

The next morning aunt Esther and Eleanor went to the hospital, but they returned with sad faces. Edward Morris was still unconscious.

January 24. We have had a terrible week. Mr. Morris has concussion of the brain, and his recovery is doubtful. Eleanor has abandoned all her clubs, and does not seem to care any longer what people think, but she is very quiet and calm.

February 3. I am quite used to Mr. Morris’s illness now, for everything is so exactly the same at school and at dancing school. I should die if I were as unhappy all the time as I was that first night; so I try to think that he is going to get well, and to forget Eleanor’s sad face.

February 12. The doctor is afraid that Edward Morris will not live many days. This is frightful,—though it is possible that he may linger for weeks, or even months. I cannot grasp the idea of his dying. It seems impossible that he can go away from us altogether. In the beginning I realized all the possibilities, but now that we have had this respite I can ’t believe that anything so overpoweringly sad will happen ; and after all, there is still a faint chance that he may rally.

Mrs. Grant is going to have the whist club just the same, even though she is his cousin. She says that one can’t give up everything for an indefinite period on an uncertainty. I believe that they would play whist on the edge of his grave, — all except Eleanor ; she does not play whist any more. She and aunt Esther go in every day to the hospital to see if there is anything that they can do, but Mr. Morris does not know them.

Poor Eleanor ! she realizes the situation only too well.

February 23. I am so happy that there are no words in the English language to tell my delight. Edward Morris is out of danger. He will be an invalid for a year or two, as he will not be able to use his brain much for a long time; but Edward Morris without a head is so much nicer than any other man with one that it does not matter, and—he is going to get well! ! ! ! ! I have put all those exclamation points in a row to help faintly to express my feelings. They stand for joy, rapture, happiness, and every other blissful thing.

Eleanor is perfectly calm, as usual, but the whole expression of her face has changed, and she looks absolutely seraphic. Edward knew her yesterday; and when she came home I could see that something unusual had happened.

“ It is all right, Julia,” she replied to my eager questions.

“ What did he say, dear ? ” I asked.

“ How did he look ? What did you say ? Tell me all about it.’

“ I cannot tell you what we said, but we have explained everything.”

“ Can’t you tell me just one little thing ? ” I pleaded.

Eleanor began to laugh softly. “ He said something when I first came in which will amuse you, Julia. He asked what day it was. ‘ Saturday,’ I replied. ‘ Saturday ? Eleanor, how good you were to come here instead of going to the Saturday Morning Club ! ’ ”

Eliza Orne White.