VII
Jinky met Serena coming down the stairs. There had been no love lost between these two. They had never been friends, and Serena, with the memory of more than one petty blow dealt to Jinky, expected no mercy from her now. She was about to pass with a vague, strained smile, when the girl stopped her.
“You’ll have to try another line, Serena,” she said. “No use pretending that Sambo wasn’t here.”
“Oh, let me alone!” cried Serena desperately. “Don’t I know that?”
“Well, look here,” said Jinky thoughtfully. “Where is he, anyhow?”
“Down on the shore road, waiting for me. We were going to run over to the Abercrombies’ in his car. If I don’t show up, he’ll come back here, and they’ll telephone. Oh, Jinky, I’m—”
“Hold up a minute! Let’s see! No use in my going—Jesse would tag along; but the Moriarty girl could go.”
“Moriarty!” cried Serena. “You’re simply insane, Jinky! Why, she’s the most—”
“I think she’s a pretty decent sort of kid. Anyhow, I’ll try.”
“But, Jinky, she’s ill—didn’t come down to dinner. She sent me word that she had an awful headache. There’s no use wasting time over her.”
“I’ll have a try at it,” persisted Jinky.
“Jinky!” said Serena, with fervor. “You’re a simply wonderful pal to me! I’ll never forget this—never!”
“I hope you won’t,” replied Jinky.
She went on up the stairs, and knocked on the Moriarty girl’s door.
“Who is it?” asked a cold voice.
“Let me in! I want to speak to you.”
The door was opened. Jinky went in and closed the door after her.
“Yes?” said Geraldine.
But Jinky did not answer for a moment. She was looking at Geraldine, studying her, with all her hard won wisdom. A child, she thought her—a lovely child, with her heavy hair in a braid, and her outgrown bath robe; but a child already half awakened to reality.
“Look here!” she said briefly. “Do you want a chance to do a decent thing?”
“I—what is it?”
“I’ll tell you,” said Jinky. “If you want to help, you can get dressed and run down to the Shore Road and meet Sam Randall—”
“No!” cried Geraldine. “I won’t! I won’t have anything to do with—with that!”
“You needn’t think it’s a grand operatic tragedy,” said Jinky. “Serena and Sam aren’t exactly Tristan and Isolde. There’s nothing very wicked in their little flirtation; but Jesse Page just came home in a pretty poisonous temper, and if Sambo comes back to the house now there’ll be trouble.”
“I don’t care!”
“I suppose you don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Jinky. “I hope you don’t. If you understood that you could stop a nasty scandal, and perhaps something even worse, and you just wouldn’t do it, and didn’t care—” She paused. “It’s serious,” she went on. “Jesse means business. You can help these people if you want to. If you don’t want to, all right! It’s up to you.”
This was the first time Geraldine had had a problem presented to her in such a way. There was no question of right or wrong. Evidently Jinky thought it didn’t matter whether these people deserved to be helped or not. She simply offered the other girl a chance to do a decent thing.
Geraldine looked at Jinky, and found Jinky looking at her; and Savonarola never preached a more eloquent sermon than Jinky did by her silence. She stood there, smoking her cigarette, a haggard, reckless, wasted young creature, just waiting to see if the other girl was willing to help. It was up to Geraldine.
“I’ll go,” she said.
“Moriarty,” cried Jinky, “you’re a little gentleman! Hurry up now! I’ll help you.”
Geraldine needed assistance. Her hands were so unsteady that she was glad to let Jinky pin up her hair and hook her belt.
“Now, step!” said Jinky. “And see here, Moriarty—better let Sambo run you down to the Abercrombies’ and tell them not to telephone here. See Olive Abercrombie yourself; she’s got a down on Sambo. Tell her not to say anything about anything. She’ll understand.[Pg 306]”
Geraldine put on her hat and took up a scarf—a funny, old-fashioned knitted scarf that made Jinky smile. She could never afterward think of that evening without remembering the old scarf.