“Much that will hurt you!” sniffed Laura. “We’ll drive around by the hospital and leave this Plornish man. If he dares to open his mouth, we’ll have him punished for trying to swindle you,” and Laura looked sternly at the black-eyed, foreign-looking fellow.
“You see, we know all about you, Mr. Plornish, and you will have to abide by what is done for you. Some of us will help your family while you are helpless. But you’ve got to be good, or even Mr. Vandergriff will forget that you and he used to be boys together. Pah! with your hair dye, and paint and powder, and all! Why, you are nearly fifty years old, so Mr. Vandergriff says, and you act and dress like a silly boy.”
Lily listened to all this, and stopped sobbing. She began to see that there was a chance for her to escape being a butt for her school-fellows’ jokes.
“Can—can you keep Jess and the boys from talking?” she whispered to Laura.
“They’ll be like oysters if I tell them to,” declared Mother Wit.
“Oh, then, I’ll do my best,” agreed the foolish girl. Possibly she was deeply impressed by her escape.
Mother Wit’s plans were carried out to the letter. Plornish was deposited at the hospital, where he would remain for some weeks. The performance of Jess’s play would have to get along without him on this opening night.
And when the hour for the performance arrived, Lily Pendleton was ready, her tears wiped away, glorious in one of her costumes, and “preening like a peacock”—to quote Bobby Hargrew—before one of the long mirrors in the dressing room.
“My, my!” laughed Bobby. “You look as grand as the Duchess of Doosenberry, don’t you, Lil?”
Lily looked at her rather sharply. “I’d really like to know how much that child knows?” the older girl murmured.