Betty Lee, Junior

by Harriet Pyne Grove

Betty never did relate the details of what occurred later in the evening, other than to say that matters grew worse, that both boys and girls drank from flasks and that Mr. and Mrs. Huxley had left with some guests soon after dinner, which they had had privately. She had enjoyed the fun at first and forgot about the wine till forced to notice it when the flasks came out, not very surreptitiously. But at last she came to the conclusion that it was no place for her. She looked for Jack and saw that he was more than half intoxicated. One boy asked her to dance and began to embrace her as he asked, hot, liquor-laden breath indicating his state at this time. It was Jack’s chum.

Betty slipped from his arms with an apology. “I’ve a headache, Will, and I’m going to the dressing room to the maid a moment.”

That was satisfactory to the befuddled lad, and Betty, troubled and disgusted, and wondering how she was going to get home, flew upstairs. The maid was not in the dressing room where Betty had left her wrap and the scarf she wore around her head at her mother’s suggestion. She was glad of that. If she had to get home by street car it would not be so bad. But she had worn her light satin slippers and oh—it was raining! They would be ruined. Where was the telephone? She could call her father, though he might be in bed. It was midnight by this time, Betty supposed.

She wondered where the maid was and timidly wandered down the hall, peeping into rooms evidently used, or intended to be used, by any guest. Then the maid came hurrying from somewhere, too intent on whatever her errand was to notice Betty. But Betty asked, “Where is Mrs. Huxley, please?”

“Oh, dem folks is gwine off somewhere. Dey tells me to look afteh the young folks, an’ it’s too big a job foh one pusson. I done tol’ her so, but she’d had too much o’ dat bootleggeh stuff hehse’f at dinneh. Ah’s goin’ down afteh de cook. Dat young lady in dere’s done passed out! An’ de butleh—he gone, too.”

The colored woman waved her dark hand indefinitely.

“Mercy! You don’t mean anybody’s dead!”

“No, honey, not daid. No, you jus’ keep out. Ain’ nuffin yo’ kin do only git yo’se’f into trubble.” This addition was because Betty was evidently about to offer help, as she turned uncertainly in the direction from which the colored maid had come. With this, the maid disappeared down the stairs from which the sounds of revelry still rose. Betty went back to get her wraps. Did she have any car fare? Well if she didn’t, she’d get on anyhow, one of those cars where you didn’t have to pay till you got off. She’d give the conductor her name and address or give him the ring from her finger or—anything! Betty was getting panicky by this time. She could not go down stairs with her wrap, and run the risk of being discovered. Probably there was a back stairway. There was, as Betty discovered by looking along the upper halls. Dear me, she would know the way around this house again. She wondered why the maid had not gone down to the kitchen that way, but supposed that the cook was to be found somewhere else. It had stopped raining, after only a shower.

It was a lovely night, indeed, with a moon, which helped her around the house, through beautiful old trees and some newly planted shrubbery. There were cars parked along the drive, but the big car in which Betty had been brought was not to be seen. Of course, the chauffeur was driving the older Huxleys, or waiting somewhere for them. Betty knew that there were plays at the theatres and other entertainments going on.

With her scarf held tightly under her chin and her wrap gathered about her, Betty lightly flew to the drive and followed it around, not feeling so lonely where she could see a few of the rear lights. The walk looked spooky! She was almost lost in this neighborhood, but as she emerged upon a sidewalk, she could see at some distance the lights of a street car passing. Then it was not so late that the cars were off! Of course not—was she crazy? A few automobiles passed, but this was off from the main arteries of traffic. Like a slim ghost Betty hurried along, stopping once for breath and to see if her pretty bag contained any street car tickets. Had she had any idea of walking, she could have worn shoes and carried her satin slippers. But they were ruined. That rain had been a light shower, indeed, leaving the night as bright as before. It must have stopped almost as soon as she looked out to see it; but one little puddle, stepped in by the back exit, had been sufficient.