She laughed — the OG was feeling pretty good, just then—and said, “I hadn’t thought of it that way.” Now she giggled, “But, you know, I could always be a hanger-on, maybe even go with you and your girl—just in case.” A boy was permitted to take more than one girl—even a flock of them if he were unlucky enough.
Now the atmosphere around the OG’s home had changed, with exultant spirits taking a nose-dive. That letter was for the purpose of calling off a date. She was really too nice a girl to be buffed around like that — but please note that I did not hold with any such buffings. She had forfeited her chance to go with the crowd to the picnic. Now, more than ever, she wanted to go. She first took her troubles to her bosom friend, Bessie Campfield, wife of Judge Elwin Campfield. She wanted to know how could she, with propriety, get word to me that after all she would be free to go with me to the picnic. Bessie had spent some anxious moments trying to round up a courier to apprise me of that letter. She said to the OG, “I don’t know about that now. I could have told you about that fellow’s egotistical designs.”
The Old Girl lived with her aged parents, and when they would go away for the night, as they often did to visit another daughter in the country, she would have a young neighbor girl—not too young, but much younger than she-stay the night with her. The old folks were away now, and the young girl had been called in for the night.
The Old Girl was still worried. I’m now almost sorry that I ever started this “Old Girl” differential, as it smacks of disrespect — and I do not want the reader to form any such ideas. The OG first asked the young girl to come up town with her—then, remembering that her best friend had dropped a hint that the ground upon which she now stood was insecure, she decided that she was not constitutionally able to face me just then with her problem. She sent the young girl, alone.
But the Kid—that’s what they called her when we went together to the picnic, and thereafter as a member of the Silver Stocking crowd—said, “If you go with her now, you will be the biggest fool in the world. All she wants to go with you for, is to see who he takes,” naming the RM’s son.
The Kid was smart.
But please do not think the so-called Kid was betraying a trust. She was really a woman now. And, besides, she had reason to believe that, to use a homely expression, she were very soon going to get the OG’s goat, anyway.
And moreover, the Old Girl later told the “Kid,” perhaps in a gesture of discouragement, that I had gone with her steadily for nearly a year, and had never tried to kiss her. Had that not been the truth it would have been libel. -In the old days, the prudent young man did not dare kiss an old girl who was only filling a vacancy.
Prior to this, the “Kid” and I had “starred” in a local entertainment entitled “Beauty and Beelzebub” — and mutual admiration had blossomed then. She was the Angel and I was the Devil. In the tableau, the Devil, encased in a tight-fitting black sateen cover-all, with horns and a four-foot forked tail, was suspended on wires about four feet off the floor when the curtain went up. Then the Angel, up in the clouds, began the descent with song, the singing increasing in volume as she came down bare feet first, with outstretched wings, settling in front of the Devil. The “Kid” made a pretty picture, with her abundant dark hair — which, I happen to know, came down nearly to her ankles — spread over the white flowing covering whose traditional folds parted in front just enough to indicate that she dwelt in a place where shoes and stockings were taboo. The Angel departed by the same route—wire and windlass mechanism—went up into the clouds from whence she had come, with more singing, at first in full voice, then fading, fading, fading away in a manner denoting distance. In her young budding womanhood the “Kid” made a beautiful Angel — and the clear, sweet singing was out of this world.
Coral Hutchison was at first considered for the Angel. She was a beautiful girl, and a beautiful singer—and while she had a wonderful head of hair, quite as long as the “Kid’s,” its rather too blonde shade ruled her out. So the “Kid,” with the requisite dark hair, was given a place in the spot-light—and Coral did the singing behind the scenes.