“It’s to be hoped that Abbie’s and Angie’s are not so long as mine,” thought Barbara, irreverently, “or there’ll be no one to put the Grafton mackerel to soak to-night; to say nothing of all the winds and waves that must be passed through before they come to me.”
It was the “wind and wave” part of the program that appealed to the audience. The papers were accorded polite attention, as befitted Auburn manners, but the musical numbers and readings were followed by the subdued hum that is an expression of club delight. For Barbara, the entire entertainment of the day was not furnished by the program. Between the swaying fans she caught glimpses of Mrs. Enderby’s placid face, relaxed in sleep; from the church kitchen came the rattle of paper napkins and the clink of Miss Pettibone’s tray, and from the rear of the room sounded, at intervals, the cough of Mrs. Crampton, a genteel warning to speakers that their voices did not “carry.”
“Was there ever a human being more frightfully out of her element than I am here!” thought Barbara. “If the House-Plant could only see Mrs. Enderby! But she’s no more asleep than all the rest of them. What am I going to do to wake them up!”
This thought was uppermost in her mind as the afternoon was tinkled and applauded away. It was more than ever prominent as the precise, ladylike voice of Mrs. Bankson was raised a half-tone higher in her closing paragraph:—
“But, however, after all is said and done, it is the literary atmosphere that makes our club what it is. The dearly-loved paths that we have followed for many years have led us to lofty summits and ever-widening vistas, but never away from our original goal. The Ever-Womanly has always been our aim, and, while less substantial ambitions have fluttered by on airy wing, and the thunder of the new woman has rolled even upon our peaceful horizon, we have never faltered in our footsteps.
“On, on we go in our devotion to literature. And, as one of the most notable of our lady poets has so aptly expressed it,—
Still forever yawns before our eyes
An Utmost, that is veiled.”
A ladylike patter of applause, and a more active flutter of fans, greeted the end of the speech. The back door creaked violently, and Miss Pettibone’s round face appeared in the opening to see if time for refreshment had come. It disappeared suddenly as Miss Coleman mounted the platform to impersonate, first a bloody Macbeth, and then a swaying field daisy. And, finally, Barbara Prentice Grafton and the Empire gown faced the Literary Association.