To their relief it was Molly herself, Molly in a stiffly starched muslin dress, who opened the door to them. They filed decorously in, deposited their hats and caps on the marble table in the hall and right-wheeled into the parlor. There they seated themselves in a circle about the room and felt very awkward and uncomfortable. Molly did her best to set her guests at ease, but the task was a difficult one. The assemblage was like her dress, very stiff and starchy. They discussed morning service, the weather, Spud’s new necktie and the pictures on the walls, and just when things did seem to be thawing out the least little bit there was the sound of footfalls on the stairs and instantly the guests froze into immobility.
Entered Miss Matilda followed by Miss Lydia. The guests arose as one man, painfully polite and serious. Miss Matilda motioned them back to their seats. Down they sat with a unanimity that suggested previous rehearsals. Miss Matilda announced that she was very glad to see them, and Sandy murmured—well, nobody ever knew what he murmured. But the tone was quite correct and the murmur served the purpose. Miss Lydia, plainly embarrassed, smoothed her black silk gown over her knees and smiled. Conversation proceeded by fits and starts. It went like a trolley car in a crowded street. Just when they thought it was nicely started, with a clear track ahead, it stopped with a bump. Then, after a dismal silence off it started once more with a jerk. Miss Matilda, Molly, Sandy and Spud were the principal conversationalists. Molly supplied subjects, Miss Matilda frowned them aside, Sandy rescued them and Spud babbled. Babbled is the only word for Spud’s efforts. He babbled of the weather and the dust in the streets and Mrs. Linn’s tonsilitis—a mild attack of no importance save as a subject for discourse—and finally of Molly’s tennis. The others looked on in evident and often open-mouthed admiration and awe. Strangely enough it was Spud’s last babble that cleared the conversational track for several blocks, so to speak.
“Well, I’m glad she’s doing nicely at it,” said Miss Matilda with a sniff, “though I don’t see why she wants to learn it. In my day young girls didn’t race around hitting rubber balls with snowshoes.”
“It’s—it’s a very pleasant game,” suggested Spud, vastly encouraged by his success, “and quite—er—popular nowadays, ma’am.”
“Popular! I dare say; most anything that’s silly enough is popular these days, it seems. When I was a girl sewing and embroidery, yes, and plain cooking, were popular.”
“Yes’m.”
“Well, I don’t say but what this tennis may be good for Molly. I guess most anything that will keep her nose out of books for awhile will be beneficial. And it’s very kind of you young gentlemen to teach her the game.”
“Not at all, Miss Curtis,” protested Sandy.
“I say it is,” responded Miss Matilda firmly. “Boys don’t usually like to have girls about them. I told Molly that when she first asked me to let her go over to your house. She said you were different.” Miss Matilda smiled briefly. “Maybe you are. My experience with boys makes me convinced that they’re all pretty much alike. I haven’t anything especial against them, though they most usually have dirty shoes—” Eight pair of feet crept under eight chairs—“and are noisy. And sometimes they don’t pay much attention to the eighth commandment.” Rapid glances were exchanged between her hearers. Dutch was plainly striving to recall which commandment was which. Miss Matilda arose in her majesty. “Come, Lydia,” she said. Miss Lydia obeyed, casting a final embarrassed smile over the circle. At the door Miss Matilda paused. “I hope you will come again,” she said quite graciously. “It will be very pleasant for my niece. We will be glad to see you any time so long as you behave yourselves.”