The “bunch,” instigated by Billy, did a beautiful thing on the trying morning of Max’s return to school. They stood together in one of the halls where, by appointment, Sydney brought Max—the “cream of the seniors,” “Sis” Jones declared in a hissing whisper as Walter passed.
When the two came the greeting was not noisy; just hearty handshakes, and silent messages from, sympathetic eyes, with quiet jokes and, “on the side,” promises of friendship.
When Max reached his desk he found a fat letter containing “welcome” notes from Billy, Bess, May Nell, and many others. By the light in his teacher’s eye when she spoke to him, Max knew he was still trusted; and he lifted his head with courage, and entered upon his task of “living down” any accusations Walter Buckman and his friends might make, a task that loomed very large to him.
Billy’s efforts, enlisted by Sydney in behalf of Ida Jones, had long before this borne fruit. May Nell’s own shining electric motor stood more than once in front of the house where Ida lived, impressing the family little less than when she was driven up in her mother’s great limousine. And Bess Carter, whether she walked, came by trolley, or was dropped from his motor car by Dr. Carter, radiated power and a bluff sort of queenliness all her own that was even more impressive than evidence of wealth.
The Pattons, with whom Ida lived, were not unkind to her. They received her as one of the family, including her in such privileges as they enjoyed, which were few enough. For there was a houseful of small children to be cared for on slender means, entailing hard work for both Ida and her employer, who was uneducated and not in sympathy with the girl’s intense devotion to school.
Yet when she saw the friends Ida had made, and that their visits were not merely formal, she looked with increased respect upon her little helper, and planned for her more leisure, to the end that Ida found herself in a new world, the world of music and refinement.
One of the homes opened to her was Billy’s. Mrs. Bennett and her daughter often asked the girl to dine, and in delicate ways assisted her, lending books, suggesting reading, and helping her with bits of sewing.
During one of these visits she met Mrs. Schmitz, who had been invited with her two protégés to hear the quartette sing; and unknown to herself Ida acquired a new and ardent friend in the bright German woman.
Mrs. Wright discovered that Ida could sing, not in a trained way but in a true, sweet voice “placed” by nature; and she asked her frequently to the house, giving her many valuable lessons.
These occasions were often on Friday afternoons, when she would stay to dinner and to the “quartette practice.” Then it fell to Sydney to take her home; and the friendship thus fostered was the best thing that could have happened to him; for he was compelled to talk, and soon learned to do it “the same as if she were a chap.”