"Mary," said Tom.

"Hush, Tom!" said Mary, with a glance over her shoulder. "Don't say anything till we get home."

"I'm not going to say anything. But what famous book--the name of it, I mean--expresses what has been the matter with this picnic?"

"Oh, I don't know, Tom. 'Much Ado about Nothing'?"

"No," said Tom. "It's 'Ben Hur'!"

CHAPTER VI

AT THE HOTEL

"Oh Clarice, isn't it too bad that it's raining?" said Sue. "It hadn't begun when I started. It did look a little threatening, though. And I meant to take you such a lovely walk, Clarice. I don't suppose you want to go in the rain? I love to walk in the rain, it's such fun; but you are so delicate--"

"That's it," said Clarice, ignoring the wistful tone in Sue's voice.

"I shouldn't dare to, Sue. There is consumption in my family, you know,"--she coughed slightly,--"and it always gives me bronchitis to go out in the rain. Besides, I have such a headache! Have some candy?

I'll show you my new dresses, if you like. They just came this morning from New York--those muslins I told you about."

"Oh, that will be fun!" said Sue. But as she took off her tam-o'-shanter she gave a little sigh, and glanced out of the window.

The rain was coming down merrily. It was the first they had had for several weeks, and sight, sound, and smell were alike delightful. It would be such fun to tramp about and splash in the puddles and get all sopping! Last summer, when the drought broke, she and Mary put on their bathing-dresses, and capered about on the lawn and played "deluge," and had a glorious time. But of course she was only twelve then, and now she was thirteen; and it made all the difference in the world, Clarice said. The water was coming in a perfect torrent from that spout! If you should hold your umbrella under it, it would go f-z-z-z-z-z! and fly "every which way"; that was centrifugal force, or something--

"Here they are," said Clarice.

Sue came back with a start, and became all eyes for the muslin dresses which were spread on the bed. They were too showy for a young girl, and the tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs were cheap and tawdry; but the colors were fresh and gay, and Sue admired them heartily.

"Oh, Clarice, how lovely you will look in this one!" she cried. "Don't you want to try it on now, and let me see you in it?"

Clarice asked nothing better, and in a few minutes she was arrayed in the yellow muslin with blue cornflowers. But now came a difficulty: the gown would not meet in the back.

"Oh, what a shame!" said Sue. "Will you have to send it back, Clarice, or can you have it altered here? There is a very good dressmaker; she makes all our clothes,--Mary's and mine,--except what are made at home."

Clarice t.i.ttered.

"I'm afraid she wouldn't be quite my style," she said. "I wondered where your clothes _were_ made, you poor child! But this is all right.

I'll just take in my stays a little, that's all."

"Oh, don't, Clarice! Please don't! I am sure it will hurt you. Why, that would be tight lacing, and tight lacing does dreadful things to you. I learned about it at school. Dear Clarice, don't do it, please!"

"Little goose! who said anything about tight lacing? I'm only going to--there! Now look--I can put my whole hand in. You mustn't be so awfully countrified, Sue. You can't expect every one to go about in a bag, as you and Mary Hart do. I am two years older than you, my dear, and I haven't lived in a village all my life. It is likely that I know quite as much about such matters as you do."

"I--I beg your pardon, Clarice!" said Sue, the quick tears starting to her eyes. "Of course you know a great, great deal more than I do; I--I only thought--"

"There, do you see?" Clarice went on. "Now, that is real comfortable--perfectly comfortable; and it does fit alegant, don't it?"

"It certainly makes you look very slender," faltered Sue.

"Don't it?" repeated Clarice. "That's what my dressmaker always says."

She was turning slowly round and round before the gla.s.s, enjoying the effect. "There is nothing like a slender figure, she says; and I think so, too. Why, Sue, if you'll promise never to tell a soul, I'll tell you something. I used to be fat when I was your age--almost as fat as Mary Hart. Just think of it!"

"Oh, did you? But Mary isn't really fat, Clarice. She's only--well, rather square, you know, and chunky. That is the way she is made; she has always been like that."

"I call her fat!" said Clarice, decisively. "Of course, it's partly the way she dresses, with no waist at all, and the same size all the way down. You would be just as bad, Sue, if you weren't so slim. I don't see what possesses you to dress the way you do, making regular guys of yourselves. But I was going to tell you. My dressmaker--she's an alegant fitter, and a perfect lady--told me to eat pickled limes all I could, and put lots of vinegar on everything, and I would get thin. My! I should think I did. I used to eat six pickled limes every day in recess. I got so that I couldn't hardly eat anything but what it had vinegar in it. And I fell right away, in a few months, to what I am now."

"Oh! Oh, Clarice!" cried Sue, transfixed with horror. "How could you?

Why, it must have made you ill; I know it must. Is that why you are so pale?"

"Partly that," said Clarice, complacently. "Partly, I used to eat slate-pencils. I haven't had hardly any appet.i.te for common food this year. The worst is these headaches I have right along. But I don't care! I should hate to have staring red cheeks like Mary Hart. Your color is different; it's soft, and it comes and goes. But Mary Hart is dreadful beefy-looking."

"Clarice," said Sue, bravely, though she quivered with pain at the risk of offending her new friend, "please don't speak so of Mary. She is my oldest friend, you know, and I love her dearly. Of course I know you don't mean to say anything unkind, but--but I'd rather you didn't, please."

"Why, I'm not saying anything against her character!" said Clarice; and any one save Sue might have detected a spiteful ring in her voice.

"I won't say a word about her if you'd rather not, Sue, but if I do speak, I must say what I think. She's just as jealous of me as she can be, and she tries to make trouble between us--any one can see that; and I don't care for her one bit, so there!"

"Oh, Clarice, don't say that! I thought we were all going to be friends together, and love one another, and-- But you don't really know Mary yet. She is a dear; really and truly she is."

Clarice tossed her head significantly. "Oh, _I_ don't want to make mischief!" she said. "Of course it doesn't matter to _me_, my dear. Of course I am only a stranger, Sue, and I can't expect you to care for me half as much as you do for Mary Hart. Of course I am n.o.body beside her."

"Clarice, Clarice, how can you? Don't talk so. It _kills_ me to have you talk so! when you know how I love you, how I would do anything in the wide world for you, my dear, lovely Clarice!"

Clarice pouted for some time, but finally submitted to be embraced and wept over, and presently became gracious once more, and said that all should be forgiven (she did not explain what there was to forgive), and only stipulated that they should not talk any more about Mary Hart. Then she changed the subject to the more congenial one of clothes, and became eloquent over some of the triumphs of her dressmaker. Finally, in a fit of generosity, she offered to let Sue try on the other muslin dress. Sue was enchanted. "And then we can play something!" she cried. "Oh, there are all kinds of things we can play in these, Clarice."

"I guess not!" said Clarice. "Play in my new dresses, and get them all tumbled? Sue Penrose, you are too childish. I never saw anything like the way you keep wanting to play all the time. I should think you were ten, instead of thirteen."

Much abashed, Sue begged again for forgiveness. She did not see so very much fun in just putting on somebody else's dress and then taking it off again, but she submitted meekly when Clarice slipped it over her head. But the same difficulty arose again: the dress would not come anywhere near meeting round Sue's free, natural figure.

"Here," said Clarice; "wait a minute, Sue. I've got another pair of stays. We'll fix it in a moment."

Sue protested, but was overruled. Clarice was determined, she said, to see how her little friend would look if she were properly dressed for once. In a few moments she was fastened into the blue muslin, and Clarice was telling her that she looked too perfectly sweet for anything.

"Now _that_ is the way for you to dress, Sue Penrose. If I were you I should insist upon my mother's getting me a pair of stays to-morrow.

Why, you look like a different girl. Why, you have an alegant figure--perfectly alegant!"

But poor Sue was in sore discomfort, and no amount of "alegance" could make her at ease. She could hardly breathe; she felt girded by a ring of iron. Oh, it was impossible; it was unbearable!

"I never, never could, Clarice!" she protested. "Unhook it for me; please do! Yes, it is very pretty, but I cannot wear it another moment."

She persisted, in spite of Clarice's laughing and calling her a little countrified goose, and was thankful to find herself free once more, and back in her own good belted frock.

"Oh, Clarice," she said, "if you only _knew_ how comfortable this was, you would have your dresses made so; I know you would."

"The idea!" said Clarice. "I guess not, Sue. Have some more candy? My, how my head aches!"