The Story Book Girls Part 35

CHAPTER XIX

Herr Slavska

Mabel had discovered that a woman with a mission hasn't such a bad time of it. She set out on her journey to Jean without one of her usual misgivings. It was jolly to think that she might be able to be of some use in the world. The tediousness of a long journey of changes till she reached the main-line and thundered direct to London did not pall on her as it had done before. Throughout she thought, "I'm getting nearer to Jean, and I shall put her on her feet."

She prepared to hate the girls' club, but to be quite uninfluenced by it. She would take Jean out, till neither of them cared what the club was like at all. She forgot Robin and Isobel and everything except one thing which she would never forget, and Jean.

She drove up to the door of the club in the most energetic and independent mood she had ever experienced. She didn't care whether the secretary looked her up and down or not. She merely went straight to Jean's room. Jean didn't at all pretend that it was a downcome. She simply wept with delight at the sight of Mabel.

"And I never shed a tear, not one, till you came," said she. "I'm so glad you came just when I began to get better."

Mabel did not dare to tell her that she had only been home-sick.

"If I tell her that, she will lie in bed to convince me that she is really ill," she thought.

Girls' voices were heard screaming volubly.

"What's that?" asked Mabel, thinking that some accident had occurred.

"Oh nothing. They call out for each other from their different rooms.

I thought it was a parrot house when I came, but I'm getting accustomed to it. They've been so decent, you can't think, Mabel. I never knew girls could be so comforting."

"Poor Jean," said Mabel.

"You'll stay, won't you," said Jean.

"Of course I shall. Just imagine, papa wanted to come and take you home. It would have been so stale for you after you got there, with those little presents people gave you and all that kind of thing, if you had gone right back home again, wouldn't it?"

"Imagine Aunt Katharine alone," said Jean solemnly.

"So, if you possibly can, Jean, get up as soon as you feel able to crawl. So that I can say you are all right. Papa says I may stay for a week or two if you are."

"Oh, Mabs, I wish you would stay right on!"

"Where's my room?" asked Mabel. "What rickety furniture!"

"The room is next door, isn't it nice? And the furniture's bought for girls. They think we like rickets."

"Wickets," corrected Mabel. "You could use that chair at a match."

"Oh, Mabs, how jolly it is to have you here to laugh at it. Mabs, I do feel better."

Mabel saw her up in three-quarters of an hour.

Jean had still to be treated seriously however.

"You know, Mabs, I had the most dreadful feeling. I could quite understand how poor girls without friends go and drown themselves."

"That's more like depression than appendicitis," Mabel ventured.

"I hadn't been sleeping," explained Jean with dignity.

Mabel thought of some sleepless nights.

"The best cure is always to believe that it can't last," said she. "Do you remember papa's telling us how Carlyle comforted Mrs. Carlyle when she had toothache? He said it wouldn't be permanent."

"What a brute," said Jean.

"Well, it sent me to sleep once or twice when I remembered that," said Mabel. "But you never were ill like this before. You couldn't believe in getting well, could you?"

"I was sure I was going to die," said Jean in a hushed voice.

Mabel's heart had ached. Could she tell Jean of that ache and how she had been obliged to cover it up by making herself believe that it could not possibly be permanent.

"Jean, do you know, I think it's so jolly being here, getting to know the best way of doing things, and all that sort of thing, I think I shall ask papa to let me stay longer. Do you think they would let me?"

"Well, they let me--and then I didn't want to," said Jean.

"And I didn't want to and now I do," said Mabel. "Let's try it for a week or two anyhow."

A great depression had been lifted from her shoulders. She found herself in the midst of girls who had all something to do in the world. They got up in the morning and came tearing down to breakfast and made off to various definite occupations, as though they had nineteen parties in one day to attend. Some were studying, others "arrived" and working, only a few playing. Yet even the last had some excuse in the way of a problematical career in front of them. Here one saw where the desire to be something has quite as hygienic an effect on one, as the faculty of attainment. Mabel had not been three days in the house till she was as feverish as any to be getting on. Going with Jean for her first lesson finished her. Jean was still of the opinion that she was an invalid, and she certainly was overwrought and nervous. She would have backed out of her lesson, except that Mabel accompanied her.

They found a magnificent man, well groomed and of fierce but courtly manners. He shook hands with the air of an arch-duke.

"And which is the fortunate mademoiselle?" he asked. "Not that I prefer 'fortunate' because that she happens to be about to be taught by myself, but she has a voice? Hn?" It was a sound that had only the effect of asking a question, but how efficiently!

He glared at Mabel, who produced Jean, as it were, by a motion of the hand.

"It is my sister who wants lessons," she said. This sounded like something out of a grammar book, and both girls saw the humour of it.

But timidly, because Herr Slavska then invited them to sit, while he turned to the piano. He threw some music aside from the desk and cleared a place at the side for his elbow, as he sat down for a moment.

"They do not all have voices! No. But som, they have the soll. You have the soll? Hn?"

It did not seem necessary to inform Herr Slavska. He was walking up and down now, flinging out more sentences before they had time to answer the last.

"For myself. I had the voice and I had the soll. That is why I ask 'and who is the mademoiselle who is so fortunate?' I am a voice, and look at me! I am a drudge to the great public. I gif lessons to stupids who do not love music. For what! For money to keep the stomach alive! Yes, that is it. And yet I say--which is the mademoiselle which is fortunate? For vit a voice and vit the soll, and vit the art which I shall gif her, what does it matter about the stupid public? or the stomach?"

Herr Slavska waited for no answers.

"For years I was wrong. I had no art. None. I sang to the stupids and they applauded. At last I make great discovery, I find the art. Now I sing to the few."

Herr Slavska paused for a moment.

"My sister has had no training at all, except as a pianist," said Mabel.