Frances of the Ranges Part 41

She ran to open it to her father.

"Here you are, Frances," said the old ranchman, jovially. "Never mind if Lon hasn't got here yet; I've gone deeper into the treasure chest. I want you to be all dolled up to-night."

His hands were fairly ablaze--or looked to be. He had his great palms cupped, and that cup was full of gems in all sorts of ancient settings--shooting sparks of all colors in the dimly lighted room.

"There's a handful of stuff to make you pretty," he said, proudly.

The ancient belt dangled over his arm. He placed all the things on her dressing-table, and stood off to admire their brilliancy. Frances swallowed a lump in her throat. How could she disappoint him! How could she try to tell him how unsuitable these gems were for a young girl in her teens! He would be heart-broken if she did not wear them.

"You are a dear, Daddy!" she murmured, and kissed him. "Now run away and let me dress."

He tiptoed out, all a-smile. His wife's dressing-room had been a "holy of holies" to this simple-minded old man, and Frances reminded him every day, more and more strongly, of the woman whom he had wors.h.i.+ped for a few happy years.

Frances did not hasten with her preparations, however. She sat down and spread the gewgaws out before her on the dresser. The belt, Spanish earrings of fabulous value and length, rings that almost blinded her when she held the stones in the sunlight, a great oval brooch, bracelets, and a necklace of matched stones that made her heart beat almost to suffocation when she tried it on her brown throat.

She had it in her power to "knock their eyes out," as daddy (and Tom Gallup) had expressed it. She could bedeck herself like a queen. She knew that Sue Latrop wors.h.i.+ped the tangible signs of wealth, as she understood them.

Cattle, and range lands, and horses, and a great, rambling house like this at the Bar-T, impressed the girl from Boston very little. But jewels would appeal to her empty head as nothing else could.

Frances knew this very well. She knew that she could overawe the Boston girl with a display of these gems. And she would please her father, too, in loading her fingers and ears and neck and arms with the brilliants.

And then, before she got any farther in her dressing, or had decided in her troubled mind what really to do, there came another, and lighter, tapping on her door.

"Who's there?" asked Frances.

"It's only me, Frances," said Pratt.

"What do you want?" she asked, calmly, rising and approaching the door.

"Got something for you--if you want them," the young man said, in a low voice.

"What is it?" she queried.

"Open the door and see," and he laughed a little nervously.

Frances drew her gown closer about her throat, and turned the k.n.o.b.

Instantly a great bunch of fragrant little blossoms--the wild-flowers so hard to find on the plains and in the foothills--were thrust into her hands.

"Oh, _Pratt!_" shrieked the girl in delight.

She clasped the blossoms to her bosom; she buried her face in them.

Pratt watched her with smiling lips, and wonderingly.

How pretty and girlish she was! The grown-up air that responsibilities had lent her fell away like a cloak. She was just a simple, enthusiastic, delighted girl, after all!

"Like them?" asked the young man, laconically.

"I _love_ them!" Frances declared.

Pratt was thinking how wonderful it was that a girl could seize a big bunch of posies like that, and hug them, and press them to her face, and still not crush the fragile things.

"Why," he thought, "I've had to handle them like eggs all the way here, to keep from spoiling them beyond repair. Aren't girls wonders?"

You see, Pratt Sanderson was beginning to be interested in the mysteries of the opposite s.e.x.

"Run away now, like a good boy," she said to him, as she had to her father, and closed the door once more.

She ran to her bathroom and filled two vases with water and put the flower stems in, that they might drink and keep the blossoms fresh.

Then, with a lighter air and tread, she went about her dressing for the party.

She put up her hair, deftly copying the fas.h.i.+on that Sue Latrop--that mirror of Eastern fas.h.i.+on--affected. And the new mode became Frances vastly.

Her new dress--the one she had had made for the pageant--had already come home from the city dressmaker who had her measurements. She spread it upon the bed and got her skirts and other linen.

Half an hour later she was out of her bath and ready for the dress itself. It went on and fitted perfectly.

"I am sure anybody must admire this," she told herself. She was sure that none of the girls at the dinner and dance would be more fitly dressed than herself--if she stopped right here!

But now she returned to the dresser and looked at the blazing gems from the old Spanish chest. If only daddy did not want her to wear them!

A ring, one bracelet, possibly the brooch. She might wear those without shocking good taste. All were beautiful; but the heavy settings, the great belt of gold and emeralds, the necklace of sparkling brilliants--all, all were too rich and too startling for a girl of her age, and well Frances knew it.

With sinking heart and trembling fingers she adorned herself with the heaviest weight of trouble she had ever borne.

A little later she descended the stairs, slowly, regally, bearing her head erect, and looking like a little tragedy queen as she appeared in the soft evening glow at the foot of the stairs.

Pratt's gasp of wonder and amazement made the old Captain turn to look.

Above her brow was a crescent of sparkling stones. The long, graceful earrings lay lovingly upon the bared, velvet shoulders of the girl.

The bracelets clasped the firm flesh of her arms warmly. The collar of gems sparkled at her throat. The brooch blazed upon her bosom. And around her slender waist was the great belt of gold.

She was a wonderful sight! Pratt was dazzled--amazed. The old ranchman poked him in the ribs.

"What do you think of _that_?" he demanded. "Went right down to the bottom of the chest to get all that stuff. Isn't she the whole show?"

And Frances had hard work to keep back the tears. She knew that was exactly what she was--a show.

She could see the change slowly grow in Pratt's features. His wonder s.h.i.+fted to disapproval. After the first shock he realized that the exhibition of the gems on such an occasion as this was in bad taste.

Why! she was like a jeweler's window! The gems were wonderfully beautiful, it was true. But they would better be on velvet cus.h.i.+ons and behind gla.s.s to be properly appreciated.

"Do you like me, Daddy?" she asked, softly.

"My mercy, Frances! I scarcely know you," he admitted. "You certainly make a great show."

"Are you satisfied?" she asked again.