CHAPTER I – THE ALEXANDERS

Eleanor Maynard left her friend, Polly Brewster, in the stateroom, cutting the stems of the gorgeous American Beauty roses, and arranging them anew in the tall glass of fresh water. As she was about to close the door behind her, she turned and said:

“Be sure and come up on deck, Polly, as soon as you are done with the roses.”

“All right, run along and I’ll be with you in a jiffy,” returned Polly, her thoughts engaged with the flowers.

So Eleanor strolled to the upper deck and tried to find an interest with which to amuse herself until Polly joined her.

Of course, you remember Polly Brewster of Pebbly Pit, and her chum, Eleanor Maynard, of Chicago? Mr. Fabian, their teacher in interior decorating, and the Ashbys from New York City, were escorting the two girls on this trip abroad, with the idea of visiting famous European museums and places where antiques of all kinds could be seen and studied.

Eleanor walked part way around the promenade deck before she was accosted by a decidedly plump woman of about forty, with decidedly blondine hair, and flashing —most decidedly – too many large diamonds from ears, fingers and neck.

“Excuse me, but aren’t you one of the young ladies I met at the Denver railway station last year when Anne Stewart and her friends were about to leave for New York?” questioned the lady.

Eleanor turned, glanced at the living representative of the newly-rich, and smiled delightedly – not with recognition but at the possibility of having fun with someone arrayed like a peacock.

“Oh yes, I was there! Do you know Anne Stewart?” said she.

“I should think I did! Didn’t we live next door to the Stewarts when Anne and Paul were little tots?”

“How nice to meet you, now,” returned Eleanor, noting the quality of the apparel and the approximate value of the gems adorning the lady.

“But that was before Ebeneezer struck ‘pay dirt’ down in Cripple Creek. After that, we moved from the little house and bought a swell mansion in the fashionable part of Denver,” explained the lady, with pride.

“Did you say you met us last summer?” ventured Eleanor.

“Yes, don’t you remember me? I got off the train coming in from Colorado Springs, just as you-all stood waiting for the East-bound Express.”

“I have a faint recollection of Anne shaking hands with someone, and introducing Polly and me, but there were so many in our party that you must pardon me if I do not recall you now.”

“Oh sure! I know how it is,” giggled the lady, affably. “You did have a crowd waiting to see you off, I remember.”

“And now we meet again on the steamer bound for Europe! Well, it goes to show how small a place this world is,” remarked Eleanor, not knowing what else to say, but feeling amused at the hackneyed phrase she had to make use of.

“How comes it that you are sailing across? Is your Ma and family with you?”

“No, but Polly Brewster – she’s the girl you saw that day with Anne – and I are going to tour Europe with some friends, to study more of our profession.”

“Profession! Good gracious – didn’t that gold mine I read about pan out anything?” exclaimed the lady, astonished.

Eleanor laughed. “Oh yes, I believe it is going to pay even richer than we at first thought possible; so Polly and I can use our own money to improve our education.”

“And what are you going to take up?”

“We have taken it up – Polly and I have been studying Interior Decorating for two years, now.”

“Interior Decorating! Good gracious – isn’t that the sort of work the upholsterers and painters have to do for you?” gasped the lady.

Eleanor laughed again. Here was fun indeed! So she carefully fed the fuel now beginning to take fire in her companion’s brain. “I am afraid it has been their work in the past. But Polly and I plan to try and uplift the work, and by investing our money in a first-rate business, we will try to create a real profession out of what is merely a paint-brush and a tack-hammer job, nowadays.”

Eleanor glanced about to make sure her friends were not within hearing of the remarks she had just made to her new acquaintance. The expression on the lady’s face, as the young aspirant for a new ideal explained her plans, sufficed Eleanor for the story she had just told.

“And what did you say your name was, dearie?” asked the lady, finally.

“Eleanor Maynard – of the Chicago Maynards, you know.”

“Yes, yes, I know of them,” replied the lady, glibly. “I am Mrs. Ebeneezer Alexander, of Denver. P’raps you’ve heard how Eben made a million in a night?”

Mrs. Alexander’s puckered forehead led Eleanor to understand what was expected of her in reply, so she fibbed as glibly as her companion had. “Oh yes! who has not heard of the Alexanders of Denver?”

The lady smoothed out her steamer-rug and smiled happily. Then the remembrance of this banker’s daughter going into a common trade, to better the conditions and reputation of the work, rose uppermost in her shallow mind again.

“I should think your Ma’d go wild to think that one of her girls wanted to work instead of getting married to a rich young man,” remarked she.

“Maybe my mother would object if I gave her time to think about it,” Eleanor said, smilingly. “But she’s too busy getting my sister Bob ready to marry, to bother about me.”

“Well, by the time your sister is settled down and having a family, you’ll be ready to turn your back on work and do as your Ma thinks best,” declared Mrs. Alexander, knowingly.

The very suggestion of Barbara’s having a family so amused Eleanor that she laughed uncontrollably, to the perplexity of her companion.

“Don’t you believe you will grow tired of work?” asked Mrs. Alexander, thinking her remarks on that subject had sounded preposterous to Eleanor.

“No indeed! Polly and I are tremendously interested in the study, and as we go into it deeper, the more absorbing it grows,” replied Eleanor.

“I didn’t know you had anything to study, except how to handle a paint-brush, or tuck in the furniture covering, before you tack the guimpe along the edges.”

“Oh yes, there’s a little more than that to learn first, before you can hang out a sign to tell folks you are a decorator, and wish to solicit their trade,” smiled Eleanor.

“Who are these Ashbys you spoke of? Are they New York trade people, or do they travel in society?” now asked Mrs. Alexander, as she remembered the escort Eleanor had mentioned.

“Mr. and Mrs. Ashby, and their daughter Ruth, are very nice people who know just the sort of folks Polly and I need to meet to help us in our business, later on. Mr. Ashby has a large upholstery and decorating business in New York City, but his wife goes into society, somewhat,” explained Eleanor, a twinkle in her eyes that would have warned one who understood her mischievous inclinations. But her companion did not understand.

“Oh – I see! Just a tradesman who’s made some money, I s’pose, and now his wife wants to climb. Did you ever read that novel about some ‘climbers’?”

“No, but I’ve heard of it. The Ashbys are not that sort.”

“But not the sort that can help me with Dodo, either, I see,” said Mrs. Alexander, thoughtfully for her.

“Dodo?”

“Yes, she’s my daughter. It’s because of her that I’m going over to the other side. I’ve heard say there are titles going begging for American millionaires since the war. And Dodo isn’t bad looking, even if she isn’t as prepossessing as I used to be – and am yet, I can say.”

Eleanor could hardly believe she had heard aright. An American mother from Denver going to exchange her child for a title! And the absolute egotism with which she mentioned her own looks and behavior!

“Well!” thought Eleanor to herself, “I was looking for entertainment, and here I have more of it than I dreamed of.”

“Does your daughter agree with you about marrying a title?” Eleanor could not help asking.

“She doesn’t say anything about it, one way or another. I told her what she had to do, and that settles it.”

“How old is she?” wondered Eleanor aloud.

“Past sixteen, but she looks more like twenty. If it wasn’t that it would make me look so old, I’d dress her like twenty-one ’cause I hear the Europeans prefer a woman of age, and over there she can’t be her own lawful self ’til twenty-one.”

“Sixteen! Why – she isn’t much older than Polly or I!” gasped Eleanor.

“No, but I said – she seemed older.”

“Nancy Fabian is nineteen and she never thinks of getting married – not yet. Everyone thinks, nowadays, that twenty-five is plenty young enough for a girl to think of marriage. That gives her a chance to see the world and men, and then make a wise choice.”

“Nancy Fabian – who is she?” asked Mrs. Alexander.

“Nancy is the daughter of Mr. Fabian who taught Polly and me interior decorating thus far. He is a wonderful teacher, and Nancy, his only child, has been studying art in Paris. Her mother went over with her to chaperone her, while there, and now we are going to meet them. Nancy managed to have several of her watercolors exhibited at the Academy this year, and one of them took a prize.” Eleanor’s tone conveyed the delight and pride she felt in Nancy Fabian’s achievement, even though she had not met her.

“And this teacher is traveling with you?” was Mrs. Alexander’s rejoinder.

Eleanor felt the condescension in Mrs. Alexander’s tone and resented it. So she decided to answer with a sharp thrust.

“Yes; Mr. Fabian promised Anne and my mother to take good care of Polly and me, until he turns us over to his wife and Nancy, who are visiting Sir James Osgood, of London.”

“Visiting a Sir James!” gasped Mrs. Alexander, sitting bolt upright for the first time since the interview began.

“Uh-huh! The Fabians and the Osgoods are very close friends, I hear. Nancy Fabian and Angela Osgood studied in the same class, in Paris; and Mrs. Fabian chaperoned Angela when her mother, Lady Osgood, had to return to England for the London Season.” Eleanor had her revenge.

“Mercy! Then these Fabians must be somebody!”

“Why, of course! What made you think they were not?”

“From what you said,” stammered Mrs. Alexander, humbly. “You said he was a teacher and that he was an intimate friend of the Ashbys who were painters and upholsterers.”

“Oh no, I didn’t!” retorted Eleanor. “You said that. I said that Mr. Ashby was an interior decorator who helped Polly and me a lot, and that Mr. Fabian was our teacher. There is a vast difference between decorators and paint-slingers, you will learn, some day.”

Eleanor was about to walk away with that parting shot, when a very attractive girl came from a side-door of the Lounge and looked around. Catching sight of Mrs. Alexander, she started for her. She was over-dressed, and her face had been powdered and rouged as much as her mother’s was; her lips were scarlet as carmine could tinge them, and her hair was waved and dressed in the latest style for adults. As Mrs. Alexander had said, her daughter looked fully ten years older than she really was, because of her make-up.

She glanced casually at Eleanor, without expressing any interest in her, and turned to her mother. “Oh, Ma! I’ve been looking for you everywhere! Pa says he won’t come out and sit down, just to watch who goes by.”

Eleanor was severely tailored in her appearance, but her suit represented the best cut and fit that the most exclusive shop in New York could provide, and the broad-cloth was of the finest. Dodo, (whose real name was Dorothy but was cut to Dodo for a pet name) failed to recognize the lines and material of the gown, but she passed it over lightly because she saw no gorgeous trimmings to claim value for it.