The Daring Twins

“Tell us the beginning of the trouble, dear,” urged the elder sister.

Sue related her conversation with Doris.

“I’ve put up with her slurs ’n’ sarcasms long enough,” she said. “If she’s so blessed religious as she tries to make out, why does she pick on me ev’ry minute? I’m glad I called her a hypocrite, an’ I won’t take it back – not for a second!”

“Perhaps she did not mean to offend you by speaking of the ‘lemonade dress’,” suggested Phœbe. “I’ve always found her a good-hearted girl and quite ladylike.”

“That’s what I object to,” was the answer. “I won’t stand for her ladylike airs, Phœbe, an’ that’s all there is to it.”

“Sometimes our judgment proves to be wrong,” said Phœbe. “Anyhow, Cousin Judith knows best.”

“There’s another thing that makes me mad,” cried Sue. “Cousin Judith takes Doris’ part against me. Isn’t she supposed to stand up for her own adopted children?”

“Not when they’re wrong, sis,” said Don stoutly.

“Who’s to say whether they’re wrong or not?” Sue demanded.

“She is, of course. She’s older, and knows more.”

“Cousin Judith,” added Phœbe, “tries to be always right and just. She thought you were impudent to Doris, who is our neighbor and has been kind to us all, and so she asked you to apologize.”

“I won’t apologize to that stuck-up thing – anyhow, not till she apologizes for speaking of my lemonade dress.”

“Now, that’s the real question before the board,” asserted Don. “You’re under trial, Sue, and if we decide you’re in the wrong, and you don’t apologize to Doris and do as Cousin Judith says, you’ll be divorced from our Articles of Adoption.”

Sue was white and frightened, but she held her ground.

“All right,” she said. “It’s up to you. I don’t want any adoption by anyone who won’t stand by me in a fight. And I’ll never —never– beg Doris’ pardon!”

They tried to argue with her, and explained the disgrace of being divorced and having no Little Mother. The divorce would separate her not only from association with Cousin Judith, but from that of her brothers and sisters, who would all hold strictly to the letter of the agreement they had signed.

Sue listened to it all and remained obstinate.

“It’s for you to say whether I’m right or wrong,” she avowed at the last, “and if I’m divorced I don’t care a rap. I won’t stand for any adoption that makes me apologize to a silly fool like Doris Randolph.”

Donald and Phœbe withdrew from the conference and talked it over between themselves. They decided that Sue, having defied Cousin Judith’s authority and broken the signed agreement, must submit to the penalty of divorce.

Phœbe drew up the paper and made an imposing looking copy on her typewriter. It read as follows:

“Whereas Sue Daring signed, under date of June 14th, 1908, a document known as the Articles of Adoption, whereby she promised and covenanted to support and acknowledge the authority of Miss Judith Eliot and to Adopt her as a Mother, and Whereas the said Sue Daring has broken that covenant and agreement and refuses longer to abide by it, Therefore the undersigned, chosen by her as a Committee to decide her case, hereby declares the said Sue Daring has been guilty of a violation of the terms of the said signed agreement and is therefore released from all its pledges and Divorced from any further participation in its benefits. Signed this 12th day of July, 1908.

    Phœbe Daring,
    Donald Daring,
    Committee.”

This paper was made out in duplicate and a copy given to Sue and one to Cousin Judith. Sue promptly tore up her paper and scattered the pieces over the hall floor. Then she left the house and went away to play with some of her girl friends.

Cousin Judith asked the others not to taunt or reproach the girl, but to treat her as pleasantly and cordially as before. After supper that evening, they all strolled down to the river to watch the boat crew practice; but Sue was not asked to accompany them. On their return Don told the divorced one of the jolly time they had had, and how Cousin Judith bought them each an ice cream soda at the drug store; but Sue made no reply. When she went to bed she did not, like the others, go to the Little Mother for a good night kiss. In her room she noticed that the covers of her bed had not been turned down, as usual, or her night robe laid out. Becky’s bed, across the room, had been remembered with loving care by Judith, but Sue was no longer her adopted daughter.

This little lack of attention sent the first real pang to the girl’s heart. Silently, she got down her gown from the closet and turned back the covers of her own bed. In the morning she was about to call to Cousin Judith to ask what dress to put on, but remembered in time that she must now choose for herself.

The dressmaker still came to the house every day to sew busily for the needy family. Judith was paying for all the new things with her own money, which she had saved from the sale of her pictures, and therefore Sue was not surprised when her pretty pink challis was laid aside and put into a drawer unfinished, while a gown of Becky’s was brought out and given the dressmaker to work upon. Sue told herself she must expect such things to happen under the new order of things; only – only she would have liked that pink dress; it was so soft and pretty.

The divorced one made no complaint, however she might feel the difference between her position and that of her brothers and sisters. Sue was old enough to understand that she must pay the penalty for her rebellion, and if at times she repented her stubbornness it was in secret and no word of regret passed her lips. Judith spoke to her with uniform kindliness and so did the other members of the family; yet Sue realized she was an outcast, and no longer entitled to a place in the inner circle.

This ostracism was more acutely defined when the Little Mother one morning called her flock into her room for a conference. Sue stayed away, being an outsider, and listened to the merry laughter that at times penetrated the closed doors and saluted her ears. Undoubtedly it was a trial to the younger girl to be debarred from such good fellowship, and as she sat in her lonely corner she sadly recalled the jolly times she had once had in Cousin Judith’s pleasant room.

“So you’s a orfin ag’in, is yo’?” remarked Aunt Hyacinth, coming upon her as Sue sat nursing her gloomy thoughts. “Ain’t yo’ got no sense a’tall, Miss Sue, to go a-flyin’ in de face o’ Prov’dence dis a-way?”

“You mind your own business, Aunt Hy.”

“Dat’s what I’m doin’, honey. Mah bus’ness is to see you all happy, an’ here yo’ goes an’ makes yo’se’f a outcast an’ a orfin, when yo’ had a good Li’l Motheh to tek care o’ yo’. Ain’ dere no way to divohce dat divohce, an’ git back in de sunshine ag’in’?”

Sue sulked and did not reply. That suggestion of getting back into the fold again had already occurred to her, but the Articles of Adoption had made no provision for such a thing. Much of the child’s stubborn mood had vanished by this time, but there seemed no way of retreat open. She began to wonder if she must pass all her life an “outcast an’ a orfin,” as Aunty had tersely described it.

Judith, who had a shrewd idea of what was passing in the girl’s mind, was content to let matters take their course. Often she longed to take Sue in her arms and comfort her, but dared not. Judith Eliot was only a young girl herself, loving and tender hearted, but she was rarely sagacious in her understanding of human nature and believed that Sue’s divorce would tend to benefit all her charges, and finally strengthen her own position. One gains experience not only personally, but from the experiences of others, and it was noticeable that both Becky and Don had been unusually meek and circumspect since Sue’s rebellion.

Becky, indeed, did a queer thing. Going to the Little Mother privately she said in her earnest way:

“I’d like to get halter-broke, Cousin Judith, and I wish you’d help me. Whenever I buck the rules of propriety and cease to be a lady, you just step on my corns an’ yell ‘time.’ I know I’m awful slangy sometimes, but by jooks I’ll cure myself of the habit if I bu’st a surcingle!”

Judith smiled and kissed her.

“I wonder where you pick up such expressions,” she said. “But I assure you, Becky dear, it won’t be at all difficult to cultivate a choicer language, if you make the attempt. Pay attention to the conversation of Phœbe and Marion, and listen to your Little Mother’s mode of speech. I assure you there is nothing either winning or clever in the use of slang phrases. A street gamin is able to employ them as readily as you do, yet may never aspire to refined speech. To cast your lot with the ignorant and uncultured, rather than with those of your own class, is to abandon the advantages of birth and refined associations.”

“I used to think it was smart,” admitted Becky, gloomily; “but now I see I was off my base and shinning up the wrong tree. But I’ll be careful, after this, Cousin Judith; see if I’m not. And I hope you’ll call me down if I forget I’m a lady and talk like a female she.”

It was well-nigh impossible to cure herself of vulgar expressions all at once; but Becky sincerely tried to improve, and met with a measure of success. Judith never reproached her if at times she lapsed unwittingly into slang, for Becky was quick to realize her fault and a sudden flush of shame would often suffuse her face before the unseemly words were well out of her mouth.

Don and Allerton had now become fast friends, being together much of the time. Don, as well as Becky, had softened perceptibly since the advent of Cousin Judith, and having acquired a hearty respect for Allerton, who had proved no “mollycoddle,” the boys became congenial associates.

The coming boat race had by this time begun to excite the good people of Riverdale and was a general topic of conversation among the villagers. Nearly every town on the river bank had a boat crew, and a sharp rivalry had for some years been maintained between Bayport, nine miles away, and Riverdale. For many seasons Bayport had won the prize, being practically invincible, but for the last two years fortune had deserted them and their crew lost to Riverdale. Bayport was naturally eager to regain its lost prestige, and its adversary was equally anxious to retain the honors so hardily won. Therefore, an exciting race was in prospect.

CHAPTER XVI

THE BOAT RACE

Phil had pulled an oar with the winning crew the year before, and was to be stroke oar this year, a position requiring nice judgment as well as consummate skill. Although he had now been working at the bank for more than three weeks, the young fellow was in prime physical condition, and the week’s practice with the crew renewed the hopes of the ardent admirers of the Riverdale boys.

Eric came down nearly every evening to see them pull the scull over the smooth stretch of water above the bridge, and he told Phil several times that he had “laid some pretty stiff wagers” on his crew.

Young Daring did not approve of this, and frankly said so.

“We’ve three new men in our eight,” he said, “and the Bayport crew is almost entirely new blood. No one can judge our respective merits till we get together, and while I hope we shall win I would not risk a dollar on such a doubtful chance.”

Eric was unconvinced, and merely laughed at him; yet Phil felt that he had done his duty and said all that was required. Thereafter he held his peace.

The race was held at Bayport this year, which was in that crew’s favor, although Phil and most of his eight were nearly as familiar with the Bayport course as with their own. When Saturday arrived there was a general exodus from Riverdale to the scene of the race.