Witch Winnie's Mystery, or The Old Oak Cabinet Part 10

CHAPTER VII.

A STATE OF "DREADFULNESS."

[Ill.u.s.tration]

Miss Noakes had not heard us, but our troubles were not over.

It was not until I had helped Adelaide to retire (for her poor hands were too badly burned to put up her own hair), and had gone away into my own room that I realized that Winnie was not with us and that she had been left behind in the stampede up the turret stairs. I crept around through the corridor into the darkened studio. Professor Waite and his friend had gone, why had not Winnie returned? I opened the door leading to the turret and called her name softly. I was answered by a groan. I hastened to light a candle and stole down the winding stair. Half way down I found Winnie sitting on the steps, a bundle of misery.

"I came up once," she exclaimed, "but Professor Waite was in the studio and I had to go back to the closet and wait until he left the house."

"It must have been very chilly and unpleasant with nothing but a watering can and a lawn mower to sit on," I remarked; "but why didn't you come all the way up this time. You surely don't intend to spend the night where you are."

"I don't know," Winnie replied, with another groan; "I've sprained my ankle or something, and I can't bear my weight on it. It was all that I could do to drag myself up and back again, and then as far as this. Ow!

how it hurts! No, I just cannot take another step."

"Dear! dear!" I exclaimed; "what a night this has been! With Milly's narrow escape from death, and Adelaide's burned hands, and your sprained ankle, we have had enough Halloween for one year."

"What do you mean?" Winnie asked, in her absorption taking several little hops up the stairs. "Milly's escape? What has happened? Ow! wow!

You'll have to get a derrick, Tib, and hoist me up. I cannot budge an inch."

"Lean on me," I said, "and listen while I tell you all about it"; and I rehea.r.s.ed the thrilling story of Professor Waite's rescue.

"I can smell the smoke still. Snooks will think the house is on fire,"

Winnie declared, snuffing vigorously as we reached the studio. "You had better open the windows a bit and air off. And there are some burned sc.r.a.ps of Milly's wrapper on the floor; let's pick them all up. Ow!

don't let go of me. This is really what Milly calls a state of dreadfulness--no other word will describe it. How can I ever stand it until morning?"

I helped her to her bed and bound up her ankle with Pond's Extract; but it had swollen so much and was so painful that when morning came Winnie consented to have the school physician called. He kindly asked no questions, and treated Adelaide's hands, only remarking, "I see you have been celebrating Halloween."

"He thinks I burned them in s.n.a.t.c.hing the raisins out of the lighted alcohol," Adelaide said; "or perhaps in putting out some clothing which was set on fire in that way."

Even Madame was considerate and did not inquire closely into the details of the trouble.

"I hope you have learned from this," she said, "that it is a dangerous thing to play with fire."

Halloween was a disagreeable subject after this to all of us, but especially to Winnie. "Don't mention it," she would say. "I shall never play another trick in all my mortal days. I feel as mean and demoralized as a lunch-basket on its way home from a picnic."

The state of dreadfulness deepened as time went on. Winnie kept her room for days, and it was necessary to feed Adelaide at table, and dress and undress her; but their hurts troubled me less than the heart bruise received by my poor Milly. I kept her secret and she was brave, and no one else suspected it. Professor Waite was very impatient with her, treating her work contemptuously, and disregarding her personally altogether. He never alluded to the accident, treating it, as Winnie said, as of no more consequence than if he had extinguished a bale of cotton that had happened to take fire.

"That man is utterly incapable of sentiment," Winnie remarked wrathfully. "Now how natural it would be to make a romance out of such a rescue, but Professor Waite's heart is as stony as that of the Apollo Belvedere."

Milly smiled piteously and shook her head, while she looked significantly from me toward Adelaide, as much as to say: "We know better; he is not so stony-hearted as he seems."

Having my attention directed to the matter, I kept my eyes open for little indications of the state of Professor Waite's sentiments, and presently found that they were not lacking. The studio was not occupied by cla.s.ses until after ten o'clock in the morning, and Professor Waite came every day very early, and painted there alone until the first wave of pupils swept in and filled the room with an encampment of easels.

He explained to me that he was preparing a picture for the Academy exhibition, the morning light was good, and as his studio in the city was shared with another young artist, he preferred to come here where he could work quietly and undisturbed for a few hours each morning. He always bolted the corridor door to secure complete seclusion, and we had often to wait a few moments until he admitted us. He did not show us the painting, but it was evident that he was deeply interested in it, for he was frequently distraught, and apparently vexed at being obliged to turn his attention to our offences against art, just as he was worked up to a fine phrensy of production. At such times he would run his fingers through his hair, and stare at the work which the first unfortunate pupil presented with a repugnance which was often more clearly than politely expressed. Sometimes his ill humour vented itself on the model. We were in the habit of taking turns and, dressed in some picturesque costume, of posing for the cla.s.s for a week at a time. After the Halloween experience it happened to be Milly's turn. We had costumed her as an Italian contadina, and thought that she looked very prettily.

But Professor Waite was not satisfied.

"Why have you chosen a blonde for such a character?" he asked me impatiently. "That little snub nose and milk-and-water complexion have nothing Italian in their make up. If you could induce that superb creature, Miss Armstrong, to wear the costume, you would see the difference."

Milly had heard the remark though he did not intend she should do so, and her eyes suffused with tears as usual. "I will ask Adelaide," she said meekly, "but I don't believe she will be willing to pose for the cla.s.s."

"Never mind the cla.s.s," Professor Waite replied eagerly. "If Miss Armstrong will honor me by giving me personally a few sittings each morning for my Academy picture I shall be more gratified than I can express."

Milly, more than happy to attempt to do the professor a favor, besought Adelaide, who was obdurate and even indignant.

"The very idea!" she exclaimed. "I never heard of such a.s.surance. _I_ figure in his picture at a public exhibition, indeed."

"Why, I am sure it's a great honor," Milly replied, bridling feebly; "and I won't have you treat him in such a _desultory_ manner."

We all laughed, for Milly, as usual when excited, had mixed her words--insulting and derogatory clamoring at the same time in her small mind for utterance.

"I think it would be perfectly scrum to be in an Academy picture,"

Winnie exclaimed. "I wish he would ask me."

Perfectly "scrum," or "scrumptious," was Winnie's superlative; while Adelaide, to express a similar delight, would have quoted the Anglicism, "Quite too far more than most awfully delicious."

"I wonder what his Academy picture is, anyway," Winnie went on, "and why he never shows it to us. I mean to ask him to let me see it; I am sure I might help him with some suggestions."

"Well you _are_ una.s.suming," I exclaimed, never dreaming that Winnie, with all her audacity, would dare to criticise a picture by our professor. What was my astonishment, therefore, on awakening the next morning, to find that Winnie was already dressed.

"I am going into the studio," she remarked coolly, "to take a look at Professor Waite's picture before he arrives."

"O Winnie!" I begged, "don't; you've no business to do such a thing."

Winnie made a little face, courtesied, and flounced out of the room. She returned presently, all aglow with excitement.

"He was already there at work," she exclaimed, "painting, as the French say, like an _enrage_. He had forgotten to bolt the door and I slipped right in. His back was toward me, and he did not notice me at first, so I had one good solid look. And what do you suppose it is, Tib? Why, Adelaide, holding a candle and glancing over her shoulder as he must have seen her going down the stairs. The Rembrandtesque effect of artificial light and deep shadow is stunning. He has rigged up his lay-figure on the landing in the dark turret, and had a lighted candle wedged into her woodeny fingers, so that he gets the lighting on the face and drapery, while he has daylight on his canvas.

"Of course he has had to do the face from imagination or memory, but it was perfect. I screamed right out: 'Don't touch that again or you'll spoil it!' He turned the canvas back forward quicker than a wink, and looked at me as if he would like to eat me, but I didn't care, and I begged him not to disturb himself or interrupt his work on my account; that I had only dropped in in a friendly way to give him a little helpful criticism. With that he put on his eye-gla.s.ses and remarked; 'Well, you _are_ about the coolest young lady that it has ever been my privilege to meet,' but he had to come right down from that nifty position, for I said, 'If my opinions are of no use, perhaps Madame's will be more helpful; shall I ask her to come up and take a look at the picture?' That made him wince. He turned all sorts of colors, chewed his mustache, and hadn't a word to say. I felt sort of sorry for him and I a.s.sured him that I had no intention of telling, at least not if he was nice; and I reminded him that he owed the subject to me in the first place, for if I had not suggested the trick he would never have seen Adelaide in that particular lighting. With that he changed his tune and said that he was very grateful for my kind intention, and that if I would kindly lend him a photograph of Adelaide he would be still more grateful. But I told him that I did not think that it was fair to exhibit a portrait of Adelaide, and he admitted that it was not, and said that he had decided not to send the picture to the exhibition, but merely to keep it himself."

Adelaide happened to knock at our door at this juncture, and Winnie told her what she had discovered.

"This is past endurance," Adelaide exclaimed angrily; "you must come with me, Tib, and insist on Professor Waite's showing me this picture.

If the face is recognizable as my portrait I shall destroy it then and there."

"Don't, Adelaide," I begged. "Professor Waite is a gentleman; he has already told Winnie that he does not intend to exhibit the picture----"

"But I do not choose that he shall possess it," she cried; "if you will not go with me I shall go alone," and she hurried to the studio door. It was locked, and Professor Waite did not choose to reply to her oft-repeated knocks. He evidently considered Winnie's visit all-sufficient for one morning. Adelaide came back in a towering pa.s.sion. "If my poor hands would only let me write," she exclaimed, "I would give him such a piece of my mind. Winnie, be my amanuensis.

Write what I dictate."

Winnie sat down good-humoredly and dashed off in her large scrawling script, which filled a page with these lines, the following indignant protest:

PROFESSOR WAITE:

I regret that I consider the liberty you have taken in painting my portrait for the Academy Exhibition, without my knowledge or consent, a dishonorable act of which no gentleman would be guilty, and I demand that you destroy it instantly.

ADELAIDE ARMSTRONG.