Emily Climbs (1925)

Chapter 17: If a Body Kiss a Body

It was half-past ten o'clock and Emily realized with a sigh that she must go to bed. When she had come in at half-past nine from Alice Kennedy's thimble party, she had asked permission of Aunt Ruth to sit up an hour later to do some special studying. Aunt Ruth had consented reluctantly and suspiciously and had gone to bed herself, with sundry warnings regarding candles and matches. Emily had studied diligently for forty-five minutes and written poetry for fifteen. The poem burned for completion, but Emily resolutely pushed her portfolio away.

At that moment she remembered that she had left her Jimmy-book in her school-bag in the dining-room. This would never do. Aunt Ruth would be down before her in the morning and would inevitably examine the book-bag, find the Jimmy-book and read it. There were things in that Jimmy-book it was well Aunt Ruth should not see. She must slip down and bring it up.

Very quietly she opened her door and tiptoed downstairs, in anguish at every creaking step. Aunt Ruth, who slept in the big front bedroom at the other end of the hall, would surely hear those creaks. They were enough to waken the dead. They did not waken Aunt Ruth, however, and Emily reached the dining-room, found her book-bag, and was just going to return when she happened to glance at the mantelpiece. There, propped up against the clock, was a letter for her which had evidently come by the evening mail--a nice thin letter with the address of a magazine in the corner. Emily set her candle on the table, tore open the letter, found the acceptance of a poem and a cheque for three dollars. Acceptances--especially acceptances with cheque--were still such rare occurrences with our Emily that they always made her a little crazy. She forgot Aunt Ruth--she forgot that it was nearing eleven o'clock: she stood there entranced, reading over and over the brief editorial note--brief, but, oh, how sweet! "Your charming poem"--"we would like to see more of your work"--oh, yes, indeed, they should see more of it.

Emily turned with a start. Was that a tap at the door? No--at the window. Who? What? The next moment she was aware that Perry was standing on the side veranda, grinning at her through the window.

She was at it in a flash and without pausing to think, still in the exhilaration of her acceptance, she slipped the catch and pushed the window up. She knew where Perry had been and was dying to know how he had got along. He had been invited to dinner with Dr. Hardy, in the fine Queen-street house. This was considered a great honour and very few students ever received it. Perry owed the invitation to his brilliant speech at the inter-school debate. Dr. Hardy had heard it and decided that here was a coming man.

Perry had been enormously proud of the invitation and had bragged of it to Teddy and Emily--not to Ilse, who had not yet forgiven him for his tactlessness on the night of the debate. Emily had been pleased, but had warned Perry that he would need to watch his step at Dr. Hardy's. She felt some qualms in regard to his etiquette, but Perry had felt none. He would be all right, he loftily declared. Perry perched himself on the window-pill and Emily sat down on the corner of the sofa, reminding herself that it could be only for a minute.

"Saw the light in the window as I went past," said Perry. "So I thought I'd just take a sneak round to the side and see if it was you. Wanted to tell you the tale while it was fresh. Say, Emily, you were right--r-i-g-h-t! I should smile. I wouldn't go through this evening again for a hundred dollars."

"How did you get along?" asked Emily anxiously. In a sense, she felt responsible for Perry's manners. Such as he had he had acquired at New Moon.

Perry grinned.

"It's a heart-rending tale. I've had a lot of conceit taken out of me. I suppose you'll say that's a good thing."

"You could spare some," said Emily coolly.

Perry shrugged his shoulders.

"Well, I'll tell you all about it if you won't tell Ilse or Teddy. I'm not going to have them laughing at me. I went to Queen-street at the proper time--I remembered all you'd said about boots and tie and nails and handkerchief and I was all right outside. When I got to the house my troubles began. It was so big and splendid I felt queer--not afraid--I wasn't afraid then--but just a bit as if I was ready to jump--like a strange cat when you try to pat it. I rang the bell; of course, it stuck and kept on ringing like mad. I could hear it away down the hall, and thinks I, 'They'll think I don't know any better than to keep on ringing it till somebody comes,' and that rattled me. The maid rattled me still more. I didn't know whether I ought to shake hands with her or not."