From the Improvement Era, August 1914 –

The Shadow Party

By Elizabeth Cannon Porter

Helen and Leo had quarreled, just as they had several times before, over some trivial matter, only this time they did not make up. Moreover, it looked as if Helen would have no partner for the character ball, as Leo avoided her in moody silence. So she slammed the gorgeous new kimona, which she had planned to wear, in her trunk, and tried to talk light-heartedly when the other girls discussed the party.

Then, the day before the ball, Frank had quite unexpectedly asked her to go with him, so she hurriedly set to work to get her costume in readiness at the last moment. For weeks the costume dance to be given by the Sunflower girls of the Academy, in the little southern town of Warez, had been the object of preparation. Helen and Mary, the girl that lived at the same house, had decided, as leaders among the girls, to set an example of economy, as one girl had demoralized her family by going home and demanding to be outfitted as Cleopatra. Helen, who had a brand new kimona, and was petite, into, the bargain, decided to go as a Japanese lady, whereupon it was rumored about that Daisy Lewis, who had also decided to go as a Japanese lady, suddenly changed to “Queen of Night.” Mary, who was tall and stately, had, for the sum of fifty cents, hired a Deflowered polonaise from the costuming house, and was going as a “Colonial Dame.”

Helen determined to get herself up regardless “just to show Leo that she didn’t care.” So she tacked yards of flowing cerise silk (which she had for a new waist) into the front of her kimona, gilded her soiled white kid slippers, and “did” her masses of black hair up high with combs and chrysanthemums. But her preparations were as naught compared with the Colonial Dame’s. Mary had taken four solid hours to get into her harness, during which time she had had most of the family running distractedly around the house looking for things she wanted, but now she sat serenely ready in the little parlor, the pink of perfection from her powdered hair to her pointed toe.

Mary’s escort, John, who, in pantaloons and clogs, was supposed to be a Dutchman, had arrived at half-past eight. The three then waited for Frank. At a quarter to nine they tried to talk of indifferent subjects while they strained their ears for his step on the porch. When the clock struck nine John cast up his buttermilk eyes apprehensively. At nine-fifteen he suggested that they not wait for Frank any longer, but that Helen come and go with him and Mary.

“Something must have happened,” he suggested. At this point Mary’s elderly sister entered the room and began telling them about a girl who sat up till half-past ten waiting for a fellow who never came at all.

“You and Mary had better go. I’ll stay here,” replied Helen, grimly. “If he doesn’t come — ”

They all gave a gasp of relief. The doorbell had rung and they heard Frank’s voice in the hall. He was dressed as a clown and perhaps Helen imagined that he looked white under the chalk. Strangely enough, he offered no explanation for his lateness.

When the four entered the ballroom the auctioneering was in full blast. The men were huddled in the dark part of the room with their eyes riveted on a white curtain which reached clear across the hall. The lights were so arranged on the other side that the shadow of a person walking across, was thrown upon the curtain. The girls had hit upon this novel scheme for raising funds with which to furnish their rest room. Instead of the time-worn basket party, the boys were allowed to bid — maximum limit, two dollars — on the shadow of the girl that they wished to take in to supper. Of course the boys were sure they recognized the girl they wanted, and the girls delightedly exchanged parts of costumes just to fool the boys. Mother Goose exchanged her broom for Red Riding Hood’s cape, and the Venetian Flower Girl left her basket in the wings when she pirouetted before the curtain.

“How much am I bid for this shadow?” called the auctioneer, as the reflection of a tall lady in a peaked hat was thrown upon the curtain.

“A dollar,” huskily replied a red-headed chap.

“Sold — sold for a dollar,” and the auctioneer brought down his hammer.

“That’s the third one that Eddie has bought in the last half hour, whispered one of the boys. “He’s taking up all the tall ones, so’s to be sure and get Bessie McDonough.”

Mary and Helen slipped behind the curtain and waited for their numbers to be called. Each girl was given a number, and the lucky bidder was given a ticket with her number on with which to claim her. At first the bids had been quick and extravagant, but as the boys became supplied with partners, and perhaps realized that they made mistakes, the calls had taken on a more conservative tone. As she stood in line, Helen vaguely wondered who would get her shadow. Any one of half a dozen boys might do it. She hoped that Leo would, but of course it was “up to” Frank, her partner of the evening, to claim her for supper. A moment later “26,” her number, was called, and with a little flutter of the heart she stepped behind the curtain and flirted her fan. She heard a confused jumble of voices on the other side, the auctioneer’s hammer came down with a thud, and it was over with.

Soon afterwards the curtain was pulled up, the lights thrown on. and the men rushed up to claim their supper partners for the grand march. Much merriment, and some consternation, ensued over the results. One man saw his young wife borne off by “Uncle Sam,” while he, it seems, had purchased “Aunt Dinah.” One boy was excitedly trying to trade his number off, while several had secured two or three ladies, while others, not so fortunate, had none at all.

The first person in all that brilliant throng that Helen saw was Leo, across the room in the doorway. Clad in green flannel shirt, leather chaps, and a bandana knotted picturesquely around his throat; he looked much as he did when he rode the range. But instead of coming toward her, as she half hoped he would, he only leaned moodily against the door frame, apparently oblivious to the gay scene around him. Presently someone did come to claim her. It was Frank, with Daisy Lewis on his arm.

“I believe I’ve got your number,” he said.

“You seem to be already supplied with a partner,” she returned, coldly.

“Well, you see, I wanted two suppers,” he explained with an uneasy laugh. Then he mumbled something about their shadows looking alike. At first glance Helen could see nothing alike between a sable-robed, star-bespangled “Queen of Night” and a pink and blue Japanese, but then their shadows might look alike, and both wore drapery, and she noticed that Daisy’s tiara was not unlike her own coiffure in shape. But then, why had Frank chosen Daisy of all people, for it seemed as if they were rivals in everything.

“Do you think that we can march three abreast?” asked Daisy, doubtfully.

“Sure,” Frank reassured her. “Don’t you see there’s quite a number marching that way. See Jay Hamlin over there? He wanted to make sure of one Elizabethan lady, so he secured the two of ’em — the pink and the green.” Sure enough, that young gentleman was marching between two ladies with enormous ruffs which seemed to be the style in Shakespearean days. In front of them Mary was gently chiding John with having paid only sixty cents for her, while he stoutly averred with Dutch stolidity that sixty cents was enough to pay for any shadow.

Then, as the orchestra flared into Washington Gray’s march, the music drowned all chatter. It was a gay scene that the twinkling lights looked down upon. Here, under the ivory and gold dome, were gathered the semblance and symbols of all nations. History, travel and romance had been culled to gain that ensemble. The students had gathered information while preparing for the character ball and many had worked out the details of their costumes with painstaking care. There was an Apache chief and a gypsy girl, a “dago” organ-grinder with a Teddy bear, a velvet-clad toreador, and a Spanish senorita in black lace and yellow roses. One man, in the uniform of a Belgian army officer, looked like he had walked out of a Rembrandt portrait. There were soldiers, cowboys, and darkies. Also the kingdom of Mother Goose was represented in a dainty, blue-clad Cinderella, and Snow White, a blond in -white crepe papers. The country weekly of the little town, “The Progress,” was uniquely represented by a diminutive girl clad in pleated newspapers.

When the dancing was well under way, Leo sought Helen out.

“I’ve got something to say to you,” he whispered, as she took his arm. “I tried to get you for a supper partner, but I must have been out of the room when you were bid for, so I didn’t take any.”

“I wish you had, for Frank had two,” she answered, mischievously. While they were dancing, he asked her if she would go horseback riding up the river with him and some friends the next day. Her first thought had been to refuse, but he had looked at her all evening with such misery in his eyes, that she happily accepted the invitation. He led her to a quiet place where they made up their quarrel. She heard Leo utter an exclamation of impatience and looked up to see Frank coming toward them.

He claimed her for supper, and as they started off he explained that as he had already eaten one supper with Daisy, he expected to be very entertaining while Helen had hers.

The room was festive with holly and mistletoe and cedar boughs, the long tables gleamed in the effulgence of candles, and the low voices of the diners rippled with laughter. Suddenly Helen left the loneliness that will come over one in the midst of a gay crowd. Leo’s eyes haunted her and she did not hear Frank’s patter of conversation. Although they both kept up a light vein of talk both showed that their minds were elsewhere. Later, when Frank came to claim his second dance with her, Helen surprised him by saying, “I told you that I wanted to go home early, but I’m having such a good time that I’ll stay till the dance is out.”

When he came to find her after the party was over, he again had Daisy on his arm. Thinking that he had been dancing with her she paid little attention, until he led them out into the hall and carefully adjusted Daisy’s cloak before he went in search of her own wraps.

“He seems to be very gallant to Daisy. Perhaps she is here without a partner and he is looking after her,” she thought. When they got outside in the cool night air, Helen courteously suggested that they take Daisy home first, as she lived only across the campus and a short distance away. But Frank insisted on taking her home first, although she lived through the park and several blocks beyond. On the way home, in the crisp, starlit night, conversation noticeably languished. John and Mary were already on- the porch when they got to Helen’s, so bidding Frank and Daisy a hurried good-night, Helen entered the house.

That night, when Helen shook down her raven locks, and Mary was brushing the powder out of hers, while bemoaning the fact that she “guessed she’d have to wash it,” she suddenly exclaimed, “I call that a perfectly horrid trick!”

“What?” asked Helen, looking up.

“Why, that Frank had you two girls there tonight.”

“That Frank had us two girls there? What do you mean?”

“You and Daisy. Neither of you knew that he had brought the other, although every one else in the room knew it. Jen declared that she thought it was a shame and was going to tell you, only Frank coaxed her off to dance and persuaded her out of it.”

“How did he take Daisy and me?”

“Well, he went and got her first, and took her over there. Then he slipped away and came and got you. That’s what made him so late. Then he thought that you would leave early, and that he could bring you home and afterwards go back after her, and neither of you would know about the other. Your staying till the dance was out spoiled his plans.”

“H’m, I thought he didn’t seem very enthusiastic when I told him I’d stay late. But what did he do it for?”

“Well, last winter he took Daisy out and he asked her a week ago to go to the character ball with him. She wouldn’t give him any answer, but told him that she’d let him know. The week passed and he heard nothing from her, so yesterday — knowing that you’d quarreled with Leo, he asked you to go. You said you would, and fifteen minutes later he received a note from Daisy accepting his invitation. He wanted to take Daisy and he didn’t have the nerve to explain the situation to you. Of course, the decent thing for him to do was to tell her he’d made other arrangements. But he seized on your saying you were going to leave early, decided to take you both and trust the rest to his wit and chance.”

”Well, my one comfort is that I made up with Leo tonight,” said Helen slowly. “For it seems to me that with Frank I played second fiddle all the way through.”