--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Townsend, Florence Hartman collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 33 number: 3 published: 1930-01 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: "Florence Hartman Townsend, “Modern Betty Blue,” *Improvement Era* 33, no. 3 (January 1930): 201–203." source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera3303unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera3303unse start_page: 201 end_page: 203 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1930-01) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera3303unse publication_year: 1930 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1930, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # Modern Betty Blue 5? Modern Betty BIuq By FLORENCE HARTMAN TOWNSEND VIOLA POOLE sat idly at her desk in the office of the Biddleboro Bugle. She was in the grip of a bitter fit of blues that was unusual. She did not often allow disappointment to fasten its fangs into her heart like this, but then, everything had been different these past months. No, not everything. Only Viola her- self was different, and because of this change in herself she was at discord with everything that had formerly left her unruffled if it had not wholly pleased or fitted. For three years, ever since her graduation from high school,, Vi- ola had worked on the Bugle. She had let her work dominate her existence for two reasons; the first, she liked and needed it, the second, it left little room for social ac- tivities. Not that she would have had any social activities. That was just it. She wouldn't, and all for the simple reason that she had been born in the wrong street — -lived there still — and her father drove a truck, and her mother sometimes took in sewing. Social- ly, a Bottle-streeter did not exist for an inhabitant of Griffith avenue or Paramount boulevard, and Vi- ola liked being too busy to feel left out. She had hoped all these years, when she was writing elab- orate accounts of weddings and teas and parties for the Bugle, that the bars might be let down and she allowed to enter, but so far it hadn't been done. Still it hadn't mattered so terribly then, though Viola loved to dance and her heart was always a little heavy when there was a gay party at some of the lovely homes on the avenue or the boulevard. She had never quite given up hope that someday she would be asked, and when that day should arrive she meant to be prepared. For three years she had taken a weekly dancing lesson at Westmoreland, and had not only mastered ballroom danc- ing but did some very creditable ballet work, all of which, so far as Biddleboro was concerned, was a complete loss. It didn't know that Viola danced at all. Viola had fared well enough until the attractive county attorney had been elected and had come to the county seat to live. When Viola saw him she knew that things would never be quite the same with her again. The door of every house in Biddleboro — - and the door of Viola's heart — ■ swung wide in hospitable welcome. L±E had come into the Bugle office to have a bit of adver- tising inserted— he needed the ser- vices of a laundress. Mr. Tracy was out, and Spike and Viola were busy with type. Viola had smut on her cheek just below her eye and a canvas cap with a green visor on her head. A huge smudged apron covered the rest of her. He had mistaken Viola for a boy and she had been too smitten to correct him. "Say, boys, I'd like to get this little ad in the paper, please. Am I in time?" He had a winning smile, jolly 'He drew a circle that shut me out — Heretic, rebel, a thing to flout. But love and I had the wit to win! We drew a circle that took him ml — Edwin Markham. crinkles about his blue eyes, a solid-looking jaw, a quick, eager, graceful stride. Viola had nodded and accepted the bit of paper. She'd have found room for it if it had been necessary to crowd every other ad off the sheet. "Nice little plant you have here," he commented genially, looking about with interest. Viola was glad Spike came to the rescue with an invitation to browse around. He had stood and talked a bit, then hurried out with the admonition, "Don't forget that ad." And Viola's heart leaped after him as he went. She had seen the new attorney — now to make him see her! OO far he hadn't. She had tried to think of things that might help. Fine clothes had been the first thought. It met an im- mediate rejection. She could not compete with her more favored rivals. She had suggested to Mr. Tracy an interview with the new- comer. Her mistake. She should have interviewed first and talked about it afterward. For once Mr. Tracy wanted to do something himself. Leslie Borden was the uncon- scious cause of accelerating the so- cial life of Biddleboro. Mothers of marriageable daughters felt a re- newed interest in dances and the like, and Viola was almost daily called upon to write up, from notes taken by a guest or a telephone conversation with the hostess, some affair at which Mr. Leslie Borden, the new county attorney, was among those present. Viola seethed helplessly. It looked, too, as if all the girls in town took a 202 The Improvement Era for January, 1930 wicked delight in parading him before the office window- Viola clenched her hands, ink-stained and rough. She couldn't throw herself literally at his feet nor yet at his head. "I must think of some- thing. If I haven't wits enough to win him I don't deserve him!" she told herself. brantly happy over the success of her plan. If she could dance with the attorney just once! Oh, she must not be dull! She must not be afraid ! Mrs. Hempstead's plans were elaborate, and by the time they A glimpse in the mirror and she was at the door. "Mind if I run on down? There's someone I want to see." Ti At lND then she heard of the ball to be given at the Hempstead's on St. Valentine's night. A masked costume affair, Mrs. Hempstead said when she came into the Bugle office to ask if they could give her the name of an aesthetic dancer who could help entertain the guests. She got up and tramped the floor, brooding, fuming, bitter. He would be there, lightheartedly laughing and dancing, while she — oh, she could not bear it! She flung herself into her chair again, staring with burn- ing eyes. Just to be there and dance one dance with him- — just one! For him to really see her and speak to her — to realize that she, Viola Poole, existed! She must — she must manage — Viola's heart stood still for a moment. This was her great opportunity. "I should like to dance at your party, Mrs. Hempstead, providing that I be permitted to appear masked and leave before they un- mask, as I should not like my identity known. And my charge will be reasonable. I have the necessary costume and I believe you will be pleased with my work. I have studied, you know, with Thedis Waters." Since Viola had mentioned her teacher, Mrs. Hempstead had little doubt of the girl's ability, for Thedis Waters did not waste time on unpromising material. The fact that Viola wanted her identi- ty hid played into her hands per- fectly. Her guests could — and naturally would — think the dancer imported from Westmoreland. 'That will suit perfectly, Miss Poole. And then you will have all the information for the paper, too. I'm going to let it be a complete surprise, even to Marcella. And I shall, of course, be careful to keep your secret for you, both now and afterward." VlOLA walked home on air, breathless, expectant, vi- were finished she was ill with a maddening headache and throb- bing feet and unable to come down. She wept with exaspera- tion. After phoning Viola to ex- plain her non-appearance and tell- ing her to proceed with her part of the program, she flopped back on her pillow with a sense of fore- boding and groaned. 1 HERE was the gay- est excitement in Marcella's dress- ing room, where feminine guests, in dominos and a dozen varieties of costumes, were powdering cheeks and chins. They spoke at first in whispers, trying to conceal their identity, but one by one some little mannerism or too well known feature would betray them. Then into their midst came the Spanish girl. Full red skirt, high spreading comb over which was draped a black lace mantilla. A draped bodice and black satin pumps with high red heels. There was a black lace frill on the lower edge of the domino that covered but did not conceal the vivid mouth. She carried a black lace fan. "Hello, girls!" she greeted them in a whisper. "Am I late?" "No — but — who is it?" they asked. They speculated fruitlessly. 'Tell us, we can't guess." The Spanish sirl only laughed. HERE was an unex- pected burst of music from the orchestra ; then — a flash of red, and the Spanish girl was in the center of the room, dancing some grace- ful, colorful thing, alone. No- body moved. It was all so un- expected, so breathtaking, so love- ly. How the red heels flashed, and how gracefully the small body swayed and turned! Like a butter- fly or a flower in the wind. On- lookers began to question each other in whispers, and then the news ran like wildfire among them that even Marcella did not know the dancer's identity. When three numbers had been rendered the dancer stood smiling, expectant. It was very still in the room, and then a vigorous cheering splintered the stillness, while the Spanish girl stood, her smile fading to a look of bewilder- ment, of uncertainty. They be- gan moving toward her and she hastened to a position near the door. She looked up into the face of a tall pirate who was regarding her soberly. She smiled. "May I have this dance?" he asked. She nodded. 1 HE music was that moment beginning, and he swung her onto the floor. "That was beautiful," he said. "I hope you will dance another?" "No." She shook her head. "It's a pity, though," he in- sisted. "I'm glad you feel that way about it," she returned. 'You're quite a mystery. Did you know it?" "Oh, yes," she laughed. "I hope you're going to tell me who you are?" She shook her head again. "I'm sorry. I don't like to appear ob- stinate." "I can wait," he replied. There was silence for a mo- ment. Then she spoke. "I was wondering if you re- ceived any replies to your adver- tisement for a laundress?" "Seven. All in varying shades of black." "Splendid! It pays to advertise, doesn't it?" The Improvement Era for January, 1930 203 'Yes. Er — -say," he half stop- ped. 'You know me! That isn't fair! I think you should tell me who you are." "I can't do that, but — oh, I must tell some one! I — I — It's a confidence. I can trust you, can't I?" boy and a Chinese Mandarin, both of whom claimed to have asked her first. Cliff was recognizable only by his drawl, so like his father's. Cliff paid her extravagant com- pliments. Viola would have en- B. • ORDEN looked down at the suddenly sober and pleading face. He thought the lips quivered slightly. Perhaps under all this gay exterior lay an aching heart. Such a pretty little thing, too. His arms tightened about her invol- untarily. "Without a doubt," he declared staunchly. "Then — listen. I'm an unin- vited guest! I— came here to see — someone. Somehow I felt that he would recognize me despite the masquerade. But I shan't care if he doesn't. Would you?" "Indeed I wouldn't. I'd cut him dead if he ever spoke to me again." H- .OW he hoped she would! He felt a twinge that was new. She must be made to forget this fellow, whoever he was. "Of course," she continued, "I'll have to slip away, like Cinderella, before midnight. I'm going to leave by a rear door. It's at the back of the stair hall. I've my cloak and another pair of shoes out there. I don't want to be recognized on the streets and my identity ascertained by means of these red heels." "I wish you didn't have to run away, but if you must I wonder if I can help?" "Oh, if you would! Just stand guard at the door until I've put on my cloak and changed my shoes and taken this head-dress off. I should feel so relieved to know you were there!" "It's arranged, then." The mu- sic stopped. "I've the next dance with Miss Hempstead, and all the rest with you! Remember." C)HE nodded and smiled and watched him across the room. At her elbow was Cliff Walcott, begging for this dance. She co- quetted with him impishly and gave him the dance, to the out- spoken disapproval of two other clamoring guests, a clattering cow- arm, the Spanish girl excused her- self to her companion, who took himself off disgruntled. "Is, that the fellow?" he asked jealously. "Oh, no!" she laughed. "But he wanted another dance." "You didn't promise it?" "No. They're all — yours." Her voice was low and vibrant. B. joyed taking off her mask and watching his discomfiture. To see his face when he realized he was saying sweet things to a Bottle Street girl! She laughed at the thought. MaRCELLA was deep- ly excited, Borden discovered, over the mysterious dancer. She had carefully checked over her guest list and they were all accounted for. She had more than half a mind to snatch off the girl's mask. Why, she might be a burglar's accomplice! She had suggested the possibility to her father, but he had pooh-poohed the idea. "Let her alone!" he had said. "Leave her to Borden, You know he's accustomed to quizzing unwilling witnesses. Perhaps he can find out who she is." Noble suggestion! Marcella was delighted and promptly sought the young attorney out to assign him the task. Borden, delighted, found the girl. Cliff was still hovering over her, talking in low tones, but she looked up and greeted Borden with a smile. The Pirate and the Rus- sian nobleman glared through their masks. Her hand on the pirate's •ORDEN experienced a pleasant thrill. He did not tell her of the gathering cloud of sus- picion. He did not tell her that Marcella had considered seizing her mask to expose her. He was afraid she would run away, and he want- ed her there, light as air, fragrant and warm at his side. He did not disturb her with further questions, but against any who might come near to annoy her he was ready to turn a muscular shoulder as her shield. OHE was watching the clock. "Now!" she whispered at ten minutes to twelve, "I must fly!" He led her through the door, into the stair hall. They paused in the shadow to see if they were followed. He caught her hands. "Won't you tell me who you are before you go? If you knew how much I want to pee you again!" "I'm sorry, but I can't tell you. However, you may see me again sometime. Perhaps before very long." "When? Where?" he begged eagerly. "I can't say exactly. And now I must run. Oh, I've had a lovely time! And I do thank you. Good- bye." She shook his hand and tore from his grasp. Outside the door she found and unfolded a bundle. He watched her change her light slippers for oxfords, saw the high comb and mantilla stuffed into her cloak pocket. The red heeled shoes she tucked under her arm. She still wore the domino. She was. ready. rlE gave another look Into the hall to be sure no one followed, then slipped out after her. But in that instant she was gone; down the steps and running along the gravel path to the gate, {Continued on page 236)