Classic Audiobook Collection - Bernice Bobs Her Hair by F. Scott Fitzgerald ~ Full Audiobook [drama]

Episode Date: December 27, 2022

Bernice Bobs Her Hair by F. Scott Fitzgerald audiobook. Genre: drama In this sharp, witty story of youth and status, Bernice, a shy girl from the East, arrives for a summer visit with her dazzling cousin Marjorie at a small-town country club in Minnesota. Surrounded by dances, tennis, porch gossip, and a social scene ruled by quick tongues and quicker judgments, Bernice feels invisible next to Marjorie's effortless charm. Marjorie offers to remake her - coaching her on conversation, confidence, and the careful performance that passes for popularity. The lessons work, but success comes with a price: attention turns into scrutiny, friendships become competitions, and Marjorie and Bernice slip from allies into rivals as the town decides who deserves to shine. When a dare about a drastic new look becomes a public test of nerve, Bernice is forced to choose between staying safe and taking control of her own image. Fitzgerald captures the thrill of belonging, the cruelty of fashionable crowds, and the uneasy question beneath every compliment: is the admired version of you actually you at all? For ad-free listening try our premium subscription Chapters (Approximate) (00:00:00) Chapter 01 (00:32:18) Chapter 02 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Section 1 of Bernice Bobzer Hare by F. Scott Fitzgerald. After dark on Saturday night, one could stand on the first tea of the Gulf Coop and see the country club windows as a yellow expanse over a very black and wavy ocean. The waves of this ocean, so to speak, were the heads of many curious eddies, a few of the more ingenious chauffeurs, the golf professional's deaf sister, and there were usually several stray diffident waves who might have rolled inside, had they so desired. This was the gallery. The balcony was inside.

It consisted of the circle of wicker chairs that lined the wall of the combination clubroom and ballroom. At these Saturday night dances it was largely feminine, a great babel of middle-aged ladies with sharp eyes and icy hearts, behind lorgnettes, and large bosoms. The main function of the balcony was critical. It occasionally showed grudging admiration, but never approval, for it is well known among ladies over thirty-five that when the younger set dance in the summertime, it is with the very worst intentions in the world, and if they are not bombarded with stony eyes, stray couples will dance weird barbaric interludes in the corners, and the more popular, more dangerous girls will sometimes be kissed in the parked limousines of unsuspecting dowagers.

But after all, this critical circle is not close enough to the stage to see the actor's faces and catch the subtler by-play. It can only frown and lean, ask questions, and make satisfactory deductions from its set of postulates, such as the one which states that every young man with a large income leads the life of a hunted partridge. It never really appreciates the drama of the shifting, semi-cruel world of adolescence. No, boxes, orchestra-circle, principles, and chorus, be represented by the medley of faces and voices that sway to the plaintive African rhythm of Dyer's dance orchestra. From 16-year-old Otis Ormond, who has two more years at Hill School, to G. Reese Stoddard, over whose bureau at home hangs a Harvard law diploma, from little Madeline Hogue,

whose hair still feels strange and uncomfortable on top of her head, to Bessie McRae, who, who, has been the life of the party, a little too long, more than ten years. The medley is not only the center of the stage, but contains the only people capable of getting an unobstructed view of it. With a flourish and a bang, the music stops. The couples exchange artificial, effortless smiles, facetiously repeat, la-di-da-dam-dum, and then the clatter of young feminine voices soars over the burst of clapping. A few disappointed stags, caught in mid-floor, as they had been about to cut in, subsided listlessly back to the walls, because this was not like the riotous Christmas dances. These slimmer hops were considered just pleasantly warm and exciting, where even the

younger marries rose and performed ancient waltzes and terrifying fox-trots to the tolerant amusement of their younger brothers and sisters. Warren McIntyre, who casually attended Yale, being one of the unfortunate stags, felt in his dinner-coat pocket for a cigarette, and strolled out onto the wide, semi-dark veranda where couples were scattered at tables, filling the lantern-hung night with vague words and hazy laughter.

He nodded here and there at the less absorbed, and as he passed each couple some half-forgotten fragment of a story, played in his mind, for it was not a large city, and everyone was who's who to everyone else's past. There, for example, were Jim Strain and Ethel Demerist, who had been privately engaged for three years. Everyone knew that as soon as Jim managed to hold a job for more than two months, she would marry him. Yet, how bored they both looked, and how wearily Ethel regarded a gym sometimes, as if she wondered why she had trained the vines of her affection on such a wind-shaken poplar. Warren was 19, and rather pitying with those of his friends who hadn't gone

east to college, but like most boys, he bragged tremendously about the girls of his city when he was away from it. There was Genevieve Ormond, who regularly made the rounds of dances, house parties and football games at Princeton, Yale, Williams, and Cornell. There was black-eyed Roberto Dylan, who was quite as famous for her own generation as Hiram Johnson or Ty Cobb. And, of course, there was Marjorie Harvey, who, besides having a fairy-like face and a dazzling, bewildering tongue, was already justly celebrated for having turned five cartwheels in succession during the last pump and slipper dance at New Haven. Warren, who had grown up across the street from Marjorie, had long been crazy about her. Sometimes she seemed to reciprocate his feeling with a faint gratitude,

but she had tried him by her infallible test, and informed him gravely that she did not love him. Her test was that when she was away from him, she forgot him and had affairs with other boys. Warren found this discouraging, especially as Marjorie had been making little trips all summer, and for the first two or three days after each arrival home he saw great heaps of mail on the Harvey's Hall table addressed to her in various masculine handwritings. To make matters worse, all during the month of August, she had been visited by her cousin, Bernice, from O'Clair, and it seemed impossible to see her alone. It was always necessary to hunt round and find someone to take care of Bernice.

As August waned, this was becoming more and more difficult. Much as Warren worshipped Marjorie, he had to admit that cousin Bernice was sort of doubtless. She was pretty, with dark hair and high color, but she was no fun on a party. Every Saturday night he danced a long, arduous duty dance with her to please Marse. Marjorie, but he had never been anything but bored in her company. "'Warren!' a soft voice at his elbow, broke in upon his thoughts, and he turned to see Marjorie, flushed and radiant as usual. She laid a hand on his shoulder, and a glow settled almost imperceptibly over him.

"'Woran,' she whispered, "'do something for me. Dance with Bernice. She's been stuck with little Otis Ormond for almost an hour.' Warren's glow faded. Why, sure, he answered half-heartedly. You don't mind, do you? I'll see you that you don't get stuck. It's all right.

Marjorie smiled, that smile that was thanks enough. You're an angel, and I'm obliged, loads. With a sigh, the angel glanced around the veranda, but Bernice and Otis were not in sight. He wandered back inside. and there in front of the women's dressing-room he found otis in the center of a group of young men who were convulsed with laughter odis was brandishing a piece of timber he had picked up and discoursing volubly she's gone in to fix her hair he announced wildly i'm waiting to dance another hour with her their laughter was renewed why don't some of you cut in cried otis resentfully she likes more variety "'Why the two-by-four, Otis?' inquired Warren, smiling.

"'The two-by-four? Oh, this? This is a club. When she comes out, I'll hit her on the head and knock her in again.' Warren collapsed on a settee, and howled with glee. "'Never mind, Otis,' he articulated finally. "'I'm relieving you this time.' Otis simulated a sudden fainting attack and handed the stick to Warren. "'If you need it, old man,' he said. said hoarsely. No matter how beautiful or brilliant a girl may be, the reputation of not being frequently cut in on makes her position at a dance unfortunate. Perhaps boys prefer her company

to that of the butterflies with whom they dance a dozen times, but youth in this jazz-nourished generation is temperamentally restless, and the idea of fox-trotting more than one full fox-trot with the same girl is distasteful, not to say, oh, but to say, oh, and the same one. When it comes to several dances and the intermissions between, she can be quite sure that a young man, once relieved, will never tread on her wayward toes again. Warren danced the next full dance with Bernice, and finally, thankful for the intermission,

he led her to a table on the veranda. There was a moment's silence, while she did unimpressive things with her fan. "'It's hotter here, then, in Eau Claire,' she said. warren stifled a sigh and nodded it might be for all he knew or cared he wondered idly whether she was a poor conversationalist because she got no attention or got no attention because she was a poor conversationalist you're going to be here much longer he asked and then turned rather red she might suspect his reasons for asking another week she answered and stared at him as if to lunge at his next remark when it left his lips. Warren fidgeted. Then, with a sudden charitable impulse, he decided to try part of his line on her. He turned and looked at her eyes. "'You've got an awfully kissable mouth,' he began quietly. This was a remark that he sometimes made to

girls at college proms when they were talking in just such half-dark as this. Furnace distinctly jumped. She turned an ungraceful red, and became clumsy with her fan. No one had ever made such a remark to her before. Fresh! The ward had slipped out before she realized it, and she bit her lip. Too late she decided to be amused, and offered him a flustered smile. Warren was annoyed. Though not accustomed to have that remark taken seriously, still it usually provoked a laugh or a paragraph of sentimental banter. And he hated to be called fresh, except in a joking way. His charitable impulse died, and he switched the topic.

Jim Strain and Ethel Demarest, sitting out as usual, he commented. This was more in Bernice's line, but a faint regret mingled with her relief as the subject changed. Men did not talk to her about kissable mouths, but she knew that they talked in some such way to other girls. oh yes she said and laughed i hear they've been moaning around for years without a red penny isn't it silly warren's disgust increased jim strain was a close friend of his brothers and anyway he considered it bad form to sneer at people for not having money but Bernice had had no intention of sneering. She was merely nervous. Part two. When Marjorie and Bernice reached home at half-after midnight, they said good-night at the top of the stairs, though cousins they were not intimates. As a matter of fact, Marjorie had no female intimates. She considered girls, stupid.

Bernice, on the contrary, all through this parent-arranged visit, had rather long to exchange those confidences flavored with giggles in tears that she considered an indispensable factor in all-feminine intercourse. But in this respect she found Marjorie rather cold, felt somehow the same difficulty in talking to her that she had in talking to men. Marjorie never giggled, was never frightened, seldom embarrassed, and in fact had very few of the qualities which Bernice considered appropriately and blessedly. feminine. As Bernice busied herself with toothbrush and paste this night, she wondered for the hundredth time why she never had any attention when she was away from home, that her family were the wealthiest in Eau Claire, that her mother entertained tremendously, gave little dinners for her daughter, before all dances, and bought her a car of her own to drive round in,

never occurred to her as factors in her hometown social success like most girls she had been brought up on the warm milk prepared by annie fellows johnston and on novels in which the female was beloved because of certain mysterious womanly qualities always mentioned but never displayed bernice felt a vague pain that she was not at present engaged in being popular she did not know that had it not been for marjorie's campaign she had not been for marjorie's campaign painting, she would have danced the entire evening with one man. But she knew that even in Eau Claire, other girls with less position and less paltritude were given a much bigger rush. She attributed this to something subtly unscrupulous in those girls. It had never worried her, and if it had, her mother would have assured her that the other girls cheapen themselves, and that men really respected girls like Bernice. she turned out the light in her bathroom and on an impulse decided to go in and chat for a moment with her aunt josephine whose light was still on her soft slippers bore her noiselessly down the carpeted hall but hearing voices inside she stopped near the partly open door

Then she caught her own name, and, without any definite intention of eavesdropping, lingered, and the thread of the conversation going on inside pierced her consciousness sharply, as if it had been drawn through with a needle. She's absolutely hopeless, it was Marjorie's voice. Oh, I know what you're going to say. So many people have told you how pretty and sweet she is, and how she can cook. What of it? She has a bum time.

don't like her. What's a little cheap popularity? Mrs. Harvey sounded annoyed. It's everything when you're 18, said Marjorie emphatically. I've done my best. I've been polite, and I've made men dance with her, but they just won't stand being bored. When I think of that gorgeous coloring wasted on such a nanny, and think what Martha Carey could do with it, oh, there's no courtesy these days. Mrs. Harvey's boys implied that modern situations were too much for her. When she was a girl, all young ladies who belonged to nice families had glorious times. Well, said Marjorie, no girl can permanently bolster up a lame duck visitor, because these days it's every girl for herself. I've even tried to drop hints about clothes and things, and she's been furious, and given me the funniest looks.

she's sensitive enough to know she's not getting away with much but i'll bet she consoles herself by thinking that she's very virtuous and that i'm too gay and fickle and will come to a bad end All unpopular girls think that way. Sour grapes. Sarah Hopkins refers to Genevieve and Roberta and me as Gordina girls. I'll bet she'd give ten years of her life and her European education to be a Gardena girl and have three or four men in love with her and be cut in on every few feet at dances. It seems to me, interrupted Mrs. Harvey rather rarely, that you ought to be able to do something for Bernice. I know she's not very vivacious. Marjorie groaned. Vivacious? Good grief. I've never heard her say anything to a boy except that it's hot, or the floor's crowded, or that she's going to school in New York next year. Sometimes she asked them what kind of car they have, and tells them the kind she has. Threatling. There was a short silence, and then Mrs. Harvey took up her refrain. All I know is that other girls not half so sweet and attractive get partners.

Martha Carey, for instance, is stout and loud, and her mother is distinctly common. Roberta Dillon is so thin this year that she looks as though Arizona were the place for her. She's dancing herself to death. But Mother, objected Marjorie impatiently. Martha is cheerful and awfully witty, and an awfully slick girl, and Roberta's a marvelous dancer. She's been popular for ages. Mrs. Harvey yawned, I think it's that crazy Indian blood in Bernice, continued Marjorie.

Maybe she's a reversion to type. Indian women all just sat round and never said anything. go to bet you silly child laughed mrs harvey i wouldn't have told you that if i thought you were going to remember it and i think most of your ideas are perfectly idiotic she finished sleepily there was another silence while marjorie considered whether or not convincing her mother was worth the trouble people over forty can seldom be permanently convinced of anything at eighteen our convictions are hills from which we look At forty-five, they are caves in which we hide. Having decided this, Marjorie said good-night. When she came out, into the hall, it was quite empty. Part 3

While Marjorie was breakfasting late next day, Bernice came into the room with a rather formal good-morning, sat down opposite, stared intently over, and slightly moistened her lips. What's on your mind? inquired Marjorie, rather puzzled. Bernice paused before she threw her hand-grenade. I heard what you said about me to your mother last night.

Marjorie was startled, but she showed only a faintly heightened color, and her voice was quite even when she spoke. Where were you? In the hall, I didn't mean to listen at first. After an involuntary look of contempt, Marjorie dropped her eyes and became very, interested in balancing a stray cornflake on her finger. I guess I'd better go back to O'Clair, if I'm such a nuisance.

Bernice's lower lip was trembling violently, and she continued on a wavering note. I've tried to be nice, and I've been first neglected and then insulted. No one ever visited me and got such treatment. Marjorie was silent. But I'm in the way, I see. "'I'm a drag on you. Your friends don't like me,' she paused, and then remembered another one of her grievances. "'Of course, I was furious last week when you tried to hint to me that that dress was unbecoming. Don't you think I know how to dress myself?'

"'No,' murmured less than half aloud. "'What?' "'I didn't hint anything,' said Marjorie succinctly. I said, as I remember, that it was better to wear a becoming dress three times straight than to alternate it with two frights. Do you think that was a very nice thing to say? I wasn't trying to be nice. Then, after a pause, when do you want to go? Bernice drew in her breath sharply.

Oh! It was a little half-cry. Marjorie looked up in surprise. Didn't you say you were going? Yes, but— Oh, you were only bluffing. They stared at each other across the breakfast table for a moment. Misty waves were passing before Bernice's eyes,

while Marjorie's face wore that rather hard expression that she used when slightly intoxicated undergraduates were making love to her. So you were bluffing, she repeated, as if it were what she might have expected. Bernice admitted it by bursting into tears. Marjorie's eyes showed boredom. You're my cousin, sobbed Bernice. I'm visiting you. I was to stay a month, and if I go home my mother will know, and she will wonder.

Marjorie waited until the shower of broken words collapsed into little sniffles. I'll give you my month's allowance, she said coldly, and you can spend this last week anywhere you want. There's a very nice hotel. Bernice's sobs rose to a flute note, and, rising of a sudden, she fled from the room. An hour later, while Marjorie was in the library, absorbed in composing one of those non-committal,

marvellously elusive letters that only a young girl can write. Bernice reappeared, very red-eyed, and consciously calm. She cast no glance at Marjorie. but took a book at random from the shelf and sat down as if to read. Marjorie seemed absorbed in her letter and continued writing. When the clock showed noon, Bernice closed her book with a snap. I suppose I better get my railroad ticket. This was not the beginning of the speech.

She had rehearsed upstairs, but as Marjorie was not getting her cues, wasn't urging her to be reasonable. It's a mistake. It was the best of her. opening she could muster. Just wait till I finish this letter, said Marjorie, without looking round. I want to get it off in the next mail. After another minute, during which her pen scratched busily,

she turned round and relaxed with an air of, at your service, again Bernice had to speak. Do you want me to go home? Well, said Marjorie, considering, I suppose if you're not having a good time, better go. No use being miserable. Don't you think common kindness? Oh, please don't quote little women, cried Marjorie impatiently. That's out of style. You think so? Heavens, yes. What modern girl could live like those inane females. They were the models for our mothers.

Marjorie laughed. Huh, yes, they were. Not. Besides, our mothers were all. very well in their way, but they know very little about their daughter's problems. Bernice drew herself up. Please don't talk about my mother. Marjorie laughed. Ha! I don't think I mentioned her. Bernice felt that she was being led away from her subject. Do you think you've treated me very well?

I've done my best. You're rather hard material to work with. The lids of you're a little. of Bernese's eyes reddened. I think you're hard and selfish, and you haven't a feminine quality in you. Oh, my lord! cried Marjorie in desperation. You little nut! Girls like you are responsible for all the tiresome, colorless marriages,

all those ghastly inefficiencies that pass as feminine qualities. What a blow it must be when a man with imagination marries the beautiful bundle of clothes that he has been building ideals around, and finds that she's just a weak, whining, cowardly massive affectations. Bernice's mouth had slipped half open. The womanly woman, continued Marjorie. Her whole early life is occupied in whining criticism of girls like me who really do have a good time.

Bernice's jaw descended farther as Marjorie's voice rose. there's some excuse for an ugly girl whining if i'd been irretrievably ugly i'd never have forgiven my parents for bringing me into the world but you're starting life without any handicap martery's little fist clenched if you expect me to weep with you you'll be disappointed go or stay just as you like and picking up her letters she left the room "'Bernice claimed a headache and failed to appear at luncheon. "'They had a matinee date for the afternoon, "'but the headache persisting, "'Marjorie made explanation to a not very downcast boy. "'But when she returned late in the afternoon,

"'she found Bernice with a strangely set face "'waiting for her in her bedroom. "'I've decided,' began Bernice, without preliminaries, "'that maybe you're right about things. "'Possibly not.' but if you'll tell me why your friends aren't interested in me i'll see if i can do what you want me to do marjorie was at the mirror shaking down her hair do you mean it yes without reservations will you do exactly what i say well i well nothing will you do exactly as i say if they're sensible things they're not you're not you're not no case for sensible things. Are you going to make, to recommend? Yes, everything. If I tell you to

take boxing lessons, you'll have to do it. Write home and tell your mother you're going to stay another two weeks. If you'll tell me, all right, I'll just give you a few examples now. First, you have no ease of manner. Why? Because you're never sure about your personal appearance. When a girl feels that she's perfectly groomed and dressed, she can forget that part of her. That's charm. The more parts of yourself you can afford to forget, the more charm you have. Don't I look all right? No.

For instance, you never take care of your eyebrows. They're black and lustrous, but by leaving them straggly, they're a blemish. They'd be beautiful if you'd take care of them in one-tenth of the time you take doing nothing. You're going to brush them so that they'll grow straight. Bernice raised the brows in question. Do you mean to say that men notice eyebrows? Yes, subconsciously, and when you go home, you ought to have your teeth straightened a little.

It's almost imperceptible still. But I thought, interrupted Bernice in bewilderment, that you despise little dainty, feminine things like that. I hate dainty minds, answered Marjorie, but a girl has to be dainty in person. If she looks like a million dollars, she can talk about Russia, ping-pong, or the League of Nations, and get away with it. What else? Oh, I'm just beginning. There's your dancing.

Don't I dance all right? No, you don't. You lean on a man. Yes, you do. Ever so slightly. I noticed it when we were dancing together yesterday. and you dance standing up straight instead of bending over a little probably some old lady on the sideline once told you that you looked so dignified that way but except with a very small girl it's much harder on the man and he's the one that counts go on bernice's brain was reeling well you've got to learn to be nice to men who are sad birds you look as if you'd been insulted whenever you're thrown with any except the most popular boy

Why, Bernice, I'm cut in on every few feet. And who does most of it? Why, those very sad birds? No girl can afford to neglect them. They're the big part of any crowd. Young boys too shy to talk are the very best conversational practice. Climsy boys are the best dancing practice. If you can follow them and yet look graceful, you can follow a baby tank across a barbed wire skyscraper. Bernice sighed profoundly, but Marjorie was not through. If you go to a dance and really amuse, say, three sad birds that dance with you, if you talk so well to them that they forget they're stuck with you, you've done something. They'll come back next time, and gradually so many sad birds will dance with you that the attractive boys will see there's no danger of being stuck. Then they'll dance with you. Yes.

agreed Bernice faintly. I think I begin to see. And finally, concluded Marjorie, poise and charm will just come. You'll wake up some morning knowing you've attained it, and men will know it too. Bernice rose. It's been awfully kind of you,

but nobody's ever talked to me like this before, and I feel sort of startled. Marjorie made no answer, but gazed pensively at her own image in the mirror. you're a peach to help me continued bernice still marjorie did not answer and bernice thought she had seemed too grateful i know you don't like sentiment she said timidly marjorie turned her quickly oh i wasn't thinking about that i was considering whether we hadn't better bob your hair bernice collapsed backward upon the bed end of section one section two of bernice bobs her hair by f scott fitzgerald this libervox recording is in the public domain reading by boulona times part four on the following wednesday there was a dinner dance at the country club when the guests strolled in bernice found her place card with a slight feeling of irritation though at her right said g reese stoddard a most desirable and

distinguished young bachelor, the all-important left held only Charlie Paulson. Charlie lacked height, beauty, and social shrewdness, and in her new enlightenment, Bernice decided that his only qualification to be her partner was that he had never been stuck with her. But this feeling of irritation left with the last of the soup plates, and Marjorie's specific instruction came to her. Swallowing her pride, she turned to Charlie Paulson and plunged. Do you think I ought to bob my hair, Mr. Charlie Paulson? Charlie looked up in surprise.

Why? Because I'm considering it. It's such a sure and easy way of attracting attention. Charlie smiled pleasantly. He could not know that this had been rehearsed. He replied that he didn't know much about bobbed hair, but Bernice was there to tell him. i want to be a society vampire you see she announced coolly and went on to inform him that bobbed hair was the necessary prelude she added that she wanted to ask his advice because she had heard he was so critical about girls charlie who knew as much about the psychology of women as he did of the mental states of buddhist contemplatives felt vaguely flattered

so i've decided she continued her voice rising slightly that early next week i'm going to go down to the severe hotel barber shop sit in the first chair and get my hair bopped she faltered noticing that the people near her had paused in their conversation and were listening but after a confused second marjorie's coaching told and she finished her paragraph to the vicinity at the large. Of course, I'm charging admission, but if you all come down and encourage me, I'll issue passes for the inside seats. There was a ripple of appreciative laughter, and under cover of it, G. Reese's daughtered, leaned over quickly, and said close to her ear, I'll take a box right now. She met his eyes and smiled as if he had said something surprisingly brilliant. "'Do you believe in bobbed hair?' asked G. Reese, in the same undertone. "'I think it's unmaral,' affirmed Bernice gravely.

"'But, of course, you've either got to amuse people, or feed him, or shock him.' Marjorie had called this from Oscar Wild. It was greeted with a ripple of laughter from the men, and a series of quick, intent looks from the girls. And then, as though she had said nothing of wit or moment, Bernice turned again to Charlie and spoke confidentially in his ear. I want to ask you your opinion of several people. I imagine you're a wonderful judge of character. Charlie, thrilled faintly, paid her a subtle compliment by overturning her water. Two hours later, while Warren McIntyre was standing passively in the same time, and the stag line, abstractedly watching the dancers and wondering whither and with whom Marjorie had disappeared,

an unrelated perception began to creep slowly upon him. A perception that Bernice, cousin Marjorie, had been cut in on several times in the past five minutes. He closed his eyes, opened them, and looked again. Several minutes back she had been dancing with a visiting boy, a matter easily accounted for. A visit, visiting boy would know no better. But now she was dancing with someone else, and there was Charlie Paulson headed for her with enthusiastic determination in his eye. Funny, Charlie seldom danced with more than three girls in evening. Warren was distinctly surprised when, the exchange having been affected, the man relieved proved to be none other than G. Reese stoddard himself,

and Hugh Reese seemed not at all jubilant at being relieved. Next time Bernice danced near, Warren regarded her intently. Yes, she was pretty, distinctly pretty, and tonight her face seemed really vivacious. She had that look that no woman, however, histronically prescient, can successfully counterfeit. She looked as if she were having a good time. He liked the way she had her hair.

arranged, wondered if it were brilliantine that made it glisten so. And that dress was becoming, a dark red that set off her shadowy eyes in high coloring. He remembered that he had thought her pretty when she first came to town, before he had realized that she was dull. To bad she was dull. Dull girls,

unbearable. Certainly pretty, though. His thoughts zigzagged back to Marjorie. This disappearance would be like other disappearances. When she reappeared, he would demand where she had been, would be told emphatically that it was none of his business. What a pity she was so sure of him! She basked in the knowledge that no other girl in town interested him. She defied him to fall in love with Genevieve or Roberta.

Warren sighed. The way to Marjorie's affections was a laborant indeed. He looked up. Bernice was again dancing with a visiting boy. Half unconsciously he took a step out from the stag line in her direction, and hesitated. Then he said to himself that it was charity. He walked toward her, collided suddenly with G. Reese stoddard. Pardon me, said Warren. But G. Reese had not stopped to apologize. He had again cut in on Bernice. That night, at one o'clock, Marjorie, with one hand on the electric light switch in the hall, turned to take a last look at Bernice's sparkling eyes. So it worked.

Oh, Marjorie, yes! cried Bernice. I saw you were having a gay time. I did. The only trouble was that, about midnight, I ran short of talk. I had to repeat myself, with different men, of course. I hope they won't compare notes. Men don't, said Marjorie, yawning, and it wouldn't matter if they did. They think you were even trickier. She snapped out the light, and as they started up the stairs,

Bernice grasped the banister, thankfully. For the first time in her life, she had been dancing, tired. You see, said Marjorie, at the top of the stairs, one man sees another man cut in, and he thinks there must be. be something there. Well, we'll fix up some new stuff tomorrow. Good night. Good night. As Bernice took down her hair, she passed the evening before her in review. She had followed instructions exactly. Even when Charlie Paulson cut in for the eighth time, she had simulated delight and had apparently been both interested and flattered. She had not

talked about the weather or Eau Claire or automobiles or her time. She had been, and her time. She had not talked about the weather, school, but had confined her conversation to me, you, and us. But a few minutes before she fell asleep, a rebellious thought was churning drowsily in her brain. After all, it was she who had done it. Marjorie, to be sure, had given her conversation, but then Marjorie got much of her conversation out of things she read. Bernice bought the red dress, though she had never valued it highly before Marjorie dug it out of her trunk. And her own voice had said the words, her own lips had smiled, her own feet had danced. Marjorie was a nice girl. Vain, though. Nice evening. Nice boys. Like Warren. Warren. Warren. What's his

name? Warren? She fell asleep. Part five. To Bernice, the next week was a revelation, With a feeling that people really enjoyed looking at her and listening to her came the foundation of self-confidence. Of course there were numerous mistakes at first. She did not know, for instance, that Drake-Roff Deo was studying for the ministry. She was unaware that he had cut in on her because he thought she was a quiet, reserved girl. Had she known these things, she would not have treated him to the line which began, Hello, Shell Shock!

And continued with the bathtub story. It takes a frightful lot of energy to fix my hair in the summer. There's so much of it. So I always fix it first, and powder my face, and put on my hat. Then I get into the bathtub, and dress afterward. Don't you think that's the best plan? Though Draycroft Deo was in the throes of difficulties concerning baptism by immersion, and might possibly have seen a connection,

it must be admitted that he did not. He considered feminine bathing an immoral subject, and gave her some of his ideas on the depravity of modern society. But to offset that unfortunate occurrence, Bernice had several signal success to her credit. Little Otis Armand pleaded off from a trip east, and elected instead to follow her with a puppy-like devotion to the amusement of his crowd and to the irritation of G. Reese Stoddern, several of whose afternoon calls

Odez completely ruined by the disgusting tenderness of the glances he bent on Bernice. He even told her the story of the two-by-four in the dressing-room to show her how frightfully mistaken he and everyone else had been in their first judgment of her. Bernice laughed off that incident with a slight sinking sensation. of all bernice's conversation perhaps the best known and most universally approved was the line about the bobbing of her hair oh bernice when you're going to get the hair bobbed day after to-morrow maybe she would reply laughing will you come and see me because i'm counting on you you know will we you know but you better hurry up bernice whose tonsorial intentions were strictly dishonorable when laughing again. Pretty soon now, you'd be surprised. But perhaps the most significant symbol of her success was the gray car of the hypercritical Warren McIntyre parked daily in front of the Harvey house.

At first, the parlor maid was distinctly startled when he asked for Bernice instead of Marjorie. After a week of it, she told the cook that Miss Bernice had got a hold of Miss Marjorie's best fella. And Miss Bernice had. Perhaps it began with Warren's desire to rouse jealousy in Marjorie. Perhaps it was the familiar, though unrecognized strain of Marjorie in Bernice's conversation. Perhaps it was both of these, and something of sincere attraction besides. But somehow, the collective mind of the Younger Set knew within a week that Marjorie's most reliable beau had made an amazing a face about, and was giving an indisputable rush to Marjorie's guest. The question of the moment was how Marjorie would take it.

Warren called Bernice on the phone twice a day, sent her notes, and they were frequently seen together in his roadster, obviously engrossed in one of those tense, significant conversations as to whether or not he was sincere. Marjorie, on being twitted, only laughed. She said she was mighty glad that Warren had at last found someone who appreciated him. So the younger said, laughed too, and guessed that Marjorie didn't care and let it go at that. One afternoon, when there were only three days left of her visit, Bernice was waiting in the hall for Warren, with whom she was going to a bridge party. She was in a rather blissful mood, and when Marjorie, also bound for the party,

appeared beside her and began casually to adjust her hat in the mirror, Bernice was utterly unprepared for anything in the nature of a clash. Marjorie did her work very coldly and succinctly in three sentences. You may as well get Warren out of your head, she said coldly. What? Bernice was utterly astounded. You may as well stop making a fool of yourself over Warren McIntyre. He doesn't care a snap of his angers about you. For a tense moment they regarded each other.

Marjorie, scornful, aloof. Bernice astounded, half angry, half a fron. afraid. Then two cars drove up in front of the house, and there was a riotous honking. Both of them gasped faintly, turned, and side by side hurried out. All through the bridge party, Bernice drove in vain to master a rising on the easiness. She had offended Marjorie, the sphinx of sphinxes. With the most wholesome and innocent intentions in the world she had stolen Marjorie's property. She felt suddenly, and horribly guilty.

After the bridge game, when they sat in an informal circle and the conversation became general, the storm gradually broke. Little Otis Armand inadvertently precipitated it. When you're going back to kindergarten, Otis, someone had asked.

Me? Dave Bernice gets her hair bobbed. Then your education's over, said Marjorie, quickly. That's only a bluff of hers. I should think you'd have really. That effect, demanded Otis, giving Bernice a reproachful glance. Bernice's ears burned as she tried to think up an effectual comeback.

In the face of this direct attack, her imagination was paralyzed. There's a lot of bluffs in the world, continued Marjorie, quite pleasantly. I should think you'd be young enough to know that, Otis. Well, said Otis, maybe so. but, gee, with a line like Bernice's. Really? Young Marjorie, what's her latest Beaumont? No one seemed to know.

In fact, Bernice, having trifled with her muse's bow, had said nothing memorable of late. Was that really all a line? asked Roberta curiously. Bernice hesitated. She felt that wit, in some form, was demanded of her, but under her cousin's son. suddenly frigid eyes, she was completely incapacitated.

I don't know, she stalled. Splush, said Marjorie. Admit it! Bernice saw that Warren's eyes had left a ukulele he had been tinkering with and were fixed on her, questioningly. Oh, I don't know, she repeated steadily. Her cheeks were glowing.

Splush, remarked Marjorie again. "'Come through, Bernice,' urged Otis. "'Tell her where to get off.' Bernice looked round again. She seemed unable to get away from Warren's eyes. "'I like bobbed hair,' she said hurriedly, as if he had asked her a question, and I intend to bob mine.' "'When?' demanded Marjorie.

"'Any time?' "'No time like the present,' suggested Roberta. Otis jumped to his feet. Good stuff, he cried. We'll have a summer bobbing party. Sevier Hotel Barbershop, I think you said. In an instant all were on their feet. Bernice's heart throbbed violently.

What? she gasped. Out of the group came Marjorie's voice, very clear and contemptuous. Don't worry, she'll back out. Come on, Bernice, cried Otis. starting toward the door four eyes warrens and marjories stared at her challenged her defied her for another second she wavered wildly all right she said swiftly i don't care if i do an eternity of minutes later riding down town through the late afternoon beside warren the others following in roberta's car close behind bernice had all the sensations of marie antoinette bound for the guillotine in a tumble. Vaguely, she wondered why she did not cry out that it was all a mistake. It was all she could do to keep from clutching her hair with both hands to protect it from the suddenly hostile world.

Yet she did neither. Even the thought of her mother was no deterrent now. This was the test supreme of her sportsmanship, her right to walk unchallenged in the story heaven of popular girls. Warren was moodily silent, and when they came to the hotel, he drew up at the curb and nodded to Bernice to proceed him out. Roberta's car emptied a laughing crowd into the shop, which presented two bold plate-glass windows to the street. Bernice stood on the curb and looked at the sign. Severe barber shop. It was a guillotine, indeed, and the hangman was the first barber, who, attired in a white coat and smoking a cigarette, leaned nonchalantly against the first chair he must have heard of her he must have been waiting all week smoking eternal cigarettes beside that portentous too often mentioned first chair

would they blindfold her no but they would tie a white cloth round her neck lest any of her blood nonsense hair should get on her clothes all right bernice said warren quickly with her chin in the air she would air, she crossed the sidewalk, pushed open the swinging screen door, and giving not a glance to the uproarious, riotous row that occupied the waiting bench, went up to the fat barber. I want you to bob my hair. The first barber's mouth slid somewhat open, his cigarette dropped to the floor. Huh? My hair, bob it. Refusing further preliminaries, Bernice took her seat on high. A man in the chair next to her turned on his side and gave her a glance, half-lather, half amazement. One barber started and spoiled little Willie Shunernan's monthly haircut. Mr. O'Reilly, in the last chair, grunted and swore musically in ancient Gaelic, as a razor bit into

his cheek. Two Booth-Blacks became wide-eyed and rushed for her feet. No, Bernice didn't care for a shine. Outside a passerby stopped and stared. A couple joined him. Half a dozen small boys' nose sprang into life, flattened against the glass, and snatches of a conversation born on the summer breeze drifted in through the screen door. Look at a long hair on a kid. Where'd you get out stuff? That's a bearded lady just finished shaven. But Bernice saw nothing, heard nothing, her only living sense, told her that this man in the white coat had removed one tortoise-shell comb, and then another, that his fingers were fumbling clumsedly with unfamiliar hairpins, that this hair, this wonderful hair of hers, was going. She would never again feel its long, voluptuous pull as it hung in a dark

brown glory down her back. For a second she was near breaking down, and then the picture before her swam mechanically into her vision marjorie's mouth curling in a faint ironic smile as if to say give up and get down you tried to buck me and i called your bluff you see you haven't got a prayer and some last energy rose up in bernice for she clenched her hands under the white cloth and there was a curious narrowing of her eyes that marjorie remarked on to some one long afterward twenty minutes later the barber swung her round to face the mirror, and she flinched at the full extent of the damage that had been wrought. Her hair was not curls, and now it lay in length, lifeless blocks on both sides of her suddenly pale face. It was ugly as sin. She had known it would be ugly as sin. Her face's chief charm had been a Madonna-like simplicity. Now that was gone, and she was, well, frightfully mediocre, not stagy, Only ridiculous, like a Greenwich villager who had left her spectacles at home.

As she climbed down from the chair, she tried to smile, failed miserably. She saw two of the girls exchange glances, noticed Marjorie's mouth curved and attenuated mockery, and that Warren's eyes were suddenly very cold. You see? Her words fell into an awkward pause. I've done it! Yes, you've done it. admitted Warren.

Do you like it? There was a half-hearted, sure, from two or three voices, another awkward pause, and then Marjorie turned swiftly, and with serpent-like intensity to Warren. Would you mind running me down to the cleaners? she asked. I've simply got to get a dress there before supper. Roberta's driving right home, and she can take the others. Warren stared abstractedly at some infinite speck out of the room.

window. Then for an instant his eyes rested coldly on Bernice before they turned to Marjorie. Be glad to, he said slowly. Part six. Bernice did not fully realize the outrageous trap that had been set for her until she met her aunt's amazed glance just before dinner. Why, Bernice! I've bobbed it, Aunt Josephine. Why, child? Do you like it?

Why, Bernice? "'I suppose I've shocked you.' "'No, but what'll Mrs. Deo think to-morrow night? "'Bernice, you should have waited until after the Deo's dance. "'You should have waited if you wanted to do that.' "'It was sudden, Aunt Josephine. "'Anyway, why does it matter to Mrs. Deo, particularly?' "'Why, child!' cried Mrs. Harvey.

"'In her paper on the foibles on the younger generation "'that she read at the last meeting of the Thursday club she devoted fifteen minutes to bobbed hair. It's her pet abomination, and the dance is for you and Marjorie. I'm sorry. Oh, Bernice, what'll your mother say? She'll think I let you do it. I'm sorry. Dinner was in agony. She had made a hasty attempt with a curling iron and burned her finger and much hair. She could see that her aunt was both worried and grieved, and her uncle kept saying, Well, I'll be darned, over and over in a hurt and faintly hostile tort. And Marjorie sat very quietly, entrenched behind a faint smile, a faintly mocking smile.

Somehow she got through the evening. Three boys called. Marjorie disappeared with one of them, and Bernice made a listless, unsuccessful attempt to entertain the two others, sighed thankfully as she climbed the stairs to her room at half-past ten. What a day! when she had undressed for the night the door opened and marjorie came in bernice she said i'm awfully sorry about the day o dance i'll give you my word of honor i'd forgotten all about it it's all right said bernice shortly standing before the mirror she passed her comb slowly through her short hair i'll take you down town to-morrow continued marjorie and the hairdresser'll fix it so you'll look slick i didn't imagine you'd go through with it i'm really mighty sorry oh it's all right still it's your last night so i suppose it won't matter much then bernice winced as marjorie tossed her own hair

over her shoulders and began to twist it slowly into two long blonde braids until in her cream-colored negligee she looked like a delicate painting of some saxon princess fascinated bernice watched the braids grow heavy and luxurious they were moving under the supple fingers like rest of snakes and to bernice remained this relic and the curling iron and a to-morrow full of eyes she could see greece's daughtered who liked her assuming his harvard manner and telling his dinner partner that bernice shouldn't have been allowed to go to the movies so much she could see dracott deo exchanging glances with his mother and then being conscientiously charitable to her but then perhaps by to-morrow Mrs. Dale would have heard the news, would send round an icy little note requesting that she failed to appear, and behind her back they would all laugh and know that Marjorie had made a fool of her, that her chance at beauty had been sacrificed to the jealous whim of a selfish girl. She sat down suddenly before the mirror, biting the inside of her cheek. "'I like it,' she said with an effort.

"'I think it'll be becoming.' marjorie smiled it looks all right for heaven's sake don't let it worry you i won't good-night bernice but as the door closed something snapped within bernice she sprang dynamically to her feet clenching her hands then swiftly and noiselessly crossed over to her bed and from underneath it dragged out her suitcase into which she tossed toilet articles and a change of clothing then she tossed her Then she turned to her trunk and quickly dumped in two drawerfuls of lingerie and summer dresses. She moved quietly, but with deadly efficiency, and in three-quarters of an hour her trunk was locked and strapped, and she was fully dressed in a becoming new traveling suit that Marjorie had helped her pick out. Sitting down at her desk, she wrote a short note to Mrs. Harvey, in which she briefly outlined her reasons for going. She sealed it, addressed it, and laid it on her pillow.

She glanced at her watch. The train left at one, and she knew that if she walked down to the Marlboro Hotel two blocks away, she could easily get a taxi cab. Suddenly, she drew in her breath sharply, and an expression flashed into her eyes that a practiced character reader might have connected vaguely with the set look she had worn in the barber's chair, somehow a development of it. It was quite a new look for Bernice, and it carried consequences. She went stealthily to the bureau, picked up an article that lay there, and, turning out all the lights, stood quietly until her eyes became accustomed to the darkness. Softly, she pushed open the door to Marjorie's room. She heard the quiet, even breathing of an untroubled conscience asleep. She was by the bedside now, very deliberate and calm. She acted swiftly.

Bending over, she found one of the braids of Marjorie's hair, followed it up with her hand, and, and she was. to the point nearest the head, and then, holding it a little slack so that the sleeper wouldn't fill no pull, she reached down with the shears and severed it. With a pigtail in her hand, she held her breath. Marjorie had muttered something in her sleep. Bernice deftly amputated the other braid, paused for an instant, and then flitted swiftly and silently back to her own room. Downstairs, she opened the big front door, closed it carefully behind her, and feeling oddly happy and exuberant, stepped off the porch, into the moonlight, swinging her heavy grip,

like a shopping bag. After a minute's brisk walk, she discovered that her left hand still held the two blonde braids. She laughed, unexpectedly, had to shut her mouth hard, to keep him from emitting an absolute pale. She was passing Warren's house, not. and on the impulse she sat down her baggage and swinging the braids like pieces of rope flung them at the wooden porch where they landed with a slight thud she laughed again no longer restraining herself ha she giggled wildly scalp the selfish thing then picking up her suitcase she set off at a half run down the moonlit street end of section two end of bernice bobs her hair by ever Scott Fitzgerald.