SEE, JOEL, I'M ALL FIXED UP NICESEE, JOEL, I'M ALL FIXED UP NICE, LAUGHED PHRONSIE FROM HER PERCH.
Joel's mouth worked dreadfully, but he saw Mamsie's eyes, so he piped up bravely, “I'm so glad, Phronsie.” It sounded very funnily, for it died away in his throat, and he couldn't have said another word possibly; but Phronsie was sleepy, and didn't notice. And then the doctor said they must go out; so with a last glance at Phronsie, to be sure that she was all right, Joel went off, Polly holding his hand.
The next evening they were all drawn up before the library fire; Polly on the big rug with Joel's head in her lap, his eyes fixed on Phronsie, who was ensconced in an easy-chair, close to which Grandpapa was sitting.
“Tell stories, do, Polly,” begged Van.
“Yes, do, Polly,” said little Dick, who had spent most of the day in trying to get near to Phronsie, keeping other people very much occupied in driving him off, as she had to be very quiet. “Do, Polly,” he begged.
“Oh, Polly's tired,” said Jasper, knowing that she had been with Phronsie all her spare time, and looking at the brown eyes which were drooping a bit in the firelight.
“Oh, no, I will,” said Polly, rousing herself, and feeling that she ought not to be tired, when Phronsie was getting well so fast, and everythingwas so beautiful. “I'll tell you one. Let me see, what shall it be about?” and she leant her head in her hands to think a bit.
“Let her off,” said Jasper; “do, boys. I'll tell you one instead,” he said.
“No, we don't want yours,” said Van, not very politely. “We want Polly's.”
“For shame, Van!” said Percy, who dearly loved to reprove his brother, and never allowed the occasion to slip when he could do so.
“For shame yourself!” retorted Van, flinging himself down on the rug. “You're everlastingly teasing Polly to do things when she's tired to death. So there, Percy Whitney.”
“Oh, I'll tell the story,” Polly said, hastily bringing her brown head up, while Phronsie began to look troubled.
“I'd like to tell a story,” said Tom Beresford slowly, where he sat just back of the big rug.
All the young folks turned to regard him, and Van was just going to say, “Oh, we don't want yours, Tom,” when Polly leaned forward, “Oh, will you—will you, Tom?” so eagerly that Van hadn't the heart to object.
“Yes, I will,” promised Tom, nodding at her.
“Well, get down on the rug, then,” said Jasper,moving up; “the story-teller always has to have a place of honor here.”
“That so?” cried Tom; “well, here goes,” and he precipitated himself at once into the midst of things.
“Ow! get out,” cried Van crossly, and giving him a push.
“Oh Vanny!” said Polly reprovingly.
“Well, he's so big and long,” grumbled Van, who didn't fancy anybody coming between him and Polly.
“I might cut off a piece of my legs,” said Tom, “to oblige you, I suppose. They are rather lengthy, and that's a fact,” regarding them as they stretched out in the firelight. “I'll curl 'em up in a twist like a Turk,” which he did.
“Well, now,” said Jasper, “we are ready. So fire ahead, Beresford.”
Joel, who all this time had been regarding his friend curiously, having never heard him tell a story at Dr. Marks' school, couldn't keep his eyes from him, but regarded him with a fixed stare, which Tom was careful to avoid, by looking steadily into the fire.
“Well, now, I'm not fine at expressing myself,” he began.
“I should think not,” put in Joel uncomplimentarily.
“Joe, you beggar, hush up!” said Jasper, with a warning pinch.
“Yes, just sit on that individual, will you, Jasper?” said Tom, over his shoulder, “or I never will even begin.”
So, Jasper promising to quench all further disturbance on Joel's part, the story was taken up.
“I can only tell a plain, unvarnished tale,” said Tom, “but it's one that ought to be told, and in this very spot. Perhaps you don't any of you know, that in Dr. Marks' school it's awfully hard to be good.”
“Is it any harder than in any other school, Tom?” asked Mrs. Fisher quietly.
Tom turned, to reply: “I don't know, Mrs. Fisher, because I haven't been at any other school. But I can't imagine a place where everything is made so hard for a boy. To begin with, there is old Fox.”
“Oh Tom!” exclaimed Phronsie, leaning forward, whereat old Mr. King laid a warning hand upon the well arm. “There, there, Phronsie; sit back, child;” so she obeyed. “But, Grandpapa, he said there was an old fox atJoey's school,” she declared, dreadfully excited, and lifting her face to his.
“Well, and so she is, Phronsie,” declared Tom, whirling his long body suddenly around, thereby receiving a dig in the back from Van, who considered him intruding on his space, “a fox by name, and a fox by nature; but we'll call her, for convenience, a person.”
“She's the matron,” said Percy, feeling called upon to explain.
“Oh!” said Phronsie, drawing a long breath, “but I thought Tom said she was a fox, Grandpapa.”
“That's her name,” said Tom, nodding at her; “Jemima Fox—isn't that a sweet name, Phronsie?”
“I don't think it is averysweet one, Tom,” said Phronsie, feeling quite badly to be obliged to say so.
“I agree with you,” said Tom, while the others all laughed. “Well, Phronsie, she's just as far from being nice as her name is.”
“Oh dear me!” exclaimed Phronsie, looking quite grieved.
“But I have something nice to tell you,” said Tom quickly, “so I'll hurry on, and let the otherpersonages at Dr. Marks' slide. Well,—but I want you all to understand, though”—and he wrinkled up his brows,—“that when a fellow does real, bang-up, fine things at that school, it means something. You will, won't you?” He included them all now in a sweeping glance, letting his blue eyes rest the longest on Mrs. Fisher's face; while Phronsie broke in, “What's bang-up, Grandpapa?”
“You must ask Tom,” replied Grandpapa, with a little laugh.
“Oh, that's just schoolboy lingo,” Tom made haste to say, as his face got red.
“What's lingo?” asked Phronsie, more puzzled than before.
“That's—that's—oh, dear!” Tom's face rivalled the firelight by this time, for color.
“Phronsie, I wouldn't ask any more questions now,” said Polly gently. “Boys say so many things; and it isn't necessary to know now. Let's listen to the story.”
“I will,” said Phronsie, feeling quite relieved that it wasn't really incumbent on her to ask for explanations. So she sat back quietly in her big chair, while Tom shot Polly a grateful look.
“Well, there are lots of chaps at our school,”went on Tom—“I suppose there are at all schools, but at any rate we have them in a big quantity,—who are mad when they see the other boys get on.”
“Oh, Tom!” exclaimed Polly.
“Yes, they are—mad clear through,” declared Tom positively. “And it's principally in athletics.” Phronsie made a little movement at this word, but, remembering that she was not to ask questions, for Polly had said so, she became quiet again.
“They simply can't bear that a boy gets ahead of 'em; it just knocks 'em all up.” Tom was rushing on, with head thrown back and gazing into the fire.
“Tom,” said Joel, bounding up suddenly to take his head out of Polly's lap, and to sit quite straight, “I wouldn't run on like this if I were you.”
“You hush up, Pepper,” said Tom coolly. “I haven't said a word about you. I shall say what I like. I tell you, it does just knock 'em all up. I know, for I've been that way myself.”
This was getting on such dangerous ground, that Joel opened his mouth to remonstrate, but Polly put her hand over it. “I'd let Tom tell hisstory just as he wants to,” which had the effect of smothering Joel's speech for the time being.
“I thought, Jasper, you were going to quench Joe,” observed Tom, who seemed to have the power to see out of the back of his head, and now was conscious of the disturbance. “You don't seem to be much good.”
“Oh, Polly's doing it this time,” said Jasper; “I'll take him in tow on the next offence.”
“Yes, I have,” declared Tom, “been that way myself. I'm going to tell you how, and then I'll feel better about it.” His ruddy face turned quite pale now, and his eyes shone.
“Stop him,” howled Joel, all restraint thrown to the winds, and shaking off Polly's fingers.
Jasper leaned forward. “I'm bound to make you keep the peace, Joe,” he said, shaking his arm.
“But he's going to tell about things he ought not to,” cried Joel, in an agony. “Do stop him, Jasper.”
Mother Fisher leaned forward, and fastened her black eyes on Joel's face. “I think Tom better go on, Joel,” she said. “I want to hear it.”
That settled the matter; and Joel threw himselfdown, his face buried in Polly's lap, while he stuck his fingers in his ears.
“I'm going to tell you all this story,” Tom was saying, “because I ought to. You won't like me very well after it, but it's got to come out. Well, I might as well mention names now, since Joe has got to keep still. You can't guess how he's been tormented by some of those cads, simply because he's our best tennis player, and on the football team. They've made things hum for him!” Tom threw back his head, and clenched his fist where it lay in his lap. “And the rest of us boys got mad, especially at one of them. He was the ringleader, and the biggest cad and bully of them all.”
No one said a word.
“I hate to mention names; it seems awfully mean.” Tom's face got fiery red again. “And yet, as you all know, why, it can't be helped. Jenkins—well there, a fellow would want to be excused from speaking to him. And yet”—down fell Tom's head shamefacedly—“I let him show me how he was going to play a dastardly trick on Joe, the very day of the tennis tournament. I did, that's a fact.”
No one spoke; but Tom could feel what mighthave been said had the thoughts all been expressed, and he burst out desperately, “I let that cad take Joe's racket.”
A general rustle, as if some speech were coming, made him forestall it by plunging on, “His beautiful racket he'd been practising with for this tournament; and I not only didn't knock the scoundrel down, but I helped the thing along. I wouldn't have supposed I could do it. Joe was to play with Ricketson against Green and me; and two minutes after it was done, I'd have given everything to have had it back on Joe's table. But the boys were pouring up, and it was hidden.”
Tom could get no further, but hung his head for the reaction sure to set in against him by all this household that had welcomed and entertained him so handsomely.
“Has he got through? has the beggar finished?” cried Joel lustily.
“Yes,” said Polly, in a low voice, “I think he has, Joel.”
“Then I want to say”—Joel threw himself over by Tom, his arms around him—“that he's the biggest fraud to spring such a trap on me, and plan to get off that yarn here.”
“I didn't intend to when I came,” said Tom, thinking it necessary to tell the whole truth. “I hadn't the courage.”
“Pity you had now!” retorted Joel. “Oh, you beggar!” He laid his round cheek against Tom's. “Mamsie, Grandpapa, Polly,” his black eyes sweeping the circle, “if I were to tell you all that this chap has done for me,—why, he took me to the place where Jenk hid the racket.”
“Pshaw! that was nothing,” said Tom curtly.
“Nothing? Well, I got it in time for the tournament. You saw to that. And when Jenk and I were having it out in the pine grove that night, Tom thought he better tell Dave; though I can't say I thank you for that,” brought up Joel regretfully, “for I was getting the best of Jenk.”
Old Mr. King had held himself well in check up to this point. “How did you know, Tom, my boy, that Joel and er—this—”
“Jenk,” furnished Joel.
“Yes—er—Jenk, were going to settle it that night?”
“Why, you see, sir,” Tom, in memory of the excitement and pride over Joel's prowess, so far recovered himself as to turn to answer, “Joel couldn't very well finish it there, for the dormitorygot too hot for that sort of thing; although it would have been rare good sport for all the fellows to have seen Jenk flat, for he was always beating other chaps—I mean little ones, not half his size.”
“Oh dear me!” breathed Polly indignantly.
“Yes; well, Joe promised Jenk he would finish it some other time; and Jenk dared him, and taunted him after the tournament. He was wild with rage because Joel won; and he lost his head, or he would have let Joe alone.”
“I see,” exclaimed Grandpapa, his eyes shining. “Well, and so you sat up and watched the affair.”
“I couldn't go to bed, you know,” said Tom simply.
“And he would have saved us, Dave and me, if that Jenk hadn't locked the door on us when he slipped in.”
“Cad!” exclaimed Tom, between his teeth. “He ought to have been expelled for that. And then Joe shinned up the conductor—and you know the rest.”
Mother Fisher shivered, and leaned over involuntarily toward her boy.
“Mamsie,” exclaimed Joel, “you don't knowwhat Tom is to me, in that school. He's just royal—that's what he is!” with a resounding slap on his back.
“And I say so too,” declared Mother Fisher, with shining eyes.
“What?” roared Tom, whirling around so suddenly that Van this time got out of the way only by rolling entirely off from the rug. “Mrs. Fisher—youcan't, after I've told you this, although I'm no-end sorry about the racket. I didn't want to tell,—fought against it, but I had to.”
“I stand by what I've said, Tom,” said Mrs. Fisher, putting out her hand, when Tom immediately laid his big brown one within it. At this, Joel howled with delight, which he was unable to express enough to meet his wishes; so he plunged off to the middle of the library floor, and turned a brace of somersaults, coming up red and shining.
“I feel better now,” he said; “that's the way I used to do in the little brown house when I liked things.”
Top
“Ought we to, Mamsie?” asked Polly. Jasper and she were in Mrs. Fisher's room, and they both waited for the reply anxiously.
“Yes, Polly, I think you ought,” said Mother Fisher.
“Oh dear me! Phronsie can't have only a little bit of it,” said Polly.
“I know it. But think, Polly, the boys have to go back to school so soon that even if other people didn't care if it were postponed, they would lose it. Besides, Tom is to be one of the chief people on the program. No, no, Polly, there are others to think of outside of ourselves. You must have your entertainment just as it is planned,” Mrs. Fisher brought up very decidedly.
“Well,” sighed Polly, “I am glad that Papa Fisher says that Phronsie can hear a little part of it, anyway.”
“Yes,” said her mother cheerfully, “and Helen Fargo is to sit next to her. Mrs. Fargo is to take her home early, as she has not been very well. So you see, Polly, it will all turn out very good after all.”
“But I did so want Phronsie to be there through the whole,” mourned Polly.
“So did I,” echoed Jasper. Then he caught Mother Fisher's eye. “But, Polly, the boys would lose it then,” he added quickly.
“Oh!” cried Polly, “so they would; I keep forgetting that. Dear me! why isn't everything just right, so that they all could hear it?” And she gave a little flounce.
“Everything is just right, Polly,” said Mrs. Fisher gravely; “don't let me hear you complain of things that no one can help.”
“I didn't mean to complain, Mamsie,” said Polly humbly; and she crept up to her, while Jasper looked very much distressed.
“Mother knows you didn't,” said Mrs. Fisher, putting her arm around her, “but it's a bad habit, Polly, to be impatient when things don't go rightly. Now run away, both of you,” she finished brightly, “and work up your program,” and she set a kiss on Polly's rosy cheek.
“Jasper,” cried Polly, with happiness once more in her heart as they raced off, “I tell you what we can do. We must change the program, and put those things that Phronsie likes, up first.”
“That's so,” cried Jasper, well pleased. “Now, what will they be, Polly?”
“Why, Mr. Dyce's story of the dog,” said Polly, “for one thing; Phronsie thinks that's perfectly lovely, and always asks him for it when he tells her stories.”
“All right,” said Jasper. “What next?”
“Why, Tom must sing one of his funny songs.”
“Yes, of course. That will please her ever so much,” cried Jasper. “Don't you know how she claps her hands when he's rehearsing, Polly?”
“Yes; oh, I wouldn't have her miss that for anything, Jasper,” said Polly.
“No, indeed,” cried Jasper heartily. “Well, Polly, then what ought to come next? Let's come into the den and fix it up now.”
So they ran into the den; and Jasper got out the long program all ready to be pinned up beside the improvised stage, on the evening of the great event, and spread it on the table, Polly meanwhile clearing off the books.
“Let's see.” He wrinkled up his brow, running his finger down the whole length. “Now, when I make the new program, Mr. Dyce goes first.”
Polly stood quite still at that. “Oh, Jasper, we can't do it—no, never in all this world.”
“Why, Polly,”—he turned suddenly—“yes, we can just as easily. See, Polly.”
“We can't spoil that lovely program that took you so long to make, for anything,” said Polly, in a decisive fashion. “Phronsie wouldn't want it,” she added.
“Phronsie isn't to know anything about it,” said Jasper, just as decidedly.
“Well, but Jasper, you can't make another; you haven't the time,” said Polly in great distress, and wishing she hadn't said anything about the changes. “I didn't think there would have to be a new program made.”
“Oh, Polly, I think we'd better have a new one,” said Jasper, who was very particular about everything.
“I thought we were going to have changes announced from the stage,” said Polly. “Oh, why can't we, Jasper? I'm sure they do that very often.”
“Well, that's when the changes come at the last moment,” said Jasper reluctantly.
“Well, I'm sure this is the last moment,” said Polly. “The entertainment is to-morrow night, and we've ever so much to do yet.Please, Jasper.” That “please, Jasper,” won the day.
“All right, Polly,” he said. “Well, now let's see what ought to come after Tom's song.”
“Well, Phronsie is very anxious to hear Pickering's piece; I know, because I heard her tell Mamsie so.”
“Why, she has heard Pick recite that ever so many times since he learned it for our school exhibition,” said Jasper.
“And don't you know that's just the very reason why she wants it again?” said Polly, with a little laugh.
“Yes, of course,” said Jasper, laughing too. “Well, she must have it then. So down goes Pick.” He ran to the table drawer and drew out a big sheet of paper. “First, Mr. Dyce, then Tom Beresford, then Pickering Dodge,” writing fast.
“And then,” said Polly, running up to look over his shoulder, “Phronsie wants dreadfully to hear Tom play on his banjo.”
“Oh, Polly,”—Jasper threw back his head to look at her—“I don't believe there'll be time for all that; you know the music by Miss Taylor comes first as an overture. We can't change that.”
“Why,” exclaimed Polly in dismay, “we must, Jasper, get Tom's banjo in; and there's Percy's piece. Phronsie wouldn't miss that foranything.”
“Why, we shall have the whole program in if we keep on,” said Jasper, looking at her in dismay.
“Oh, Jasper, Papa Fisher says that Phronsie may stay in twenty minutes. Just think; we can do a lot in twenty minutes.”
“But somebody is bound to be late, so we can't begin on time. Nobody ever does, Polly.”
“We must,” said Polly passionately, “begin on time to-morrow night, Jasper.”
“We'll try,” said Jasper, as cheerfully as he could manage.
“And there's your piece. Why, Jasper, Phronsie told me herself that shemusthear yours.”
“Well, and so she told me that she'd rather hear you play your piece,” said Jasper; “but you and I, Polly, as long as we change the program, can't come in among the first.”
“No, of course not,” said Polly. “But, oh, Jasper,” and she gave a sigh, “it's too bad that you can't recite yours, for it is most beautiful!” Polly clasped her hands and sighed again.
“Well, that's not to be thought of,” said Jasper. “Now I tell you how we'll fix it, Polly,” he said quickly.
“How?” asked Polly gloomily.
“Why, we have twenty minutes that Phronsie can stay in. Now, let's mark off all those things that she wants, except yours and mine, even if they come beyond the time; and then we'll draw just those that will get into the twenty minutes.”
“Oh, Jasper, what a fine idea!” exclaimed Polly, all her enthusiasm returning.
“Well, mark off half of 'em, and I'll write the others,” said Jasper, tearing off strips from his big sheet of paper. So Polly and he fell to work; and presently “Pick,” and “Tom” (“that's for the song,” said Polly), and “Banjo,” and “Mr. Dyce,” and “Percy,” went down on the little strips.
“Oh, and I forgot,” said Polly, raising her head from her last strip, “Phronsie wanted to hear Clare very much indeed.”
OH, I DO HOPE I SHALL DRAW THE RIGHT ONE, JASPER.“OH, I DO HOPE I SHALL DRAW THE RIGHT ONE, JASPER.”
“Well, we should have had the whole program with a vengeance,” said Jasper, bursting into a laugh. “Well, put him down, Polly.”
So “Clare” went down on another strip, and then they were all jumbled up in a little Chinese bowl on the bookcase.
“Now, you draw first, Polly,” said Jasper.
“Oh, no, let us choose for first draw,” said Polly; “that's the way to be absolutely right.”
So she ran back to the table and tore off two more strips, one short and the other long, and fixed them in between her hands.
“You didn't see?” she asked over her shoulder.
“Not a wink,” said Jasper, laughing.
So Polly ran back, and Jasper drew the short one. “There; you have it, Polly!” he cried gleefully. “Oh, that's good!”
“Oh, I do hope I shall draw the right one, Jasper,” she said, standing on tiptoe, her fingers trembling over the bowl.
“They are all of them good,” said Jasper encouragingly. So Polly suddenly picked out one; and together they read, “Tom.”
“Fine!” they shouted.
“Oh, isn't that perfectly splendid?” cried Polly, “because, you see, Phronsie did so very much wish to hear Tom sing,” just as if shehadn't mentioned that fact before. “Now, Jasper.”
“I'm in much the same predicament as you were,” said Jasper, pausing, his hand over the bowl. “If I shouldn't choose the right one, Polly!”
“They are all of them good,” said Polly, laughing at his face.
“Oh, I know, but it is a fearful responsibility,” said Jasper, wrinkling his brows worse yet. “Well, here goes!”
He plunged his fingers in, and out they came with the strip, “Percy.”
“Now, Jasper, you couldn't possibly have chosen better,” declared Polly, hopping up and down, “for Phronsie did so want to hear Percy speak. And it will please Percy so. Oh, I'm so glad!”
“Well, I'm thankful I haven't to draw again,” declared Jasper, “for we can't have but three pieces beside the overture, you know. So it's your turn now, Polly.”
“Oh dear me!” exclaimed Polly, the color dying down in her cheek, “if I shouldn't draw the right one, Jasper King; and it's the last chance.”
She stood so long with her hand poised overthe Chinese bowl, that Jasper finally laughed out. “Oh, Polly, aren't your tiptoes tired?”
“Not half so tired as I am,” said Polly grimly. “Jasper, I'm going to run across the room, and then run back and draw suddenly without stopping to think.”
“Do,” cried Jasper.
So Polly ran into the further corner, and came flying up, to get on her tiptoes, thrust in her fingers, and bring out the third and last strip.
“The deed is done!” exclaimed Jasper. “Now, Polly, let's see who it is.”
“Pick!” he shouted.
And “Pickering!” screamed Polly. And they took hold of hands and spun round and round the den.
“Oh, dear, we're knocking off your beautiful program,” cried Polly, pausing in dismay.
“It hasn't hurt it any—our mad whirl hasn't,” said Jasper, picking up the long program where it had slipped off the table to the floor. “Polly, you can't think how I wanted Pick to be chosen. It will do him so much good.”
“And only think, if I hadn't chosen him out of that bowl!” cried Polly, in dismay at the very thought.
“Well, you did, Polly, so it's all right,” said Jasper. “Now everything is fixed, and it's going to be the finest affair that ever was,” he added enthusiastically; “and the best of it is—I can't help it, Polly—that Mrs. Chatterton isn't to come back till next week,” he brought up in great satisfaction.
Mrs. Chatterton had gone to New York for some weeks, but was to return to finish her visit at “Cousin Horatio's.”
“And I am so glad too,” confessed Polly, but feeling as if she oughtn't to say it. “And isn't everything just beautiful, Jasper!”
“I should think it was!” cried Jasper jubilantly. “Just as perfect as can be, Polly.”
And the next afternoon, when the last preparations for the grand entertainment were made, and everybody was rushing off to dress for dinner, a carriage drove up the winding driveway. There were big trunks on the rack, and two people inside.
Joel, racing along the hall with Tom at his heels, took one look. “Oh, whickets!” he ejaculated, stopping short, to bring his feet down with a thud.
“What's the row?” asked Tom, plunging up to him in amazement.
“That person.” Joel pointed a finger at the carriage. “I must tell Polly,” and off he darted.
Tom, not feeling at all sure that he ought to wait to see “that person,” wheeled about and followed.
“Polly,” roared Joel, long before he got to her. “She's come!”
“Has she?” Polly called back, supposing he meant Alexia. “Well, tell her to come up here, Joe, in my room.”
Joel took the stairs two at a time, Tom waiting below, and dashed into the blue and white room without ceremony.
“Polly, you don't understand,” he blurted out; “she's come!”
Polly had her head bent over a drawer, picking out some ribbons. At the sound of Joel's voice she drew it out and looked at him.
“Why, how funny you look, Joe!” she said. “What is the matter?”
“I guess you'd look funny,” said Joel glumly, “if you'd seen Mrs. Chatterton.”
“Not Mrs. Chatterton!” exclaimed Polly aghast; and jumping up, her face very pale, and upsetting her box of ribbons, she seized Joel's arm.
“Tell me this very minute, Joel Pepper,” she commanded, “what do you mean?”
“Mrs. Chatterton has just come. I saw her coming up the drive. There's Johnson now letting her in.” Joel had it all out now in a burst, ready to cry at sight of Polly's face, as the bustle in the hall below and the thin, high voice proclaimed the worst.
“Oh, Joel, Joel!” mourned Polly, releasing his arm to wring her hands. “Whatshallwe do?”
“She's an old harpy,” declared Joel; “mean, horrid, old thing!”
“Oh, stop, Joel!” cried Polly, quite horrified.
“Well, she is,” said Joel vindictively, “to come before we'd got back to school.”
“Well, don't say so,” begged Polly, having hard work to keep back her own words, crowding for utterance. “Mamsie wouldn't like it, Joey.”
Joel, with this thought on his mind, only grumbled out something so faintly that really Polly couldn't hear as she ran out into the hall.
“Oh, Jasper!”
“Polly, did you know? Whatcanwe do?” It was impossible for him to conceal his vexation. And Polly lost sight of her own discomfiture, in the attempt to comfort him.
“And father—it will just make him as miserable as can be,” said Jasper gloomily. “And he was so happy over the beautiful time we were going to have this evening.” He was so vexed he could do nothing but prance up and down the hall.
“Well, we must make him forget that she is here,” said Polly, swallowing her own distress at the change of all the conditions.
“How can we, Polly?” Jasper stopped for a minute and stared at her.
“I mean,” said Polly, feeling that it was a very hopeless case after all, “that we mustn't show that we mind it, her coming back, and must act as if we forgot it; and then that will keep him happy perhaps.”
“If you only will, Polly,” cried Jasper, seizing both of her hands, “it will be the best piece of work you ever did.”
“Oh, I can't do it alone,” exclaimed Polly, in consternation. “Never in all this world, Jasper, unless you help too.”
“Then we'll both try our very best,” said Jasper. “I'm sure I ought to; 'twould be mean enough to expect you to go at such a task alone.”
“Oh, you couldn't be mean, Jasper,” declared Polly, in horror at the very thought.
“Well, I should be if I left you to tackle this by yourself,” said Jasper, with a grim little laugh. “So Polly, there's my hand on it. I'll help you.”
And Polly ran back to pick up her ribbons and dress for dinner, feeling somehow very happy after all, that there was something she could do for dear Grandpapa to help him bear this great calamity.
Tom Beresford, meanwhile, withdrew from the great hall when Johnson ushered in the tall, stately woman and her French maid, and took shelter in the library. And Mrs. Whitney, coming over the stairs, saying, “Well, Cousin Eunice, did you have a pleasant journey?” in the gentle voice Tom so loved, gave him the first inkling of the relationship. But he wrinkled his brows at Joel's exclamation, and his queer way of rushing off.
“You know journeys always tire me, Marian. So that your question is quite useless. I will sit in the library a moment to recover myself. Hortense, go up and prepare my room,” and she sailed into the apartment, her heavy silk gown swishing close to Tom's chair.
“Who is that boy?” she demanded sharply. Then she put up her lorgnette, and examined him closely as if of a new and probably dangerous species.
Tom slipped off from his chair and stiffened up.
“It's one of Joel's friends,” said Mrs. Whitney, slipping her hand within the tall boy's arm. “The boys are at home from school for a week.”
“Joel's friends,” repeated Mrs. Chatterton, paying scant attention to the rest of the information. Then she gave a scornful cackle. “Haven't you gotten over that nonsense yet, Marian?” she asked.
“No; and I trust I never shall,” replied Mrs. Whitney with a happy smile. “Now, Cousin Eunice, as you wish to rest, we will go,” and she drew Tom off.
“My boy,” she said, releasing him in the hall, to give a bright glance up at the stormy, astonished face above her, “I know you and Joel will get dressed as rapidly as possible for dinner, for my father will not want to be annoyed by a lack of promptness to-night.” She did not say, “because he will have annoyance enough,” but Tom guessed it all.
“I will, Mrs. Whitney,” he promised heartily. And, thinking he would go to the ends of the earth for her, to be smiled on like that, he plunged off over the stairs.
“I've seen the old cat,” he cried in smothered wrath to Joel, rushing into his room.
Joel sat disconsolately on the edge of his bed, kicking off his heavy shoes, to replace with his evening ones.
“Have you?” said Joel grimly. “Well, isn't she a—” then he remembered Mamsie, and snapped his lips to.
“'A,'” exclaimed Tom, in smothered wrath, as he closed the door. “She isn't 'a' at all, Joe. She's 'the.'”
“Well, do be still,” cried Joel, putting on his best shoes nervously, “or you'll have me saying something. And she's visiting here; and Mamsie wouldn't like it. Don't, Tom,” he begged.
“I won't,” said Tom, with a monstrous effort, “but—oh dear me!” Then he rushed into his own room and banged about, getting his best clothes out.
“Shut the door,” roared Joel after him, “or you'll begin to fume, and I can't stand it, Tom; it will set me off.”
So Tom shut the door; and with all these precautions going on over the house, all the family in due time appeared at dinner, prepared as best they could be to bear the infliction of Mrs. Chatterton's return.
And after the conclusion of the meal, why, everybody tried to forget it as much as possible, and give themselves up to the grand affair of the evening.
And old Mr. King, who had been consumed with fear that it would have a disastrous effect on Polly and Jasper, the chief getters-up of the entertainment, came out of his fright nicely; for there they were, as bright and jolly as ever, and fully equal to any demands upon them. So he made up his mind that, after all, he could put up with Cousin Eunice a bit longer, and that the affair was to be an immense success and the very finest thing possible.
And everybody else who was present on the eventful occasion, said so too! And it seemed as if Mr. King's spacious drawing-room, famous for its capacity at all such times, couldn't possibly have admitted another person to this entertainment for the benefit of the poor brakeman's family.
And Joel, who wasn't good at recitations, and who detested all that sort of thing, and Van, for the same reason, were both in their element as ticket takers. And the little pink and yellow squares came in so thick and fast that both boys had all they could do for a while—which was saying a good deal—to collect them.
And everybody said that Miss Mary Taylor had never played such a beautiful overture—and she was capable of a good deal along that line—in all her life; and Phronsie, sitting well to the front, between old Mr. King and Helen Fargo, forgot that she ever had a hurt arm, and that it lay bandaged up in her lap.
And little Dick, when he could lose sight of the fact that he wasn't next to Phronsie instead of Helen Fargo, snuggled up contentedly against Mother Fisher, and applauded everything straight through.
And old Mr. King protested that he was perfectly satisfied with the whole thing, which was saying the most that could be expressed for the quality of the entertainment; and he took particular pains to applaud Tom Beresford, who looked very handsome, and acquitted himself well.
“I must,” said Tom to himself, although quaking inwardly, “for they've all been so good to me—and for Joel's sake!” So he sang at his very best. And he played his banjo merrily, and he was encored and encored; and Joel was as proud as could be, which did Tom good to see.
And Percy—well, the tears of joy came into his mother's eyes, for it wasn't easy for him to learn pieces, nor in fact to apply himself to study at all. But no one would have suspected it to see him now on that stage. And Grandpapa King was so overjoyed that he called “Bravo—bravo!” ever so many times, which carried Percy on triumphantly over the difficult spots where he had been afraid he should slip.
“If only his father could hear him!” sighed Mrs. Whitney in the midst of her joy, longing as she always did for the time when the father could finish those trips over the sea, for his business house.
Polly had made Jasper consent, which he did reluctantly, to give his recitation before she played; insisting that music was really better for a finale. And she listened with such delight to the applause that he received—for ever so many of the audience said it was the gem of thewhole—that she quite forgot to be nervous about her own performance; and she played her nocturne with such a happy heart, thinking over the lovely evening, and how the money would be, oh, such a heap to take down on the morrow to the poor brakeman's home, that Jasper was turning the last page of her music—and the entertainment was at an end!
Polly hopped off from the music stool. There was a great clapping all over the room, and Grandpapa called out, “Yes, child, play again,” so there was nothing for Polly to do but to hop back again and give them another selection. And then they clapped harder yet; but Polly shook her brown head, and rushed off the stage.
And then, of course, Grandpapa gave them, as he always did, a fine party to wind up the evening with. And the camp chairs were folded up and carried off, and a company of musicians came into the alcove in the spacious hall, and all through the beautiful, large apartments festivity reigned!
“Look at the old cat,” said Tom in a smothered aside to Joel, his next neighbor in the “Sir Roger de Coverley.” “Isn't she a sight!”
“I don't want to,” said Joel, with a grimace,“and it's awfully mean in you, Tom, to ask me.”
“I know it,” said Tom penitently, “but I can't keep my eyes off from her. How your grandfather can stand it, Pepper, I don't see.”
And a good many other people were asking themselves the same question, Madam Dyce among the number, to whom Mrs. Chatterton was just remarking, “Cousin Horatio is certainly not the same man.”
“No,” replied Madam Dyce distinctly, “he is infinitely improved; so approachable now.”
“You mistake me,” Mrs. Chatterton said angrily, “I mean there is the greatest change come over him; it's lamentable, and all brought about by his inexplicable infatuation over those low-born Pepper children and their designing mother.”
“Mrs. Chatterton,” said Madam Dyce—she could be quite as stately as Mr. King's cousin, and as she felt in secure possession of the right in the case, she was vastly more impressive—“I am not here to go over this question, nor shall I discuss it anywhere with you. You know my mind about it. I only wish I had the Peppers—yes, every single one of them,” warmed up the old lady,—“in my house, and that fine woman, their mother, along with them.”