CHAPTER V.The ArrivalThe girls got here on Friday, the eighth of May. Sam and I rode down to Rattail in the sedan to meet them, and John took the small truck down to bring up their baggage.Number Twenty came roaring up, on time, and stopped with a snort of angry protest, as it always does when it has to stop at Rattail, which is not often; not more than a dozen times a year at best, I guess.Sam and I hurried down the tracks to where the porter’s white, rapidly swinging arms were piling up the shining black baggage.I don’t know what there is about riding in a train that turns folks haughty and supercilious; but there is something that does. A person who would be right hearty and human on his own two feet, sits in a car window and looks out at the platform people as if they were something he wanted to be careful not to step in. By the time I had passed fifty or more windows, and had reached where the girls were standing, I was so heated up I couldn’t find a word to say but, “Pleased to meet you,” which was not the truth.One of them smiled real sweet, and said, “Mary! Upon my soul you haven’t changed at all in sixteen years,” and made as if to kiss me; which I did at once.The other one gave me a jerky nod, and stood there, watching the train pull out, until Sam, who had been poking along behind me, managed to catch up.“Uncle Sam,” she exclaimed, laughing and standing on tiptoe, and putting her hands on his shoulders, and tipping her pointed chin up to him, “you dear, to have us! I had always remembered that you were the biggest man in the world, and now I see that I was right about it.”Sam didn’t kiss her, as she had expected him to. He patted her hands, took them down off his shoulders and held them a minute before he dropped them and reached to shake hands with the twin who had kissed me.“Well, now,” he said, “this is sure great. Little girls all grown up to ladies, and coming to see their old uncle.” (He had bitten on that uncle bait, though he was no more their uncle than I was.) “Which of you is which, now? Let’s get you sorted out, so I can call you by name. I used to get you all mixed up, when you were little tykes—couldn’t tell one from the other.”“You won’t have that trouble any more,” said the one who had nodded at me. “I am Gabrielle, and that prim little puss is Danielle. People never get confused about us any longer.”Indeed, I should think not. Danielle was dressed pretty and neat in a suit of gray about the shade of a Maltese cat, with a nice little round hat to match, and not more than ten inches of gray silk stocking showing between the edge of her skirt and the tops of her neat gray pumps. Gabrielle had on a floppy coat thing, that looked more like a bathrobe, cut off at the knees, the way it lopped and draped, with nothing but a big buckle on one hip to hold it together at all. It was about two shades darker than good cream tomato soup. Her hat was as near as she could match it, I guess; and, though it was small, it was soft and loppy. Her stockings, sixteen inches of them in sight, if an inch, were a kind of sickly cross between yellow and pink. Her black satin shoes had stilt heels and silver buckles. She wore, also, a pair of earrings, dangling almost to her shoulders, that looked like the spinners the boys use here, in the fall, when they go after the big trout.The population of Rattail had come running to the depot, of course, when the train stopped; and, at last, swaggering his way among males, females, Indians, cowpunchers, and dogs, here came John.He doesn’t usually trim his walk with that swagger; but, bashful as an overfed coyote, he is hard put to it, at times, to cover up this deficiency of his. So he swings his shoulders, and talks loudly, and boasts around, when a person with a keen ear could hear his knees clicking together.“La-la!” exclaimed Gabrielle, when she caught sight of him. “Who is this picturesque man thing coming toward us?”John did look pretty fine, wearing his new corduroy suit, and his shining new leather puttees, and his new sixteen-dollar sombrero. He had even gone so far as to button up the collar of his brown flannel shirt. I was sorry he had not been around, when the train came in, to add tone to Sam and to me.“He,” Sam answered, beaming with pride, “is my boy, John.”“How thrilling!” chirped Gabrielle. “It is like living in a cinema, isn’t it, Danny?” And off she went, sort of skipping along the tracks, to meet him.When they met, John gave her about the same attention that a passenger gives the ticket chopper at the gate, in a city depot, when he sees the train he is trying to catch moving slowly out through the yards. He pulled off his hat with a bow, but he passed her, walking very fast. I thought that he was so flustered that he did not know what he was doing. He knew. He was headed straight for Danny. He had been in the freight house since long before the train came in, sizing up from a safe distance the girls’ arrival. Then he had sneaked out the back way, up past the station house, and around it and back again, to give the appearance of having just that minute got into Rattail.“John,” I said, when he reached Danny and me, and stopped short, like he had just been lassoed from the rear, “this is Danielle Canneziano.”John dropped his hat in the alkali dust, his new hat, and reached out and took both of Danny’s hands in his. Falling on his knees in front of her would not have been much showier.“I—” he produced, “I—I heard you laugh.”To me, it barely made sense; but she seemed to find it interesting and important.“Really?” she said, and sort of trilled it full of meaning.Standing there, with my new shoes hurting my corns, and Sam and Gabrielle completely out of sight around the corner of the depot, I felt as necessary, useful, and welcome as a hair in the soup, and a sight more conspicuous. Rattail’s population was beginning to close in around us. I pulled at John’s sleeve; but I declare, if a freight hadn’t come along, forcing those two to get off the tracks, they might have been standing there yet, gazing into each other’s eyes.I was halfway home, riding beside Danny in the sedan, when Gabrielle’s laughing out again, at some remark of Sam’s, made me remember that she had been the only one who had done any laughing when we had met. Danny had only smiled. So, if that laugh was what had put John clear off his head, he had picked the wrong twin.
The girls got here on Friday, the eighth of May. Sam and I rode down to Rattail in the sedan to meet them, and John took the small truck down to bring up their baggage.
Number Twenty came roaring up, on time, and stopped with a snort of angry protest, as it always does when it has to stop at Rattail, which is not often; not more than a dozen times a year at best, I guess.
Sam and I hurried down the tracks to where the porter’s white, rapidly swinging arms were piling up the shining black baggage.
I don’t know what there is about riding in a train that turns folks haughty and supercilious; but there is something that does. A person who would be right hearty and human on his own two feet, sits in a car window and looks out at the platform people as if they were something he wanted to be careful not to step in. By the time I had passed fifty or more windows, and had reached where the girls were standing, I was so heated up I couldn’t find a word to say but, “Pleased to meet you,” which was not the truth.
One of them smiled real sweet, and said, “Mary! Upon my soul you haven’t changed at all in sixteen years,” and made as if to kiss me; which I did at once.
The other one gave me a jerky nod, and stood there, watching the train pull out, until Sam, who had been poking along behind me, managed to catch up.
“Uncle Sam,” she exclaimed, laughing and standing on tiptoe, and putting her hands on his shoulders, and tipping her pointed chin up to him, “you dear, to have us! I had always remembered that you were the biggest man in the world, and now I see that I was right about it.”
Sam didn’t kiss her, as she had expected him to. He patted her hands, took them down off his shoulders and held them a minute before he dropped them and reached to shake hands with the twin who had kissed me.
“Well, now,” he said, “this is sure great. Little girls all grown up to ladies, and coming to see their old uncle.” (He had bitten on that uncle bait, though he was no more their uncle than I was.) “Which of you is which, now? Let’s get you sorted out, so I can call you by name. I used to get you all mixed up, when you were little tykes—couldn’t tell one from the other.”
“You won’t have that trouble any more,” said the one who had nodded at me. “I am Gabrielle, and that prim little puss is Danielle. People never get confused about us any longer.”
Indeed, I should think not. Danielle was dressed pretty and neat in a suit of gray about the shade of a Maltese cat, with a nice little round hat to match, and not more than ten inches of gray silk stocking showing between the edge of her skirt and the tops of her neat gray pumps. Gabrielle had on a floppy coat thing, that looked more like a bathrobe, cut off at the knees, the way it lopped and draped, with nothing but a big buckle on one hip to hold it together at all. It was about two shades darker than good cream tomato soup. Her hat was as near as she could match it, I guess; and, though it was small, it was soft and loppy. Her stockings, sixteen inches of them in sight, if an inch, were a kind of sickly cross between yellow and pink. Her black satin shoes had stilt heels and silver buckles. She wore, also, a pair of earrings, dangling almost to her shoulders, that looked like the spinners the boys use here, in the fall, when they go after the big trout.
The population of Rattail had come running to the depot, of course, when the train stopped; and, at last, swaggering his way among males, females, Indians, cowpunchers, and dogs, here came John.
He doesn’t usually trim his walk with that swagger; but, bashful as an overfed coyote, he is hard put to it, at times, to cover up this deficiency of his. So he swings his shoulders, and talks loudly, and boasts around, when a person with a keen ear could hear his knees clicking together.
“La-la!” exclaimed Gabrielle, when she caught sight of him. “Who is this picturesque man thing coming toward us?”
John did look pretty fine, wearing his new corduroy suit, and his shining new leather puttees, and his new sixteen-dollar sombrero. He had even gone so far as to button up the collar of his brown flannel shirt. I was sorry he had not been around, when the train came in, to add tone to Sam and to me.
“He,” Sam answered, beaming with pride, “is my boy, John.”
“How thrilling!” chirped Gabrielle. “It is like living in a cinema, isn’t it, Danny?” And off she went, sort of skipping along the tracks, to meet him.
When they met, John gave her about the same attention that a passenger gives the ticket chopper at the gate, in a city depot, when he sees the train he is trying to catch moving slowly out through the yards. He pulled off his hat with a bow, but he passed her, walking very fast. I thought that he was so flustered that he did not know what he was doing. He knew. He was headed straight for Danny. He had been in the freight house since long before the train came in, sizing up from a safe distance the girls’ arrival. Then he had sneaked out the back way, up past the station house, and around it and back again, to give the appearance of having just that minute got into Rattail.
“John,” I said, when he reached Danny and me, and stopped short, like he had just been lassoed from the rear, “this is Danielle Canneziano.”
John dropped his hat in the alkali dust, his new hat, and reached out and took both of Danny’s hands in his. Falling on his knees in front of her would not have been much showier.
“I—” he produced, “I—I heard you laugh.”
To me, it barely made sense; but she seemed to find it interesting and important.
“Really?” she said, and sort of trilled it full of meaning.
Standing there, with my new shoes hurting my corns, and Sam and Gabrielle completely out of sight around the corner of the depot, I felt as necessary, useful, and welcome as a hair in the soup, and a sight more conspicuous. Rattail’s population was beginning to close in around us. I pulled at John’s sleeve; but I declare, if a freight hadn’t come along, forcing those two to get off the tracks, they might have been standing there yet, gazing into each other’s eyes.
I was halfway home, riding beside Danny in the sedan, when Gabrielle’s laughing out again, at some remark of Sam’s, made me remember that she had been the only one who had done any laughing when we had met. Danny had only smiled. So, if that laugh was what had put John clear off his head, he had picked the wrong twin.