They had the hardest time with Harry when they confided to him their
plans and asked for his assistance. It took a great deal of argument
and much tact to make him believe that anything good might come out
of inviting “that chicken,” as he persisted in calling Carey’s latest
admiration. He had little less scorn for Brand Barlock; but, when he
heard that Grace Kendall was to be included in the list of guests, he
succumbed.
“Aw, gee! It’s a rotten shame to mix her up with that gang, but if
she’ll come, it’ll be some party. Gee! Yes, I’ll take your invites
round, but you better find out if the minister’s girl will come
before you get any of the others.”
The sisters decided that Harry’s advice was wise, and after the
children had gone to school and the morning work was done up Cornelia
took her walk to market around by the way of the minister’s house and
proffered her request.
“I’m not at all sure you’ll like the company,” she said with a
deprecatory smile; “they are some young people Carey got to know last
winter, and I want to get acquainted with them and see if they are
the right kind. I thought maybe you’d be willing to help make it a
success.”
That was all the explanation she gave; but the other girl’s face
kindled sympathetically, and she seemed to understand everything.
“Oh, I’d love to come. Shall I bring some games? We have a
table-tennis that is a lot of fun; you use it on the dining-room
table, you know; and there are several other games that we enjoy
playing here when we have a jolly crowd. Suppose I bring my violin
over, and we have some music, too. I’ll bring some popular songs; we
have a bunch for when the boys come in from the church.”
When Cornelia started home, she felt quite cheerful about her party.
Grace Kendall seemed to be a hostess in herself. She had offered to
come around and help get ready, and the two girls had grown quite
chummy. Cornelia hummed a little song, and quite forgot that across
the miles of distance her classmates were this day preparing for the
elaborate program that had long been anticipated for their class-day
exercises. Somehow college days and their doings had come to seem
almost childish beside the real things of every day. This party, for
instance. How crude and home-made it was all to be! Yet it stood for
so much, and it seemed as if momentous decisions depended upon its
results.
She stopped in an art shop on her way back, and studied little menu
cards and favors, purchasing a roll of pink crêpe paper, some green
and yellow tissue paper, wire, and cardboard. As soon as she had
finished the dessert for dinner she hurried to get out scissors,
paste, pencils, and went eagerly to her dainty work. Before Louise
and Harry came home from school she had fashioned eight dainty little
candy baskets covered with ruffled pink paper, and on each slender
thread-like pink handle there nodded a lovely curly pink rose with a
leaf and a bud, all made of the paper, with their little green wire
stems twining about the pink basket. Eight little blue birds, with
their claws and tails so balanced that they would hover on the rim of
a water glass, and bearing in their bills a tiny place card, also lay
on the table beside the baskets, the product of Cornelia’s skilful
brush and colors. The children went into ecstasies over them and even
Harry began to warm to the affair.
“I guess _she’ll_ see we’re fashionable all right,” he swaggered
scornfully. “I guess she’ll see she’s got to go some to be good
enough to speak to our Carey. Say, what did the Kendall girl say? Is
she coming? Say, she’s a peach, isn’t she? I knew she’d be game all
right. Did you tell her ’bout the other one? You oughtta. She might
not like it.”
“I told her as much as was necessary. You needn’t worry about her,
she’s pure gold.”
“You’re talking!” said the boy gruffly, and went whistling upstairs
to change his clothes. But Louise stood still, enraptured before the
little paper baskets and birds. Suddenly she turned a radiant face to
her sister, and in a voice that was almost expressive of awe she said
softly:
“But it’s going to be real; isn’t it, Nellie? I never knew we could
be real. I never knew you could do things like that. It’s like the
pictures in the magazines, and it’s like Mrs. Van Kirk’s luncheon.
Hazel and I went there on an errand to get some aprons for the
Red Cross for our teacher at school, and we had to wait in the
dining-room for ten minutes while she hunted them up. The table was
all set for a luncheon she was going to give that day, and afterwards
we saw about it in the paper; and she had baskets and things just
like that.”
Cornelia stooped and kissed the eager young face tenderly, and
wondered how she could have borne to be separated all these
years from her little sister and brother, and not have known how
satisfactorily they were growing up.
“What are you going to put into them?” asked the little girl.
“Well I haven’t decided yet,” said Cornelia. “Probably salted
almonds, don’t you think?”
“Oh, but they’re awful expensive!”
“Not if you make them, dear. You and I will make them. I’ve done tons
of them at college for feasts. It’s easy; just blanch them and brown
them in a pan with butter and salt or oil and salt.”
“Oh, can you?” More awe in the voice. “And what will we have to eat?”
“Well, I’m not sure yet. We’ll have to count the dishes and let that
settle some questions. We must have enough to go around, you know,
and all alike. I wonder if there are enough bouillon cups. It takes
eight, you know—Father, Carey, you, and Harry, three guests and
myself. Yes, that’s eight. Climb up to the top shelf there, dear, and
see if there are enough of mother’s rosebud bouillon cups.”
“There are nine and an extra saucer,” announced Louise.
“Well, then we’ll have some kind of soup, just a little; I think
maybe spinach, cream of spinach soup, it’s such a pretty color for
spring, you know, that pale-green, and matches the dining-room. It’s
easy to make, and doesn’t cost much; and then we can have the spinach
for a vegetable with the meat course. Now, let’s see, those little
clear sherbet glasses, are there enough of those?”
“A whole dozen and seven,” announced Louise.
“Then we’ll use those at the beginning for a fruit cocktail—orange,
grapefruit, banana, and I’ll color it pink with a little red
raspberry juice. I found a can among the preserves mother had left
over from last winter. It makes a lovely pink, and that will match
the baskets.”
“Oh, lovely!” exclaimed the little girl ecstatically; “but won’t that
cost a lot?”
“No, dear, I think not. I’ll figure it down pretty close tonight and
find out; but it doesn’t take much fruit to fill those tiny glasses,
and it’s mostly show, you know—one grapefruit, a couple of oranges,
and bananas, and the rest raspberry juice. Spinach is cheap now, you
know; and we can make the body of the soup with a can of condensed
milk. We can eat corn-meal mush and beans and things for a few days
beforehand to make up.”
“I just love fried mush and bean soup.”
“You’re a ducky! And, besides, I’m going to save on the dessert.”
“Aren’t we going to have ice-cream?” Louise’s voice showed anxiety.
“Yes, but we’ll make it ourselves. I found the freezer out in the
back shed under all those old carpets yesterday. And we’ll have
pale-green peppermint water-ice. It’s beautiful, and costs hardly
anything. You just make lemonade and put in a few drops of peppermint
and a drop or two of confectioner’s green coloring; and it is the
prettiest thing you ever laid eyes on, looks like a dream and
tastes—wonderful!”
“Oh!” said Louise, her eyes shining.
“We’ll have angel cake for the birthday cake, I think,” went on the
sister, “with white icing and little pink candles. Eggs are not
expensive now, and anyway I found a recipe that says measure the
whites, and such big eggs as we get take only nine to a cup. How will
that be, angel cake and green water-ice for dessert?”
Louise sat down, and folded her hands, her big, expressive eyes
growing wide and serious.
“It’s going to be a success!” she said solemnly with a grown-up air.
“I was afraid she wouldn’t be—well—impressed but she will. It’s
regular! You wanted her to be impressed, too; didn’t you, Nellie?”
Cornelia couldn’t help laughing at the solemn question, but she
sobered instantly.
“Yes, dear, I guess I did. I wanted her to have respect for Carey’s
family and to know that, however foolish he may be, there is
something, as you say, ‘regular’ behind him. Because there is, you
know, Louie. Father and mother are ‘regular’.”
“They are!” said the little girl.
“It sounds rather queer to try to impress people with fuss and show
and food fixed up in fancy styles; but, if I can judge anything
about that girl, she hasn’t reached the stage yet where she can
appreciate anything but fuss and fancy and fashion. So we’ve got to
use the things that will appeal to her if we want to reach her at
all. If it were just Grace Kendall coming, or even the young man
Brand, I would have things very plain and simple. It would be in
better taste and more to my liking. But I have a notion, kitten,
that, if we had everything very simple, that young lady with the
fancy name would rather despise us, and set out to ride right over
us. They talk a great deal nowadays about people’s reaction to
things; and, if I know anything at all about that girl, I feel pretty
sure that her reaction to simple, quiet things would be far from
what we want. So for this once we’ll blossom out and have things as
stylish and fancy and formal as possible. I’ve heard it said that
there is nothing so good to take the pride out of an ignorant person
as an impressive array of forks and spoons; so we’ll try it on Miss
Clytie, and see if we can bring her near enough to our class to get
acquainted with her real self. Now get a pencil, and write down the
menu, and see how it reads.”
“But what are you going to have in the middle, Nellie, after the
soup? Any meat?”
“Why, surely, round steak, simmered all day with an onion, and
browned down with thick gravy the way you love it so well; only
we’ll cut it into small servings like cutlets before we cook it,
and nobody will ever dream what it is. Then we’ll have new potatoes
creamed, with parsley sprinkled over them, and spinach minced, with
a hard-boiled egg on top; and for salad we’ll make some gelatin
molds in the custard cups with shredded cabbage and parsley in it,
that on a lettuce leaf will look very pretty; and I’ll make the
mayonnaise out of the yolks of the eggs from the angel cake. There’ll
be enough left over to make a gold cake or some custard for the next
day besides. Now write the menu. Raspberry fruit cocktail, cream
of spinach soup, round-steak cutlets with brown gravy, creamed new
potatoes with parsley, spinach, aspic jelly salad, angel cake, mint
sherbet, and coffee. Doesn’t that sound good?”
“I should say,” answered the little girl with a happy sigh.
“We’ll have everything all ready beforehand, so that the serving
will be easy,” went on the elder sister. “The butter and water and
fruit cocktail will be on the table. We can fill the soup cups and
keep them in the warming oven; and you and Harry can get up quietly;
remove the fruit glasses, and bring on the soup cups. You see I’ve
been thinking it all out. I’ve planned to buy two more wire shelves
to fit into the oven. You know there are grooves to move them higher
or lower; and I find that, if we use the lowest groove for the first,
there will be room to set the eight plates in there; and we’ll just
have everything all served on the plate ready, the little cutlet
with gravy, the creamed potatoes, and the spinach. Then, if we light
only one burner and turn it low, and perhaps leave the door open a
little,—I’ll have to experiment,—I think they will keep hot without
getting dry or crusty on the top, just for that little while. The
only thing is, you’ll have to be tremendously careful not to drop
one getting them out; they’ll be hot, you know, and you’ll have to
use a cloth to take them out. Just think, if you dropped one, there
wouldn’t be enough to go around.”
Louise giggled, and squeezed her sister’s hand.
“O Nellie, isn’t it going to be just packs of fun? I won’t drop one;
indeed I won’t; but if I should I just know I’d laugh out loud,
it would be so funny, all that grand dinner-party in there acting
stylish, and those potatoes and spinach and meat sitting there on the
floor! But don’t you worry; if I did drop ’em, I’d pick ’em up again,
and take that plate for myself. Our kitchen floor’s clean, anyway.
When do we bring in the salad?”
“Oh, we’ll just have that on the kitchen table by the door, ready.
And then, while the people are finishing, you and Harry can slip out
and get the sherbet dished out. Do you think you two can manage it?”
“Oh, sure! Harry does it at school every time we have an
entertainment. The teacher always gets him to do it ’cause he gets
it out so nice, and not messy, she says. Shall we cut the cake
beforehand, or what?”
“Oh, no; the cake will be on the table with the candles lit when we
come into the dining-room; and when the time comes, Carey will have
to blow out the candles and cut his own cake.”
And so they planned the pretty festival, and almost forgot the
unloved cause of it all, poor, silly little Clytie Amabel Dodd.
Cornelia’s hardest task was writing the letter of invitation to the
guest she dreaded most of all. After tearing up several attempts
and struggling with the sentences for half an hour, it was finally
finished, and read:
“MY DEAR MISS DODD,
“We are having a little surprise for my brother Carey on his
birthday next Thursday, the twenty-fifth, and would be very glad
if you will come to dinner at six o’clock to meet a few friends.
Kindly say nothing to Carey about it, and please let us know if we
may expect you.
“Looking forward to meeting you, I am,
“Very sincerely,
“Carey’s sister,
“CORNELIA COPLEY.”
After a solemn conclave it was decided to mail this missive, and
then the three conspirators waited anxiously for two whole days for
a reply. When Harry and Louise arrived from school the third day and
found no answer yet, anxiety was strong.
“Yes, Harry, you oughtta have taken that note yourself, the way
Nellie said,” declared Louise.
“Not me!” asserted Harry loftily. “Not if that chicken never comes!
We don’t want her anyway. I guess we can have a party without her!”
But a few minutes later a clattering knock arose on the front door,
and a small boy with an all-day sucker in his cheek appeared.
“My sister, she says sure she’ll come to your s’prise party,” he
announced indifferently; “she didn’t have no time to write; so I
come.”
He waited expectantly for a possible reward for his labors.
Cornelia smiled, thanked him, said she was glad; and he departed
disappointedly. He was always on the lookout for rewards.
“That’s Dick Dodd,” Louise explained. “He’s an awful bad little kid.
He put gum in the teacher’s hat and hid a bee in her desk; and once
she found three caterpillars in her lunch basket, and everybody knew
who put them there. He never washes his hands nor has a handkerchief.”
The little girl’s voice was full of scorn. She was returning to her
former dislike of their expected guest with all that pertained to her.
“Well, there’s that,” said Cornelia smiling. “She’s coming, and we
know what to expect. Now I think I’ll call up the Barlock house, and
find out when they expect that Brand fellow to be at home. I think I
can do that more informally over the phone.”
It just happened that Brand Barlock was passing through the house
where he was supposed to reside, probably for a change of garments,
or something to eat, or to get his pocketbook replenished; and he
answered the phone himself. Cornelia was amused at the haughty
condescension of his tone. One would think she had presumed to invite
royalty to her humble abode by the lofty way in which he answered:
“Why, yes,—I might come, if nothing else turns up. Yes, I’m sure I
can make it. Very nice, I’m sure. Anything you’d like to have me
bring?”
“Oh, no, indeed!” said Cornelia emphatically, her cheeks very red
indeed. “It’s just a simple home affair, and we thought Carey would
enjoy having his friends. You won’t mention it to him, of course.”
“Aw’ right! I’ll keep mum. So-long!” and the young lord hung up.
Cornelia emerged from the drug-store telephone-booth much upset in
spirit and wishing she hadn’t invited the young up-start. By the time
she reached the outer door she wished she had never tried to have a
party for Carey. But, when she got back to Louise and her shining
interest, her common sense had returned; and she set herself to bear
the unpleasantness and make those two queer, incongruous guests of
hers enjoy themselves in spite of everything, or else make them feel
so uncomfortable that they would take themselves forever out of
Carey’s life.
Steadily forward went the preparations for the party, and at last the
birthday morning arrived.