A GIRLISH TIFF
GRAND PANORAMA!
MOVING PICTURES! THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS!
AT JARRETT'S HALL,
FRIDAY EVENING, JULY THE 16TH
_Admission .................. 25 cts._
_Reserved Seats ............. 50 cts._
Thus read the attractive handbills scattered throughout the town by
half a dozen small boys, while a man went from street to street posting
gorgeous pictures of the different scenes, until the whole population,
especially the younger portion of it, was aroused into the desire or
intention of attending the show.
The boys who by a happy chance were on hand when the advance agent
stepped from the train, and had secured the privilege of distributing
the bills with the accompanying reward of free admission to the hall,
were the envied of their less favored friends.
Loud was the lamentation of Lafe Bonner, Ivy's eleven-year-old brother,
whose only consolation was the memory of a happier time in the early
spring when the circus had come to town with its elephants and caged
animals, its clown in cap and bells, to say nothing of its fine ladies
in red and green velvet habits all gold bespangled, riding so
gracefully the high-stepping horses to the music of the band, perched
high on a scarlet-and-gold mirrored chariot--not to forget the calliope
bringing up the rear. Then, with glowing countenance and swift-beating
heart, Lafe and his companions had followed the parade to "the
bottoms," a level space sacred to the circus and baseball, where men
were busy erecting tents for the afternoon's show.
One lusty fellow whose bronze cheeks were tanned by the wind and sun of
many climes immediately engaged the three boys to carry water to the
animals, in exchange for passes to the evening performance, the memory
of which would never, never fade from Lafe's mind, were he to live as
long as Methuselah himself. Every detail, the sawdust-covered
racetrack around the ring, the acrobats swinging and diving so far, far
up in the air that one held his breath till they made a safe descent;
the jokes of the clown never too old to evoke laughter, the noises of
wild animals which might break through their barred cages and cause a
panic among the people, a possibility that lent spice to the whole; the
peanuts and lemonade,--weak in lemon but strong in sugar, and of a
lovely shade of pink,--genuine circus lemonade, on which they had spent
their last pennies, with all this comparatively fresh in his memory no
wonder that Lafe gazed longingly on the posters, and read with avidity
every item concerning the attraction, which, if not the circus, was
related to it in a sort of third or fourth cousin degree.
Lafe could not gain entrance by the drawing-of-water method, nor yet,
alas, by scattering bills; and he knew it was useless to apply at home.
Did not the pinching of shoes worn the first time the Sunday previous
remind him of his mother's latest ill-spared expenditure? All he could
do, therefore, was to grumble at his luck in having missed the agent.
This he did so persistently and in tones so loud that everybody either
commiserated or scolded him, with the exception of Ivy, who only
laughed and dubbed him Master Glumface. To her, who measured every woe
with her own, his disappointment seemed a pitifully small thing to
bewail.
"Now, I'm sure I'd love to see the Pilgrim's Progress--that picture
where Christian is crossing through the Dark Valley just gives me
thrills--and yet I don't go round like a big baby complaining. And I
didn't even see the circus when it was here, only the side show!" she
said.
Lafe gave her a withering glance. He felt inclined to catch hold of
that provoking curl that bobbed so impertinently in his direction as
she tossed her head, and give it a good hard pull.
But Laura, who had just come in, soothed his ire by saying in a
sympathetic voice:
"Lafe seems so much taken with the circus and things I shouldn't wonder
if he turns out to be an actor! Don't you remember how well he did at
our exhibition?" Ivy nodded. "So of course, he feels it worse than we
do. But I'd love to go too and take Nettie. She's wild about that
picture where the angels are flying. She thinks they have real angels
at the show. Mat has a quarter saved up toward a bicycle and--"
"He'd better get an automobile while he's about it," interrupted Lafe.
"He wants me to take it and go; as if I would do such a thing! You
know, Ivy, he made me take that dime he had saved up when the circus
came, and go to the side show with you; and we had a lot of fun shaking
hands with the giant and the fat lady and seeing the animals; but this
is different, and his mind is quite set on the bicycle."
Which remark reminded Ivy that her admission to the side show--the
bright silver dime--was given her by Lafe, and that before he had any
hope of himself seeing the circus. So she began to feel sorry for her
flippant attitude and said in a more kindly tone:
"Well, this is only Friday noon and the performance doesn't come off
till to-night. Who knows what may turn up before then?"
This might have had the intended effect were it not for that curl which
in some way affected Lafe's nerves. It now gave a careless bob that
exasperated him.
"'Something may turn up;'" he muttered, "an earthquake or Mat's
motor-car, perhaps!"
He went away in disgust and Ivy turned to Laura with a sigh:
"Now, what did I say to make him flare up that way?"
"He thought you didn't care--"
"Well, I don't--I don't! Laura, if I were to go sympathizing with six
brothers--and boys are always clamoring for attention--I'd end in a mad
house!"
Laura could hardly repress a smile at the thought of Ivy's six sturdy
brothers depending on her in their troubles, knowing as she did that
stone bruises, torn garments and other calamities incident to boyhood
were always carried to their mother, while, as Laura often said, Hugh
made himself a regular oak-tree for Ivy to twine around.
No further remarks were made on the subject, however, and the two girls
started side by side on their way to a shady spot near home, to spend a
few hours of the hot afternoon.
The wind caught them rather sharply at a street corner and Ivy's
endeavors to balance her crutches while holding her hat in place
renewed her irritation.
"If some people had troubles like this, they would have room to
preach," she cried.
"I'm sure I never thought of preaching," returned Laura stiffly. "But
there's no use always harping on one's own trials and thinking nobody
else has any!"
"Meaning me, of course! Anyway, I don't care to play this afternoon.
I think I'll go home," said Ivy, turning away with crimsoning cheeks.
Laura gave a backward glance at the haughty little maid hurrying along
as fast as she could, while the wind sent the mop of curls flying
around her head in all directions.
For a few moments she stared blankly down the street, half expecting
Ivy to turn around, but she failed to do so, and Laura, with a
heightened sense of injury, went on her way intending to take the first
side-street home.
But the longer the distance grew between herself and Ivy, the unhappier
she became, the more she repented her harsh words. It was really no
wonder that Ivy had thought them unfeeling at a time, especially, when
she was already upset by her encounter with Lafe. Perhaps, too, this
was one of Ivy's bad days when the least contradiction irritated her.
In this strain ran Laura's thoughts and the longer she pondered, the
slower she walked until at last she came to a standstill.
It was right at the top of a hilly street which commanded a fine view.
In the distance were the blue shadows of mountains; the river swept
along between green-verdured hills; a steamboat with lowered stacks was
passing beneath the bridge that hung like a black line connecting the
east and west sides of the town. Overhead shone the midday sun in a
sky of cloudless blue, but nature spread her canvas all in vain for
Laura. Another time she would have paused to drink in the beauty of
the scene, to follow with admiring eyes the movements of the boat
which, brave in a new coat of paint, swept along in a wake of billowing
foam, but to-day she stood unheeding. All that she saw was the
pathetic figure of a little girl with crutches receding in the distance.
Something clutched at Laura's throat. Her resentment against Ivy died
away, leaving only blame for herself. With a sudden resolve she turned
and hurriedly retraced her steps.
"Nothing but a cross cat would act the way I did!"
Faster and faster she went until, as she came around a corner, she
almost collided with someone hastening up the street. A little hot
hand clutched her arm--
"Oh, Lol, is it you? I came back to make up! Someway I can't bear to
be on the outs with you!"
Ivy was breathless and perspiring and her hat was blown all to one side.
Laura reached over and set it straight carefully, almost caressingly.
"Oh, Ivy-vine, neither can I--Isn't it funny? Shall we go on?"
Laughing softly and blinking back the tears of which they were half
ashamed, they continued up the street, happy in the reconciliation, so
facile and so complete in childhood, when bygones are bygones, and
there is no danger of ghosts, once laid, ever rising up again to give
added rancor to future disagreements.
What a beautiful day it was and how the sun shone and how blissfully
they drank in the air!
"Oh, Lol, see, there's a wagon in front of Jarrett's Hall! I do
believe those men belong to the show!" cried Ivy.
"Let's go up and look round," proposed Laura.
They had reached a long building fronting on Main Street, the first
story of which was occupied by a half dozen stores. They climbed a
covered stairway that led to the second story. At the top of the "hall
stairs," as they were called, was the main entrance to the hall which
occupied the second story of the edifice. These stairs also opened
upon a sort of court, from which a broad flight of stone steps led to
an upper street.
By walking along the court, the girls were on a level with the inner
windows of the hall. The outside shutters stood wide open to admit
light, and a few children were peering curiously through the dusty
panes. Further away was a narrow door sacred to the use of actors or
employes of the hall.
Laura observed that this door was closed when she and Ivy first
appeared upon the scene; but after a time, leaving Ivy at a good
position at the window with her inquisitive eyes pressed against the
glass, Laura strayed back and found the door open.
She hastened to the threshold and took a long, eager look into the
dingy hall, from the curious little box-like office at the "grand
entrance," as the double wooden door was styled, past the rows of rough
benches to the stage at the upper end of the hall, where some
carpenters and other employes were busy making arrangements for the
evening's performance.
Neither the dust nor the dinginess was seen by Laura. A subtle
fascination held her in thrall--she saw everything through a golden
light.
She, who had been stage manager so often under the disadvantages of
improvised platforms and home-made curtains, could appreciate a real
hall and a real stage with a real curtain, were they ever so crude.
She was on the point of returning to fetch Ivy to view the magic scene
and share her joy, when one of the men, who appeared to be a personage
of authority, left the stage where he had been directing the movements
of everybody, and proceeded down the aisle.
His coat brushed against a bench and sustained a smudge of dust which
he viewed with an exclamation of disgust.
Returning to the dressing-room, he hunted round and found a
feather-duster which he carried away in triumph.
He came down the aisle for the second time, wielding the brush with
vigor, making frantic dabs at the benches on each side, and raising
great clouds of dust that rose and enveloped him, and settled back
again on the furniture.
Laura was so interested in his movements that she forgot her manners,
and stood watching his ineffectual efforts at cleaning up, with a smile
of amusement mingled with compassion.
At length the stranger was seized with a fit of coughing as the dust
invaded his throat, and he stood for a moment to rest from his labors.
Then for the first time he noticed the little girl standing smiling in
the doorway.
He gave her an answering smile, lifted his hat and, to Laura's dismay,
crossed over to her side.
He was very dark and foreign looking; she recognized him as one of the
gentlemen whom she and Ivy had noticed on the street.
"Pardon, _mademoiselle_," he said; "but perhaps you are the good fairy
to help me out!"
Laura answered him with a blush and a look of inquiry.
"The dust, _c'est_ terrible," he went on to explain; "but there is no
one to remove it from the seats. The ladies will have fear for their
beautiful costumes. Can you not direct me to someone who will
manipulate this woman's weapon? I confess it is beyond my powers!"
He glanced so ruefully at the feather brush that Laura laughed aloud.
"Why, I can dust the benches in a little while, if you wish!"
"Did not my heart tell me you were my good angel? Oh, _mademoiselle_,
if you will be so kind!"
He handed the duster to Laura with a sigh of relief and returned to the
overseeing of things in another part of the hall.
"Why, Lol, it's like belonging to the troupe," cried Ivy, who came at
her friend's call and seated herself on a back seat where she could see
everything that went on, while Laura gave the benches a careful
overhauling.
Meanwhile the open doorway was filled with a group of curious children,
wide-eyed and smiling, among whom were Nettie Lee and little Claude
Bonner.
Laura's task completed, she placed the duster upon a front seat and
turned to go away with Ivy. They had almost reached the door when they
heard a voice:
"_Merci, mademoiselle_," cried the foreign gentleman, overtaking them;
"may I prevail upon you to accept this ticket to the performance, as a
slight acknowledgment of my obligations--or, better still," as he
glanced at Ivy, "come to the side door tonight and ask for Mr. Edmonds
and bring your sister and," his eyes strayed to the line of wondering
childish faces at the door, "the rest of your little brothers and
sisters!"
Laura's surprised and happy look and Ivy's gasp of pleasure gave
testimony to their delight, and the man smiled as he watched them going
away joyfully.
"_Merci, mademoiselle!_" cried Ivy, with a titter of delight, "Oh, Lol,
isn't it lovely to be able to go after all!"
"Yes, it's fine! But I shall have to hurry home; there will be so much
to do. I must help Nettie to get ready."
That little girl who was walking behind them clapped her hands.
"What are you going to wear, Laura?"
"Me? My white, I guess--"
"I'll wear my old standby--the dotted lawn."
They went down the street chatting gaily but presently Ivy's enthusiasm
died away; her mind seemed intent on something else. At last she
turned to Laura, saying in a rather choked voice:
"Lol, would you mind taking Lafe instead of me? You know he is so
anxious to go!"
Laura veiled her surprise at this new phase in her friend, who had
always hitherto claimed the best as her right. Her eyes glistened as
she replied,
"Yes, indeed, I would mind his coming instead of you, but I shouldn't
mind his coming along; tell him to bring Donald, too."
"But what will Mr. Edmonds think?"
"He said all my little brothers and sisters. I'm sure you folks are
just the same thing. Lois is too small to go, she can't keep awake
after eight, so we can smuggle Claude in, instead." Whereupon that
little lad who had been walking along dejectedly at Nettie's side gave
a whoop of delight. Laura continued, "It's too bad Hugh and Mat can't
pose as my little brothers!"
"They are so inconveniently tall. Seems to me I can see Hugh's legs
lifting his poor head up higher and higher every day," said Ivy
dolefully. Laura laughed.
"The oak will never grow beyond the ivy's reach, so never fear! But
I'd better hurry home, for there's Alene, too--I must send a note to
her!"
"That will be splendid! Oh, Lol, your Mr. Edmonds will think when he
sees us all of that verse in the Scriptures, 'Go out into the highways
and byways and call the lame, the halt and the blind.'"
When they paused to say good-bye at the parting of the ways Ivy said
with a sudden rush of words:
"Now, Lol, don't go to thinking I'm a heroine because I proposed to
keep in the background for once! You don't know how I hesitated and
hated it."
"Don't you remember your story about the blooming flowers and the
singing birds?"
"Oh, Laura, it's so much easier for me to write about kind deeds than
to do them!"
"I only wish the rest of us Happy-Go-Luckys may do as well when the
time comes!" returned Laura.