MRS. GRAY'S CHRISTMAS CHILDREN
"If this isn't like old times, then nothing ever will be!" exclaimed
David Nesbit, beaming on Anne Pierson, who was busy pouring tea for the
"Eight Originals" in Mrs. Gray's comfortable library.
"Old times!" exclaimed Hippy Wingate, accepting his teacup with a
flourish that threatened to send its contents into the lap of Nora
O'Malley, who sat beside him on the big leather davenport. "It takes me
back to the days when I had only to lift my hand and say, 'Table,
prepare thyself,' and some one of these fair damsels immediately invited
me to a banquet. Gone are the days when I waxed fat and prosperous. Now
I am thin and pale, a victim of adversity."
"I think you look stouter than ever," declared Nora cruelly. "You say
you have lost ten pounds, but--" she shrugged her shoulders
significantly.
"Cruel, cruel," moaned Hippy. "It is sad to see such calloused
inhumanity in one so young. Pass me the cakes, Anne, the chocolate
covered ones. They, at least, will afford me sweet consolation."
"I object," interposed Reddy Brooks. "Don't give him that plate. Hand
him one or two, Anne. I like the looks of those cakes, too."
"Man, do you mean to insinuate that I am not what I seem?" demanded
Hippy, glaring belligerently at Reddy.
"No, I am stating plainly that you are exactly what you seem. That's why
I am looking out for my share of the cakes."
"Always prompted by selfish motives," deplored Hippy. "How thankful I am
that the sweet blossom of unselfishness blooms freely in my heart. It is
true that I would eat all the cakes on that plate, but from a purely
unselfish motive."
"Let's hear the motive," jeered Tom Gray.
"I would eat them all," replied Hippy gently, favoring the company with
one of his famously wide smiles, "to save you, my beloved friends, from
indigestion. It is better that I should bear your suffering."
"Thank you," retorted David Nesbit dryly, helping himself to the coveted
cakes and passing the plate over Hippy's head to Mrs. Gray, "I prefer to
do my own suffering."
"Oh, as you like," returned Hippy airily. "I have always been fonder of
Mrs. Gray than I can say." He sidled ingratiatingly toward where Mrs.
Gray sat, her cheeks pink with the excitement of having her Christmas
children with her.
From the time Grace, Miriam and Anne stepped off the train into the
waiting arms of their dear ones, their vacation had been a season of
continued rejoicing. Mrs. Gray, who, Tom gravely declared, would
celebrate her twenty-fifth birthday next April, was tireless in her
efforts to make their brief stay in Oakdale a happy one. On Christmas
night she had gathered them in and given them a dinner and a tree. She
had also given a luncheon in honor of Anne and a large party on New
Year's night. It was now the evening after New Year's and the morning
train would take the boys back to college. Grace, Miriam and Anne would
leave a day later for Overton. Nora and Jessica were to remain in
Oakdale until the following week. It seemed only natural that they
should spend their last evening together at the home of their old
friend. Outside the "Eight Originals," Miriam had been the only one
invited to this last intimate gathering.
"Now, Hippy, stick to the truth," commanded Mrs. Gray, shaking her
finger at him, but handing him the plate at the same time. Hippy swooped
down upon it with a gurgle of delight.
"It's the truth. I swear it," he declared, holding up one fat hand in
which he clutched a cake.
"What made you give him the plate, Aunt Rose?" asked Tom reproachfully.
"Bless you, child, there are plenty of cakes. Let Hippy have as many as
he can eat."
"Vindicated," chuckled Hippy, between cakes, "and given full possession
besides."
"I wouldn't be so greedy," sniffed Nora O'Malley.
"I'm so glad. I dislike greedy little girls," retorted Hippy
patronizingly.
"Stop squabbling," interposed Grace. "Here we are on the eve of
separation and yet you two are bickering as energetically as when you
first caught sight of each other two weeks ago. Did you ever agree on
any subject?"
"Let me see," said Hippy. "Did we, Nora?"
"Never," replied Nora emphatically.
"Then, let's begin now," suggested Hippy hopefully. "If you will agree
always to agree with me I will agree--"
"Thank you, but I can't imagine myself as ever being so foolish,"
interrupted Nora loftily.
"She spoke the truth," said Hippy sadly. "We never can agree. It is
better that we should part. Will you think of me, when I am gone? That
is the burning question. Will you, won't you, can you, can't you
remember me?" He beamed sentimentally on Nora, who beamed on him in
return, at the same time making almost imperceptible signs to Grace to
capture the plate of cakes, of which Hippy was still in possession. In
his efforts to be impressive, Hippy had, for the moment, forgotten the
cakes. But he was not to be caught napping. The instant Grace made a sly
movement toward the plate it was whisked from under her fingers.
"Naughty, naughty, mustn't touch!" he exclaimed, eyeing Grace
reprovingly.
"Let him alone, girls, and come over here," broke in David Nesbit. "He
only does these things to make himself the center of attraction. He
wants all the attention."
"Ha," jeered Hippy exultantly. "David thinks that crushing remark will
fill me with such overwhelming shame that I shall drop the cakes and
retire to a distant corner. He little knows what manner of man I am. I
will defend my rights until not a vestige of doubt remains as to who is
who in Oakdale."
"There is not a vestige of doubt in my mind as to what will happen in
about ten seconds if certain people don't mend their ways," threatened
Reddy, rising from his chair, determination in his eye.
"Take the cakes, Grace," entreated Hippy, hastily shoving the plate into
Grace's hand. "Nora, protect me. Don't let him get me. Please, mister, I
haven't any cakes. I gave them all to a poor, miserable beggar who--"
"Here, Reddy, you may have them," broke in Grace decisively. "It is bad
enough to have an unpleasant duty thrust upon one, but to be called
names!"
"I never did, never," protested Hippy. "It was a mere figure of speech.
Didn't you ever hear of one?"
"Not that kind, and you can't have the cakes, again," said Jessica
firmly. "Give them to me, Grace."
"Jessica always helps Reddy," grumbled Hippy. "Now, if Nora would only
stand up for me, we could manage this whole organization with one hand.
She is such a splendid fighter--"
"I'll never speak to you again, Hippy Wingate," declared Nora, turning
her back on him with a final air of dismissal.
"Gently, gently!" exclaimed Hippy, raising his hand in expostulation. "I
was about to say that you, Nora, are a splendid fighter"--he paused
significantly--"for the right. What can be more noble than to fight for
the right? Now, aren't you sorry you repudiated me? If you will say so
immediately I will overlook the other remark. But you must be quick.
Time and I won't wait a minute. Remember, I'm going away to-morrow."
"Good-bye," retorted Nora indifferently. "I'll see you again some day."
"'Forsaken, forsaken, forsaken am I,'" wailed Hippy, hopelessly out of
tune.
"Now, see what you've done," commented David Nesbit disgustedly.
"I'm truly sorry," apologized Nora. "Hippy, if you will stop singing,
I'll forgive you and allow you to sit beside me." She patted the
davenport invitingly.
"I thought you would," grinned Hippy, seating himself triumphantly
beside her. "I always gain my point by singing that song. It appeals to
people. It is so pathetic. They would give worlds to--"
"Have you stop it," supplemented Tom Gray.
"Yes," declared Hippy. "No, I don't mean 'yes' at all. Tom Gray is an
unfeeling monster. I refuse to say another word. I have subsided. Now,
may I have some more tea?"
Anne filled the stout young man's cup and handed it to him with a smile.
"What are you going to be when you grow up, Hippy?" she asked
mischievously.
"A brakeman," replied Hippy promptly. "I always did like to ride on
trains. That's why I am spending four years in college."
"Don't waste your breath on him, Anne," advised Nora. "He won't tell any
one what he intends to do. I've asked him a hundred times. He knows,
too. He really isn't as foolish as he looks."
"I'm going to try for a position in the Department of Forestry at
Washington after I get through college," announced Tom Gray.
"I'm going into business with my father," declared Reddy.
"I don't know yet what my work will be," said David Nesbit reflectively.
"All you children will be famous one of these days," predicted Mrs. Gray
sagely. She had been listening delightedly to the merry voices of the
young people. To her, as well as to his young friends, Hippy was a
never-failing source of amusement.
"To choose a profession is easier for boys than for girls," declared
Grace. "I haven't the slightest idea what I shall do after my college
days are over. Most boys enter college with their minds made up as to
what their future work is going to be, but very few girls decide until
the last minute."
"Girls whose parents can afford to send them to college don't have to
decide, as a rule," said Nora wisely, "but almost every young man thinks
about it from the first, no matter how much money his father is worth."
"That is true, my dear," nodded Mrs. Gray.
"Yet I am sure my girls as well as my boys will astonish the world some
day. In fact, Anne has already proved her mettle. Nora hopes to become a
great singer, Jessica a pianiste and Grace and Miriam--"
"Are still floundering helplessly, trying to discover their respective
vocations," supplemented Grace.
"Yes, Mrs. Gray," smiled Miriam, "our future careers are shrouded in
mystery."
"Time enough yet," said Mrs. Gray cheerily. "Going to college doesn't
necessitate adopting a profession, you know. Perhaps when your college
days are over you will find your vocation very near home."
"Perhaps," assented Grace doubtfully, "only I'd like to 'do noble deeds,
not dream them all day long,'" she quoted laughingly.
"'And so make life, death and the vast forever
One grand sweet song,'"
finished Anne softly.
"That is what I shall do when I am a brakeman," declared Hippy
confidently.
"You mean you will make life miserable for every one who comes within a
mile of you," jeered Reddy Brooks.
"Reddy, how can you thus ruthlessly belittle my tenderest hope, my
fondest ambitions? What do you know about my future career as a
brakeman? I intend to be touchingly faithful to my duty, kind and
considerate to the public. In time the world will hear of me and I shall
be honored and revered."
"Which you never would be at home," put in David sarcastically.
"What great man is ever appreciated in his own country?" questioned
Hippy gently.
Even Reddy was obliged to smile at this retort.
"Let the future take care of itself," said Tom Gray lazily. "The night
is yet young. Let us do stunts. Grace and Miriam must do their Spanish
dance for us. Then it will be Nora's and Jessica's turn. Hippy can sing,
nothing sentimental, though. David, Reddy, Hippy and I will then enact
for you a stirring drama of metropolitan life entitled 'Oakdale's Great
Mystery,' with the eminent actor, Theophilus Hippopotamus Wingate as the
'Mystery.' Let the show begin. We will have the Spanish dance first."
"Come on, Miriam," laughed Grace. "We had better be obliging. Then we
shall be admitted to the rest of the performance."
The impromptu "show" that followed was a repetition of the "stunts" for
which the various members of the little circle were famous and which
were always performed for Mrs. Gray's pleasure. "Oakdale's Great
Mystery," of which Hippy calmly admitted the authorship, proved to be a
ridiculous travesty on a melodrama which the boys had seen the previous
winter. Hippy as the much-vaunted Mystery, with a handkerchief mask, a
sweeping red portiere cloak, and an ultra-mysterious shuffle was
received with shrieks of laughter by the audience. The dramatic manner
in which, after a series of humorous complications, the Mystery was run
to earth and unmasked by "Deadlock Jones, the King of Detectives," was
portrayed by David with "startling realism" and elicited loud applause.
"That is the funniest farce you boys have ever given," laughed Mrs.
Gray, as Hippy removed his mask with a loud sigh of relief and wiped his
perspiring forehead with it. "You will be a playwright some day, Hippy."
"I'd rather be a brakeman," persisted Hippy with his Cheshire cat grin.
It was half-past ten o'clock when the last good night had been said and
the young people were on their way home. As the Nesbit residence was so
near Mrs. Gray's home, Miriam was escorted to her door by a merry body
guard. At Putnam Square the little company halted for a moment before
separating, Nora, Jessica, Hippy and Reddy going in one direction,
Grace, Anne, Tom and David in the other.
"Are you coming down to the train to-morrow morning to see us off?"
asked David Nesbit, his question including the four girls.
"Of course," replied Grace. "Don't we always see you off on the train
whenever you go back to school before we do?"
"Then we'll reserve our sad farewells until the morn," beamed Hippy.
"Sad farewells!" exclaimed Nora scornfully. "I never yet saw you look
sad over saying good-bye to us. You always smile at the last minute as
though you were going to a picnic."
"'Tis only to hide my sorrow, my child," returned Hippy lugubriously.
"Would'st have the whole town look upon my tears and jeer, 'cry baby'?"
"That's a very good excuse," sniffed Nora.
"Not an excuse," corrected Hippy, "but a cloak to hide my real
feelings."
"That will do, Hippopotamus," cut in David decisively. "We don't wish to
hear the whys and wherefores of your feelings. If we stayed to listen to
them we would be here on this very spot when our train leaves to-morrow
morning."
"Wait until we come back for Easter, Hippy, then if you begin the first
day you're home you'll finish before we go back to college," suggested
Grace.
"That's a good idea," declared Hippy joyfully. "I shall remember it, and
look forward to the Easter vacation."
"I shan't come home for Easter, then," decided Nora mercilessly.
"Then I shan't look forward to anything," replied Hippy with such
earnestness that even scornful Nora forgot to retort sharply.
"We all hope to be together again at Easter," said Grace, looking
affectionately from one to the other of the little group. "Remember,
every one, your good resolution about letters."
"We'll talk about that in the morning," laughed Reddy, who abhorred
letter writing.
"You mean you'll forget about it," said Jessica significantly.
"We all have our faults," mourned Hippy. "Now, as for myself--"
"Take him away, Nora," begged David.
"I will," agreed Nora. "Come on, Hippy. Reddy, you and Jessica help me
tear him away from this corner."
"How can you tear me away now? At the precise moment when I had begun to
enjoy myself, too?" reproached Hippy.
"This is only the beginning," was Reddy's threatening answer. "We are
going to leave you stranded on the next corner. Then you can go on
enjoying yourself alone."
"Try it," dared Hippy. "If you do I shall lift up my voice and tell
everyone in this block how unfeeling and hard-hearted some persons are.
I shall mention names in my most stentorian tones and the public will
rush forth from their houses to hear the truth about you. Ah, here is
the corner! Now, leave me at your peril."
"His mind is wandering," said Reddy sadly. "He imagines he is still
'Oakdale's Great Mystery.' We had better lead him home. I'll take his
left arm, and Nora----"
"Will take my right," interrupted Hippy. "Reddy, you may attend to your
own affairs, and keep your distance from my left arm. Jessica, please
look after Reddy. His mind is wandering. In fact, it always has
wandered. Crazy is as crazy does, you know."
"Yes, we know," flung back David significantly.
"Do you?" asked Hippy in apparent innocence. "I was so afraid you
didn't. To lose one's mind is a dreadful affliction, but not to know
that one is crazy is even worse. I am so relieved, David, Grace, Tom,
and all of you, that at last you know the truth concerning yourselves.
It is indeed a sad----"
A moment later the loquacious Hippy was hustled down the street by three
determined young people, while the other four turned their steps in the
opposite direction.