DESERTED
Pee-wee worked alone all that afternoon. Hope’s ready talent had
transformed the outlandish rolling combination into a thing of gala
beauty and he had only to clear out the interior and wrap bunting around
the shaft and other parts which she had mentioned. He always prided
himself on knowing all about girls, but her sudden desertion was
something he had never seen the like of before. He was utterly
staggered. But he was no quitter and he worked sturdily all afternoon.
After an hour or more he saw the Ford returning with Hope and her mother
and soon afterward saw it go away with no one but Everett Braggen in it.
Everett did not bother to visit Pee-wee’s domain in these important
comings and goings. But a little while before supper-time, Hope came
tripping across the barnyard calling gayly, “Now I’ll help you some
more.”
“Are you going to go away?” Pee-wee asked grimly.
“Yes, we’re going to stay at the Snailsdale House to-morrow, and you
mustn’t forget to come up there and see us, and we’ll play croquet. They
have a perfectly lovely croquet field.”
“You needn’t help me,” said Pee-wee, as she took up a strip of bunting,
“because I don’t want you to. Anyway, I bet they don’t have any better
desserts at that house than they have here. I’m coming here every
summer, I am.
“You needn’t think I’m mad because you don’t want to be partners with
me, because, gee whiz, you’re a girl and you’ve got a right to change
your mind, that’s sure. But, anyway, you’re a quitter, that’s what you
are. You let that feller scare you and make you think you can’t do a
thing, and he can’t do things, that’s sure. If a feller wants to be a
scout he doesn’t go to some other town and join but he starts a patrol
in his own town and makes it a go. Do you think I can’t make this place
a go? That shows how much you know about advertising. I wouldn’t run
after fellers, but I’d make them run after me, because look
at—at—at—look at John Burroughs—people used to go and see him way off in
the woods and you bet your life _he_ didn’t go running after people.
You’re a quitter, that’s what you are! _You’re a double quitter!_ And
I’m going in the parade anyway and I’m going to have a lot of fun.”
“You’re _horrid_!” she said. “And you’re just—you’re impudent and I
don’t _want_ to help you.”
“Quitter, quitter!” taunted Pee-wee.
His attitude of bravado seemed to relieve Hope of any stings of
conscience which she might have felt, and at supper she talked blithely
of the whirl of gayety at the Snailsdale House.
She said that Everett Braggen was a _perfect_ gentleman and that she was
_sure_ he would never call names. She spoke of the Russian pianist and
of the “two perfectly lovely fellows” who were coming, and who were
going to win the tennis match for the Snailsdale House. “And we’re going
to have music and dancing and if we get the prize money for our float
(as of course we will, for it’s going to be simply _gorgeous_) we’re
going to send to New York for a _perfect heap_ of dance records—they
have hardly any two-steps at all now. And after it’s all over I told
Mrs. Goodale that we’re coming down here again to this dear old place to
_rest up_ before going back to New York. We’re just going to lie around
for a _whole week_.”
Mr. and Mrs. Goodale said pleasantly that they hoped to see them again
and that they supposed it _was_ rather quiet at the farm. Sweet,
motherly Mrs. Goodale said she reckoned young folks had to have their
fling. She said that she trusted Hope’s ankle was all healed and that it
would not interfere with dancing.
“I’ve forgotten all about it,” said Hope. Which was undoubtedly true.
“I tell this youngster he’ll hev ter make twice as much noise now so’s
ter make up,” smiled Mr. Goodale, alluding to Pee-wee.
Pee-wee had been so engrossed with his supper that he had paid no
attention to the talk. He had said all he had to say on this subject. He
now hastened the consumption of a piece of cake to acknowledge kind Mr.
Goodale’s remark.
“You leave it to me,” he said.