THE LAST LAUGH
Goodale Manor Farm was discovered at last. “I discovered it,” Pee-wee
said. Whether this was true or not, he certainly led the first band of
pilgrims thither. And this was the beginning of wonderful things. “Now
you can see how good it was that I built a float and joined the parade
and didn’t get the prize and got lost in the fog,” he said.
Mrs. Gamer said that the farm was the most delightfully picturesque spot
she had ever seen. Her daughter, who was a camp-fire girl, found endless
pleasure in its surrounding woods. As for Trotsky, who had lately come
from abroad, he thought there was more food at the farm than in the
whole length and breadth of Russia.
Fuller Bullson and Ray Rackette said it was a fine place to start from
in going somewhere else, but as there was no station with pigeon-holes
in the neighborhood, they seemed content to remain awhile. Pee-wee and
they became fast friends.
As for Mr. A. Pylor Koyn he found the spot to be so restful to his tired
nerves that he straightway undertook to arrange matters so that all
hands might remain. To this end he strolled up to the next farm where
there was a ’phone and talked with Mr. Skimper of the Snailsdale House.
Mr. Skimper said that he could very easily fill the rooms which had been
held, by a party of old ladies who were willing to pay the highest
prices for accommodations at a house where they could have absolute rest
and quiet. Mr. Skimper had assured them that rest and quiet were the
middle names of his establishment.
The old ladies, it seemed, were already in possession and a new rule
established that all lights must be extinguished at nine o’clock.
Marooned upon this desert island, where stillness reigned as in the
tomb, were Hope Stillmore and her mother. No one was there to beguile
the dreary, silent hours but Everett Braggen, who had not even his straw
hat to cheer and comfort him. At evening, in the parlor, the old ladies
knitted, while Hope waited patiently for the welcome bedtime.
On the following Tuesday the semi-weekly _News_ had an article which
read:
GAY TIMES AT GOODALE FARM.
The farm of Asa Goodale has become a favorite resort with
New Yorkers. The picturesque spot is winning converts daily.
New arrivals there are Mr. Allbright Koyn, brother of the
well known A. Pylor Koyn, and his son and daughter, Haverly
Koyn, and Lotta Koyn, who motored up in their Dolls-Joyce
car.
Plans are being made to win the tennis tournament. A dance
is to be given on Saturday night. Mr. A. Pylor Koyn has
engaged the Snailsdale Manor band for the occasion. Young
folks enliven the place. Not a room is to be had at Goodale
Farm; even the barn and several tents are being used to
accommodate the guests.
This was a knockout blow to poor Hope. Before the evening of the dance
arrived a hilarious party from Goodale Farm, which filled the big
Dolls-Joyce car, rolled onto Snailsdale Green and cheered themselves
hoarse, while Fuller Bullson and Raysor Rackette waltzed easily into the
tennis finals, and drove the opposing team to cover. Pee-wee was so
hoarse that he could not talk. “It serves her right,” he said
relentlessly.
Of course, Hope was invited to the dance but she was ashamed to go with
Braggen in his little Ford. So she stayed at home and cried. She began
to be very disagreeable to poor Braggen, as if he were in some way to
blame. She also seemed to hold her poor mother responsible. She was not
a good loser.