UNCLE JERRY
Uncle Jerry stayed only until Monday morning, and his visit seemed
so short to Ruth that after he had gone she could hardly believe
that it had really happened. Neither could she quite reconcile
herself to the fact that out of that brief time he had taken two
whole hours away from his only niece to call on Miss Burton. Her
only consolation was that he had promised to return for the night
of the grand entertainment, and he thought it probable that he
should be able then to stay a week.
She had little time to think about her own affairs, for with the
date of the entertainment once set the days flew by on wings. It
was planned for the second Wednesday in April, which would come in
the middle of the spring vacation, and thus give the girls a chance
to rest after it was over. Once in the midst of their preparations,
the girls began to realize how big a thing they had undertaken, and
were fearful that they should not be able to make it a financial
success. Fortunately their elders realized it, too, and came
promptly to the rescue. Mr. Hamilton offered to pay for the hall,
Mr. Marshall agreed to provide the tables and chairs, and to pay
for having the stage enlarged, and the Candle Club boys devoted
themselves to their hard-working friends, and were ready to do
anything to help.
As time went on the lofty ideals with which the girls had started
gradually diminished in fervor. At first they had planned to make
the ice-cream and cake, but later they accepted with a gratitude
that was almost pathetic Mrs. Hamilton's offer to take upon her
own shoulders the duty of providing both of these necessities.
In spite of all this assistance, however, the week before the
performance passed in a mad whirl of rehearsals and preparation of
costumes, topped off on the very day before by the making of candy
and the doing of innumerable last things. Even at nine o'clock on
Tuesday evening Ruth and Arthur were still at work packing into
paper boxes the crisp wafers which Ruth had engaged Mrs. Perrier
to make for her.
"Fifteen, seventeen, nineteen," murmured Ruth. "Oh, dear, I'm
so tired and sleepy I don't know whether there are twenty-five or
twenty-four in two dozen."
"Go to bed then," laughed Arthur, "and I'll finish. There are not
many more, anyway, and you've got the hustle of your life before
you to-morrow."
Ruth pulled herself out of her chair slowly but with evident
willingness. "Some folks don't give boys credit for being half so
nice as they are, but I do," she announced with a smile of sleepy
gratitude as she started out of the room.
Wednesday morning the Town Hall was the scene of such excited
animation that it was difficult to tell whether anything was being
accomplished or not. The Cooking Club girls and the Candle Club
boys together with a dozen picked helpers had assembled to decorate
the hall, and for the moment there seemed an endless confusion of
boys, step-ladders, hammers and cheese-cloth.
"For goodness' sake, Phil," begged Dorothy, leaving a group of girls
and running over to where Phil and Arthur were talking together,
"won't you and Arthur take the management of this decoration? You've
done it before and you know how it ought to look."
"All right, your Majesty," responded Phil. "Come on, Art; let's
agree on a general scheme, and then you can boss this side of the
room and I'll take the other."
"Ruth! Ruth! you're wanted," called a half-dozen voices at once,
and Ruth stopped her work to find John, Mr. Hamilton's man, waiting
at the door with a good-sized box.
"It's just come by express, Miss Ruth," said John, "and 'twas labeled
Town Hall, so Mrs. Hamilton thought you'd better open it here."
"Help me open it, some one, please," begged Ruth, and as the top
boards were quickly ripped off, she took out first a letter from
New York in Uncle Jerry's writing.
"Dear Ruth" (it began):
"I have just stumbled on a little shop devoted to souvenirs of
Switzerland. The proprietor has a bad attack of homesickness, and
can't stand New York any longer, so he is selling out at a sacrifice.
It occurred to me that I might kill two birds, etc., by contributing
to the good cause at Glenloch and helping this poor fellow at the
same time. I thought you might make a little something by selling
them for any price you can get.
"I shall probably get there almost as soon as the box, so won't
stop to write more.
"Yours with love, Uncle Jerry."
Ruth had an interested audience as she unrolled some of the packages
and peeped into others to see what they contained, and could he
have heard the enthusiastic comments Uncle Jerry would have felt
still more sure of his place in the hearts of his Glenloch friends.
"It's wasting time to look at them now," said Ruth with a sigh.
"We must arrange a table and put them on it this afternoon."
"What a pity that we couldn't have some one in Swiss costume to
sell them," suggested Charlotte, who had paused in her work to take
one look.
Ruth took in a quick breath as the idea struck her. "Do you suppose
Mrs. Perrier,--or Marie," she thought aloud. "Why, Marie might
even feel well enough to come herself if we sent for her and sent
her home. Couldn't some one, couldn't you, Arthur, ride over and
ask her?"
"Why, yes," agreed Arthur, hurrying after John to tell him to bring
Peter Pan to the hall. He came back again in a minute to find Ruth
and say coaxingly:
"Say, Ruth, John's got the carriage outside here, and why can't
you just slip out and drive over with me? It'll do you good to get
away from this noise and confusion for a while."
"Oh, I can't, possibly. It would be mean when the others are working
so hard."
"You'll be back before they know you're gone," pleaded Arthur.
"It'll do you so much good that you'll be able to work a great deal
faster," added the wily youth.
"Go away, and don't tempt me," laughed Ruth. She started to leave
him, but turned back to say earnestly: "Let's make Charlotte go
with you. She's got a splitting headache, and she won't be fit for
anything to-night if she doesn't rest for a while."
Arthur felt that he hadn't got quite all he was asking for, but
he fell in with Ruth's idea cheerfully, and their united arguments
persuaded Charlotte to go for the restful drive through the wooded
roads.
They were back almost before Ruth could realize that they had
started, and announced with an air of triumph that Marie would be
delighted to come, and that Mrs. Perrier had a costume which could
easily be made to do.
"And I begged her to bring her lace pillow," said Charlotte. "I
thought that would add a touch to the whole occasion."
Ruth gave her a rapturous hug. "It will," she said joyfully. "And
isn't it all going to be the finest thing you ever saw?"
The hall hummed like a beehive as the work went on, and little by
little things took shape and began to promise a harmonious whole.
It really seemed as though some good fairy were watching over
affairs, for the carpenters finished their work and went at an
early hour, the chairs and tables arrived in good season, and the
big picture-frame which had been put together for the girls proved
to be all that could be desired.
To be sure there were disagreements, and even accidents, for Bert
and a step-ladder had a difference of opinion and collapsed together,
and Betty dropped a pail of paste on Jack, who had politely stopped
to admire the artistic work she and Frank were doing on the palmist's
tent. As he was looking up and had just opened his mouth to say
something complimentary the result was disastrous, and the poor
fellow stood there blinded and gasping until Dorothy carne to the
rescue with a wet towel.
At one o'clock the workers departed for lunch, a few of the boys
and girls promising to come back in the early afternoon to finish
the little that was left.
"I haven't the slightest idea whether it is going to look pretty
or not," said Ruth wearily as they left the hall.
"Just wait until it's lighted," consoled Betty. "Then you'll see."
When the earliest of the audience arrived that evening the old
hall, dressed in her best, was waiting to receive them. The cool
green and white of the draperies softened the plainness of the walls,
and a huge, round ball made of red and yellow roses and glittering
with diamond dust swung from the centre chandelier and glowed in
its light. Smaller balls hung from the side-brackets, each enclosing
an electric bulb which shone with soft radiance through the vivid
red and pale yellow of the roses.
In the comer nearest the door was a booth draped in pink and blue,
and here two pretty girls in white were ready to sell the various
delicacies made by the members of the Cooking Club. The girls had
worked hard, and Ruth's maple fudge, Dorothy's creamed walnuts and
dates, Katharine's salted nuts, and Alice's peanut brittle made
such a tempting array that none could see without wanting to buy.
Betty's contribution was a dozen glasses of delicious-looking orange
marmalade, and behind them were piled boxes of Mrs. Perrier's
crisp Swiss wafers.
As a joke Charlotte had brought in quite unexpectedly at the last
moment a huge pan of baked apples, and she insisted on having them
on the table in spite of the fact that the pan in its nest of pink
crepe paper took up a large amount of space.
"The rest of you are represented by your masterpieces," she said,
rolling out the long words with great relish. "So why shouldn't I
put mine there? I'm sure I shall never achieve anything more perfect
than those baked apples, and they're much more digestible than all
that sweet stuff."
As usual Charlotte's argument was unanswerable, and the apples
remained on the table, forming a sturdy and wholesome contrast to
their more dainty companions.
At the front of the hall and quite near the stage sat Marie dressed
in the pretty Bernese costume with its velvet bodice, and silver
pins and chains. Before her was a table covered with Swiss carved
work, bears, paper-knives, picture-frames, watch-stands and dainty
edelweiss pins. Her eyes were sparkling and a faint color stole
into her cheeks as she chatted in her soft voice with those who
came to look at her wares.
In spite of the attractiveness of good things to eat and pretty
things to see, the most popular place in the hall was the gaily
decorated tent where Miss Burton in gypsy costume read palms. From
the time the hall was opened there was a waiting group outside the
tent where Dorothy took the money, and cut each five minutes off
on the dot so that she might get in as many as possible. So many
applicants were there that, when at half-past seven Ruth's Uncle
Jerry arrived with the Hamiltons and a party of their Boston
friends, there seemed to be no immediate chance that he would be
able to penetrate the mysteries of the future with the aid of Miss
Burton.
"Dear me, Miss Dorothy," he said beseechingly, "can't you make a
special appointment for me? I'm afraid my life-line isn't strong
enough to bear me up under such a disappointment."
"I'm afraid I can't, Mr. Harper," answered Dorothy firmly. "There
are enough waiting now to keep the palmist busy until the entertainment
begins, and after that you must take your chance with the others."
In the depths of her heart Dorothy was glad to turn away Uncle
Jerry. He was altogether too much in a hurry, she thought with a
little frown. She didn't want any one to like Miss Burton too much.
Uncle Jerry wandered off disconsolately, but solaced himself by
buying candy and Swiss carvings until his hands were so full that
he couldn't manage his parcels. Then, in a fit of desperation, he
returned them all to the young ladies from whom he had bought them,
begging them to sell them over again for the good of the cause.
At five minutes before eight there was a burst of applause as Phil
appeared on the stage and requested the audience to be seated at
the small tables, as the entertainment was about to begin.
When the confusion had subsided into silence, some one at the piano
began to play softly, and the curtain parted to show in the frame
a beautiful Spanish girl with fan and mantilla. Following her in
quick succession came a fair-haired English girl, a smiling maiden
from Japan with arched eyebrows and bright-colored parasol, and a
rosy Dutch girl in cap and kerchief. Then a Turk sitting cross-legged
upon his cushion smoked his long pipe and beamed affably on the
audience, an Esquimaux gentleman came from his igloo in the north
to pose for a moment, and a boyish Uncle Sam and John Bull shook
hands fraternally.
Each picture was shown twice, but it was ail too short for the
enthusiastic audience, which applauded so vociferously that Frank
was obliged to step before the curtain and announce that owing to
lack of time no encores could be given.
Then followed representations of celebrated paintings; the Girl
with the Muff, a pathetic Nydia, and the charming little Dutch girl
holding a cat. Molly Eastman posed for that with Bagheera, Betty's
largest cat, clutched tightly in her arms. When Bagheera heard the
applause he struggled wildly to escape, nearly knocking Molly over
as he leaped from her arms just as the curtain covered the frame.
Molly looked ready to cry because her picture could not be shown a
second time, then snatching up her beloved Teddy bear, which went
everywhere she did, she stood, triumphant, waiting for the curtain
to be drawn. It was too good to be lost, and the boys pulled the
curtain twice, much to Molly's joy and the delight of the audience.
This was the end of the first part of the program, and there was
a buzz of conversation which softened into silence as the school
orchestra filed on the stage. It was warmly greeted, for this was
its first public appearance, and the proud parents of the performers
were anxious to hear the results of their practice together. Like
wise boys they didn't try to do anything great, but delighted the
hearts of their hearers with a simple arrangement of some of the
old patriotic songs that every one loves. They ended with the Star
Spangled Banner and played it with so much spirit that the entire
audience rose to do honor to the grand old song.
With the second drawing of the curtain, ten dainty Japanese ladies
fluttered upon the stage with mincing steps, waving gay fans and
bowing low as they drew up in line before the audience. So much
did the flowing garments, the fan-bedecked hair and the slanting
eyebrows change the girls that even some of the mothers failed at
first to recognize their own daughters.
"I see Charlotte, and that one on the end is Ruth," announced the
irrepressible Molly Eastman loudly, and then buried her head on
her father's shoulder when every one turned to look at her.
The fan drill was beautiful to see, for the intricate marching, the
delicate swaying of the figures, was done with a precision which
gave no chance for criticism. The performers came out to bow their
thanks for the hearty applause, and, when the audience refused to be
satisfied, fluttered out again with fans held coquettishly before
their faces. Then each girl extracted from her flowing sleeve
a paper bird, and holding it as high as she could reach began to
fan it into motion. It was a pretty sight; the gaily-colored birds
flying in all directions, and the graceful girls, quick of eye and
action, doing their utmost to keep them from falling. There were
one or two narrow escapes, but not one really reached the floor,
and at a signal they were caught upon the outstretched fans and
the little ladies had fled.
"If that looks easy to you just try it," said Mrs. Hamilton during
the pause in the program. "I made an attempt at it the other day
when Ruth was practicing at home, and I found it the hardest thing
I've undertaken for some time. It's wonderful training for the eye
and muscles."
As she finished speaking, slow, dreamy music began on the piano
and the curtains were pulled apart, disclosing a pedestal on which
stood Dorothy in a flowing Greek robe and with her golden hair
dressed in classic fashion. At first she was like a beautiful statue,
then, as the music proceeded, she went through a series of poses,
each one so vivid and graceful that when she became a statue once
more and the curtain hid her from sight the hall rang with applause.
The program was already so long that Dorothy refused to repeat her
number, and when the curtain was drawn again four fine lads stepped
out to swing Indian clubs. The boys did it well and the fathers
and mothers glowed with pride over the straight young figures and
the easy grace which made the clubs seem like mere toys.
The last number was announced as a march by the Glenloch Academy
children, and the boy who made the announcement couldn't keep from
laughing as he hurriedly got out of sight.
"Rather unusual, isn't it, for boys and girls of that age to allow
themselves to be called 'children'?" asked Mr. Hamilton, but even
as he spoke his question was answered, for as the piano began
a simple melody in rushed twelve children, blowing horns, jumping
ropes, and pinching and pulling each other in very real fashion.
There was a roar of laughter from the audience, for the boys were
all figures of fun in their checked aprons and tassel caps. Tall
Phil was a sight never to be forgotten as he smiled amiably on the
world at large, but Joe had the best of it, for he was so plump and
rosy that he looked fairly like the child he was trying to represent.
The girls wore skirts which stuck out stiffly all around, and had
their hair braided in pigtails and tied with ribbons to match their
sashes. Betty looked the very picture of innocent, chubby childhood,
and couldn't forbear making eyes at her adoring father, who sat
near the stage, and seemed to find it difficult to look at any one
but his engaging little daughter.
The piano struck up a stirring march, and the merry children dropped
their toys and formed in line with Jack and Ruth as leaders. The
performers did their best to make it as childlike as possible,
and it was an amusing procession that the two captains led through
intricate ways. It had an ending alike unexpected by performers and
audience, for as they were going through one of the last figures,
Joe slipped, made a heroic effort to recover his balance, and then
sat flat on the floor facing the audience. He had such a funny,
surprised look on his face that every one in the hall roared with
laughter, much to his discomfiture. Then an idea seized him, and
scrambling to his feet he put both fists in his eyes and bellowed
like a naughty child. The others kept on marching, but he stood
there inconsolable, until Betty, always quick to think, gave him a
little shake in passing and held out to him a bright red apple she'd
been nibbling. An ecstatic smile spread over his face, he grabbed
the apple, took a big bite, and fell into line just as they all
marched off the stage. So cleverly was it done that the audience
decided that the fall had been intentional, and the whole thing
a part of the performance, and gave Master Joe an extra salvo of
applause when the children returned to make their bows.
As the curtains fell together for the last time, twenty-five girls
dressed in white and carrying trays came into the hall. They wore
coquettish little aprons, and large ribbon bows in a variety of
color, and suggested butterflies as they flitted among the tables.
One by one the performers, most of them still in costume, slipped
out from behind the scenes.
"Is your lemonade good, Uncle Jerry, and are you having a nice
time?" asked the Japanese maiden leaning confidingly on Mr. Harper's
shoulder.
"Yes, to both the questions, 'Yuki-San,'" replied her uncle
affectionately. "But, Ruth," he was speaking now in a low tone, "I
shan't be really happy until I have my palm read; and perhaps not
then," he finished inaudibly.
Ruth glanced quickly toward the palmist's tent. "Miss Burton said
she should keep busy while the refreshments were served so as to
make as much money as possible. I'll see if she can take you now."
Uncle Jerry watched until he saw Ruth beckon to him. Then he made
his way quickly to the tent, and started in just as Dorothy resumed
her position outside as guardian.
"Only five minutes, Mr. Harper," said Dorothy decidedly.
"Give me ten, Miss Dorothy," pleaded Uncle Jerry, "and I'll give
you four times the price of admission. It's for the good of the
cause, you know."
"For the good of the cause, then," she answered grudgingly. "Ten
minutes and not an atom more."
"You're a terror, Dolly," laughed Ruth, slipping into the chair
beside her. "How can you be so severe with my beloved Uncle Jerry?"
Dorothy's answer was slow in coming, and Ruth went on happily without
waiting. "Don't you think we've made a big success? Everything's
sold except two or three boxes of candy and a loaf or two of cake.
And Marie's perfectly radiant because several people have given
her orders for lace and embroidery."
Dorothy was holding her watch in her hand and almost counting each
second as it ticked away. "Eight and a half," she murmured. "Why,
yes, I do think it's a success, and won't it be fun when we can
take the money over to Mrs. Perrier's and surprise Marie? Time's
up, Mr. Harper," she added with cruel promptness, and Uncle Jerry,
fearing the invasion of other applicants, didn't dare to disobey.
Dorothy looked at him critically as he emerged from the tent. There
was no mistaking the triumphant light in his eye, and she saw that
she must resign herself to defeat.
"Did she give you a good fortune, Uncle Jerry?" inquired Ruth.
"Splendid. The best in the world," he answered with such happiness
in his voice that Dorothy felt her resentment fading away. "Now,
Miss Japan, let's go and buy everything there is left," he added.
Dorothy watched them as they strolled away, and saw Uncle Jerry
draw Ruth into a quiet comer, where he told her something that made
her clasp her hands and look at him with beaming eyes.
"They haven't the least idea I've guessed," said Dolly to herself
with a sad little shake of the head, "but I'll show them that a
girl can keep a secret even when she hasn't been asked to."