DOODLES TURNS MATCHMAKER
IT rained; but no merry, independent little drops tinkled upon the
panes. Mother Nature appeared to be housecleaning, and torrents of water
were dashed against the windows. Doodles watched the work outside while
Caruso plumed his feathers. When the long toilet was completed, the bird
and the boy were ready for a chat,—happy, crooning talk on the one side,
soft, tuneful notes on the other.
Footfalls were on the stairs. Somebody was coming up, with light,
running steps.
“Sounds like Mr. Gaylord,” Doodles told Caruso.
Presently a young man appeared, his trim suit of dark cheviot
corresponding with the bright, smiling face which he turned towards the
Stickney kitchen.
“Hello, Doodles!” The blithe voice was enough to make one forget such
things as cloudy skies and autumn housecleaning.
“Hello!” the boy responded joyfully. “Take the rocking─chair, Mr.
Gaylord,—do!”
“I had a little time before dinner, and thought I’d run up and hear your
bird. You know, he’s never sung to me yet.”
“Maybe he won’t now,” returned Doodles anxiously. “He doesn’t like rainy
days, and then he got so scared yesterday.”
A query brought out an account of the afternoon’s excitement, for the
boy was still brimful of it. The visitor was a sympathetic listener, and
the story as told by Doodles was worth hearing.
“So you’ve found a name for him!” remarked the young man presently,
after they had used up all the praiseful adjectives for Thomas
Fitzpatrick.
“Yes, Dolly Rose did it!” cried Doodles gleefully. “That is she thought
of it first; then Blue came in with it, too—wasn’t that funny? Do you
know Dolly Rose?”
“I think not—who is she?”
“Why, she lives right next door to you,” exclaimed Doodles. “She’s just
as pretty! She’s got red cheeks and lovely blue eyes—exactly like the
sky, and the cunningest little curls in her hair. Haven’t you ever seen
her?”
“Yes, I guess I have—from the description; but I didn’t know her name.”
“You’d like her, she’s so sweet. She brought me some flowers one day,
and a peach another time. And she has the dearest little dimples when
she smiles—I always want to kiss them! Don’t you like dimples?”
“I guess so,” laughed Mr. Gaylord. “They always remind me—”
But his thought was interrupted, for Caruso, with a few bewitching
quirks and trills, burst into one of his enchanting songs.
“Bravo!” cried the visitor, as the music ceased. The bird had stopped as
suddenly as he had begun, and was now lunching on a bit of cracker. “He
is a worthy namesake of the great tenor.”
Doodles, bending over the cage, whispered his thanks to the little
singer, while the young man surveyed them with tender eyes.
“I am going to hear the other Caruso next Wednesday night,” he said
presently. “And that makes me think—I ought to be picking out my seat;
they went on sale this morning.”
The boy’s eyes shone. “To hear him sing! Won’t that be splendid! Dolly
Rose wants to go awfully—oh! I wonder—” he broke off, gazing at the
other in hesitation, yet with the brightness of the new thought in his
face. “Have you plenty of money?” he ventured.
“It depends on how much you call plenty,” the young man smiled. “I
sha’n’t be a millionaire this year. But what is it you wish? fruit? or
candy? or some toy? Say on!—I’ll risk it!”
Doodles stared an instant. Then his delicate face lighted. “Oh, no,
nothing for me! I’ve got all _I_ want!”
The visitor looked at him, the hint of a smile on the boyish lips. “You
are fortunate,” he said.
The child did not notice. “I was only thinking,” he went on, “how nice
it would be, unless it cost too much, if you—she wants to hear him so
bad—if you could take Dolly Rose to the concert with you!”
Mr. Gaylord laughed out, and Doodles chuckled in sympathy.
“Will you?” he urged.
The young man shook his head. “I am afraid Miss Dolly wouldn’t care to
go with a fellow she doesn’t know well enough to bow to.”
“Oh, yes, she would! I know she would! I can introduce you to her—she’ll
be here now in a little while! Oh, won’t it be lovely!” The words
tumbled over each other, as Doodles brought his hands together in
ecstasy.
Mr. Gaylord, a deeper tinge of red on his sun─browned face, leaned back
in Mrs. Stickney’s old rocker, while his shoulders shook silently and
his gray eyes twinkled.
Doodles beamed on him. “Aren’t you glad I thought of it? And won’t she
be pleased?”
“I’m not certain—” the other began, but was stopped by a “Sh!”
“She’s coming!” whispered Doodles.
The two waited, the boy eager, the man amused.
“Oh, Dolly! Please come in! I want to speak to you! Hello!” Doodles was
joyfully excited.
Inside the doorway she halted, spying the stranger.
“You needn’t be afraid of him!” the boy cried, stretching out his hand
to her.
She stepped forward, and held it close, in both her own.
“It’s Mr. Gaylord,” Doodles hastened to explain. “He’s chauffeur for
Mrs. Graham, that rich lady that lives over on Douglas Street. I’ve been
tellin’ him about you. This is Miss Dolly Rose, Mr. Gaylord.”
The young man offered his rocker, which the girl gently declined,
insisting that she had not time to sit down.
“Just a minute!” pleaded Doodles. “I want to tell you something right
away—you’ll be so glad!—Mr. Gaylord is going to hear the real Caruso
next week, and he’s going to take you! Isn’t that beautiful?”
Sparks of fun twinkled in the man’s eyes; but they vanished when he
glanced at the face opposite. It was flashing with indignation. No
dimples played about the clear─cut lips. He anticipated her words.
“Doodles is taking things a little for granted,” he said with gentle
deference. “I should certainly consider it a privilege and an honor to
be allowed to escort you to the opera house Wednesday evening; but let
me say frankly that such a thought could scarcely have occurred to me
except for our young friend’s suggestion, inasmuch as I hardly knew you
by sight and had never heard your name.”
The girl unbent a bit, as the comicality of the situation pushed itself
forward.
“Even then,” he went on, “I was not bold enough to expect that Doodles’s
wish would come true, but now that we have been properly introduced I
will say that I should honestly be very glad if you would go with me. It
would add a great deal to the pleasure of my evening.”
Evidently the girl’s inclination and judgment were in struggle, and the
latter was getting the other in hand.
“I thank you, Mr. Gaylord,” she answered, a little hesitantly, “indeed,
I do; but, really, I don’t think I can go—”
“Oh! why not?” broke in Doodles. “You said you wanted to!”
The girl trembled on the verge of a smile, and suddenly was in a merry
laugh.
“You will go, won’t you?” coaxed the boy, delighted at the pleasant turn
things had taken.
“Perhaps,” she yielded—and then darted away.
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