THE TRACTION BOYS' PICNIC
They started off in time to make the half-past-five boat. George was at
his dressiest, so close-shaven that he looked almost skinned and
resplendent in new tan shoes, green socks, a red tie, and a pink shirt.
It was a striking combination of colour and one that made Ellen clutch
at her mother in despair. George carried a shoe-box of sandwiches, for
Rosie, always a thrifty little housewife, insisted that whatever money
they had to spend was not going for the commonplace necessaries of life.
Janet McFadden and Tom Sullivan, with a similar shoe-box, were waiting
for them at the corner. Janet, in her old black sailor hat, looked
dreadfully neat and clean, but for some reason even dingier than usual.
It was Janet's first view of Rosie's finery. Shaking her head slowly,
she gazed at Rosie several moments before she spoke. Then she said:
"Well, Rosie O'Brien, I must say you certainly do look elegant!"
Tom Sullivan was so flustered by the close vision of Rosie's loveliness
that, when he opened his mouth to say something, he could only splutter
unintelligibly and then blush furiously at his own embarrassment.
It is surprising, when one stops to think about it, how delightful a
mere street-car ride downtown really is. As Rosie sat there with her
plain but faithful friend on one side--hereafter she must always try to
be especially kind and gentle to Janet--and on the other her sporty,
grown-up escort, she had one of those rare moments of perfect content
and happiness. Old gentlemen smiled at her absent-mindedly as she
brushed aside the green streamers which the wind was forever blowing
across her face; young girls examined her critically; a mother across
the way distracted the attention of a weeping child by pointing her
finger and saying: "Oh, Eddy, look over there at that pretty little
girl! She's lookin' straight at you, and what'll she say if she sees you
cryin'!"... It was really a lovely, lovely world, and Rosie honestly and
truly hoped that everybody in it was happy.
They reached the boat at that delightful moment when the bell is ringing
and the deckhands are threatening to pull in the gang-plank in spite of
the rushing crowds still arriving. By the time they had pushed their way
to the upper deck, the gang-plank was in, the band was striking up a gay
march, and with a lurch and a turn the _Island Princess_ was off.
"O-oh!" murmured Rosie happily, and Janet demanded tensely, of no one in
particular: "Isn't this just grand!"
Mothers and wives bustled about to get folding chairs and campstools,
but the young folk, scorning so soon to sit down, promenaded arm in arm.
Tucking Rosie's hand under his elbow, George joined the ranks of the
promenaders, and Janet and Tom Sullivan followed his lead at a
respectful distance.
At the stern, seated off by themselves, was a group of picnickers who
hailed George as an old friend and waved at him inviting arms and
handkerchiefs.
"Let's go over and say 'Howdy,'" George suggested.
There were some ten of them, girls and young fellows about George's own
age. George took off his hat to them all and, with a flourish, presented
Rosie.
"Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce to you my lady friend, Miss
Rosie O'Brien. Rosie, won't you shake hands with my friend, Mr.
Callahan, and Miss Higgins, and Miss McCarthy, and Miss Mahony, ..."
Rosie, feeling eighteen years old and perfectly beautiful, went the
rounds to an enchanting chorus of, "Pleased to know you, Miss O'Brien,"
"You sweet little thing!" "Excuse me, Miss Rosie, but I must say George
Riley knows how to pick out a pretty girl!..."
George then presented Janet, and Janet, too, went the rounds, looking
like a sleep-walker with tight-set muscles and staring eyes.
"And this," concluded George, giving Tom Sullivan a little push, "is
Matt Sullivan's boy. You fellows all know Matt--he's on the East End
run."
With blinking eyes and a crimson embarrassment that mounted to ears and
scalp, Tom passed about a nerveless, sodden hand.
After a few more pleasantries, George, gathering together his forces,
flourished his hat and said: "Well, so long, friends! See you later."
"Weren't they nice!" Rosie remarked enthusiastically, and Janet, in
humble gratitude, said: "That was awful kind of you, Mr. Riley,
introducing Tom and me."
"Kind nuthin'!" George declared. "Aren't you my friends, I'd like to
know? Aren't all Rosie's friends my friends?"
Unable to express in words how deeply moved she was by the loftiness and
nobility of this sentiment, Janet could only look at Rosie, sigh
gloomily, and shake her head.
They ate their little picnic supper as soon as they landed, topped off
with ice-cream, and then, unencumbered with shoe-boxes, sought out the
allurements of sideshows, aerial and subterranean thrillers, and dancing
pavilion. Rosie insisted that they go into nothing that cost over ten
cents. By adopting this principle and making frequent excursions to the
dancing pavilion, which was free, they were so well able to husband
their resources that George's two dollars and Tom Sullivan's fifty cents
carried them through the evening.
It seemed to Rosie she had never enjoyed so perfect a picnic. All the
thrillers really thrilled. Capitana, the giantess snake-charmer, was
actually a giantess, and the snakes she wound about her fat neck were
fully as long and as spotted and as green as the posters made out. And
so on through everything they tried.
"I've never had such a good time in my life!" Rosie declared, as they
hurried off to the ten-o'clock boat.
"Me, too!" gasped Janet in solemn, sepulchral tones.
Looking at the strained expression of happiness on Janet's face, Rosie
suddenly thought of something new that would fittingly crown the day's
adventures. Out of her own abundance she would give Janet another crumb
that would make her eternally grateful.
"Say, Jarge," she whispered coaxingly, "will you do something for me?"
George looked down at her indulgently. "Of course I will. Anything you
want."
"Well then, listen, Jarge: Will you take Janet all the way home and be
real nice to her and pretend she's your girl and pet her real, real
hard. Nobody ever pets Janet, and she never has a good time except when
she's with me. And I'll take Tom Sullivan."
George laughed a good-natured "All right," and Rosie, turning around,
said to Janet: "Jarge don't want me any more, do you, Jarge? He wants
you, Janet, don't you, Jarge, want Janet? So will you let Tom Sullivan
take me?"
"Oh, Rosie!" Janet threw incredulous eyes to heaven and clutched her
hands together in a joy that was serious as grief.
Rosie pushed her up to George and George, capturing her cold fingers,
drew them through his arm. Then Rosie, glowing all over in virtuous
self-approval, dropped behind with Tom Sullivan.