THE THANKSGIVING BAZAAR
The bazaar was at its height. No one would have guessed that staid old
Assembly Hall could lend itself to such levity.
At one end a band of gypsies had pitched their tents in true Romany
fashion. There were dark-eyed gypsy maids in gaudy clothing, who gayly
jingled their tambourines and wheedled good-natured sightseers into
their main tent with extravagant stories of the wonderful Romany dancing
girls whose unequaled dancing might be seen for the small sum of ten
cents. While aged gypsies crouched here and there croaking mysteriously
of their power to reveal the future, and promising health, wealth and
happiness to those who crossed their out-stretched palms with silver.
In front of one of the tents several gypsy boys sat grouped in
picturesque attitudes, industriously twanging guitars and mandolins. The
whole encampment was lighted by flaring torches on the ends of long
poles, and was the final touch needed to give the true gypsy effect.
The rest of the space in the hall had been given up to booths. There
was, of course, a Japanese booth, while across from it several Mexican
seniors and senoritas were doing an enterprising novelty and post-card
business under the red, white and green flag of Mexico.
There was a cunning little English tea shop, where one could refresh
one's self with tea, cakes and jam, not to mention the booth devoted to
good old Ireland, presided over by Nora O'Malley who, dressed as an
Irish colleen, sang the "Wearing of the Green" and "The Harp That Once
Thro' Tara's Hall," with true Irish fervor, while she disposed of boxes
of home-made candy tied with green ribbon that people bought for the
pleasure of hearing her sing.
Next to the gypsy encampment, however, the feature of the evening was
the booth entrusted to Eleanor Savelli. It was a veritable corner in
Italy, and it may be said to Eleanor's credit that she had worked
untiringly to carry out her idea. She had furnished the peasant costumes
for herself and three of her friends, and knew exactly how they were to
be worn, and had spared no expense in the matter of fruit and flowers
which were to be sold at a good profit. There were little bags of
home-made confetti that were sure to be popular and various other
attractive features truly Italian that Eleanor had spent much time and
trouble in procuring and arranging.
There had been a heated altercation, however, between Eleanor and Edna
Wright on the day after Eleanor had astonished Grace and her friends by
her fiery outburst, Edna having admitted that she had been responsible
for the changes that had aroused Eleanor's ire.
A quarrel had ensued, in which Edna, having been worsted, had retired
from the field in tears, refusing to have anything further to do with
Eleanor or her booth. At this juncture Miss Tebbs had appeared on the
scene, and peace was restored, although Edna was still taciturn and
sulky, and displayed little interest in what went on around her.
From the moment the doors were opened the citizens of Oakdale looked
inside, feeling particularly good-natured after their Thanksgiving
dinners, and prepared to spend their money.
"It's perfectly wonderful what these children have managed to do on
nothing whatever," Miss Thompson was saying, as she and Mrs. Nesbit, in
the guise of sightseers, were strolling down the middle of the hall.
"It looks to me like a scene from an opera," replied Mrs. Nesbit.
"Yes, we are all very prosperous and clean comic opera gypsies, Mrs.
Nesbit," said Hippy Wingate, who had come up just in time to hear Mrs.
Nesbit's remark.
"Why, Hippy Wingate, I never should have recognized you. You look like
the big smuggler in 'Carmen.' I have forgotten his name."
"I am a smuggler, Mrs. Nesbit," put in Hippy mysteriously. "But don't
give me away. It's not lace goods I've brought over the border, nor
bales of silk and such things. Isn't that what gypsies are supposed
usually to smuggle?"
"I believe it is," answered Mrs. Nesbit. "At least they always appear in
plays and pictures seated at the foot of a high, rocky cliff in some
lonely spot, with bales and casks and strange looking bundles about. No
one would be heartless enough to ask what was inside the bundles, but I
have always had a strong suspicion that it was excelsior."
"What have you been smuggling, Hippy?" asked Miss Thompson. "I wonder
you managed to get it past that line of watchful gipsy girls."
"I won't give it away," replied Hippy. "It's a surprise. You'll see, and
I wager it will be the talk of the place before the evening is over."
"Is it animal, vegetable or mineral, Hippy?" demanded Mrs. Nesbit.
"Animal," replied Hippy. "Very much animal."
"Now, what in the world," the two women exclaimed, their curiosity
piqued.
"Hippy, I wish you would come on and get to work," called Grace over her
shoulder, as she hurried past, and Hippy darted after her, remembering
that he had not done a thing that evening to assist the girls.
"How fine Grace Harlowe does look, Mrs. Nesbit," remarked Miss Thompson,
"and how I shall miss her when she leaves the High School! The time goes
too quickly to suit me, when all these nice girls leave us for college."
Miss Thompson still cherished a deep regard for Grace, although, since
the circumstance of Grace's refusal to betray Eleanor, narrated in
"Grace Harlowe's Junior Year at High School," the two had never
returned to quite the same footing as formerly.
Grace was, indeed, the picture of a beautiful gipsy girl who in romance
turns out not to be a gipsy at all, but a princess stolen in her youth.
She wore a skirt of red trimmed in black and yellow, a full white blouse
and a little black velvet bolero. Around her waist she had tied a gayly
colored sash, while on her head was a gipsy headdress bordered with gold
fringe.
"Hippy," commanded Grace, "will you please take this gong and announce
that the auction is about to begin!"
"Certainly, certainly," answered Hippy. "Anything to oblige the ladies."
He mounted a chair and beat on the Japanese gong.
"This way, ladies and gentlemen. Come right this way! The 'Mystery
Auction' will now commence. It is a sale of surprises. You never know
what you are going to draw, but it's sure to be something nice.
Everybody step this way, please. These interesting and mysterious
packages are to be sold each to the highest bidder. But no man knoweth
what he draweth. It is the way of life, ladies, but that's where the fun
comes in, and it's sportsmanlike to take your chances, gentlemen."
By this time Hippy had drawn a crowd of curious people about the booth
devoted to that purpose, in which were piled dozens of packages of
various shapes and sizes, all done up in white tissue paper and tied
with red ribbons.
Hippy picked up the first bundle.
"Is there anyone here who will make a bid on this interesting package?"
he cried. "It may contain treasure. Who knows? It may contain fruits
from the tropics, or the spices of Araby, or--"
"I'll bid ten cents," called a voice.
"Ten cents!" exclaimed Hippy in mock horror. "I ask you, dear friend,
can our gymnasium be builded upon ten cents? Is there no one here who is
thinking of our late, lamented gymnasium? Have we already forgotten that
dear, departed hall of youthful pleasures, cut down in the flower of its
youth so tragically?"
Hippy's voice rang out like an old-time orator's, and some one bid
twenty-five cents. But the bidding ended there, and Farmer Benson got
the package, which on being opened, was found to contain a beautiful
little lacquer box. This was a lucky beginning. If the packages all held
such treasures they were well worth bidding on. Then the fun grew fast
and furious. Everybody began bidding, and a pound of sugar actually went
for five dollars, to old Mr. McDonald, who had obstinately refused to
give up to his opponent, Mr. Barber, in the bidding contest. Mr. Harlowe
paid heavily for a cook book, while David Nesbit, for fifty cents, drew
a splendid big fruit cake.
"It is so fortunate that that fruit cake fell into the hands of one of
my friends," remarked Hippy, as David was about to walk off, his prize
under his arm. "I adore fruit cake."
"That's no sign that you will ever get a chance at this one," replied
David calmly.
"I shall, I know I shall," retorted Hippy, "You wouldn't betray my young
confidence and dispel my fond hopes by eating it all yourself. You
deserve an awful case of indigestion if you do."
"Children, children, stop squabbling," laughed Anne who, looking like a
very demure little gypsy, had slipped up unnoticed. "Don't worry, Hippy,
I'll see that you are remembered when the famous cake is cut."
"I feel relieved," said Hippy, giving her one of his Cheshire Cat grins.
"I propose that you leave your treasure with this gypsy maid, David, for
the time is flying and we have a great and glorious surprise to spring."
"See you later, Anne," said David, looking at his watch. Then taking
Hippy by the arm the two young men hurried out of the hall, leaving Anne
to wonder what the surprise might be.
Turning slowly she was making her way toward the gypsy camp when a voice
called, "O Anne, wait a minute," and Marian Barber fluttered up
accompanied by a tall, dark young man.
"Miss Pierson, allow me to present Mr. Hammond," she said.
The young man bowed rather too elaborately Anne thought, and a wave of
dislike swept over her as she rather coldly acknowledged the
introduction.
"Mr. Hammond has just come to Oakdale," Marian said eagerly. "He knows
very few people as yet."
"Ah, yes," said Mr. Hammond, with a smile that was intended to be
fascinating. "I am, indeed, a stranger. Miss Barber has kindly
volunteered to introduce me to some of her charming friends, therefore I
trust that in time they will be mine also."
Anne murmured some polite reply, and excusing herself walked away.
"Horrid thing," she thought. "How cruel he looks when he smiles. I
wonder where Marian met him. She seems to be delighted with him."
"Where have you been, Anne?" asked Grace, as Anne entered the tent where
she and Miriam sat resting preparatory to beginning their dance, when
enough people should gather outside to form a paying audience.
"Talking to Marian Barber and a young man who is trailing about with
her."
"Did she introduce that man to you?" exclaimed Grace.
"Yes," replied Anne. "Did you meet him?"
"I did," was the answer. "Isn't he horrid?"
"That is precisely what I said," replied Anne. "There is something about
his suave, silky manner that gives me the creeps."
"I hope Marian isn't seriously impressed with him," said Grace. "For
there is something positively sinister about him."
Just then Hippy's voice was heard again above the crowd, and the three
girls hurried to the opening in the tent.