pylons of the proposed Hudson River bridge. The figures at the New
York end symbolize the four boroughs of Greater New York, those on the
Jersey side the great commonwealths of Hoboken, Jersey City, Englewood
and Hohokus. My commission alone will amount to over two hundred
thousand dollars. But there is a powerful political influence working
against me. In the meantime I have some immediate work on hand, small
but useful, some amusing button hook handles for one of the big
silversmiths and a new radiator cap for Ford cars which will give
them great distinction. An advantage is that any tinsmith can make
them."
"You are indeed a genius," said Uncle George, "and make no mistake,
you will be recognized as such. But we have other calls to make, I
thank you for your courtesy." And bowing to Mr. Pryzik, Rollo and his
uncle descended to the street.
"And now, Rollo," said Uncle George--"you shall see another kind of
artist--the great poetess, Miss Myra Stark. She is an old friend of
mine. She lives in a cellar--there we are, down these steps."
Never in his life had Rollo seen such a strange woman as Miss Myra
Stark. She was very pale except her lips, which were painted a rich
prune colour; her yellow hair was cut very like Rollo's except that it
had no curl. Her smock was of coarse burlap with a skirt of yellow
wool.
"Come in, Man. Come in, Boy," she said, in answer to their knock.
"Take off your shoes if you like. My cellar is near the earth. I never
wear shoes at home. I like to feel my feet on the face of Mother
Earth."
"I wonder if Mother Earth likes it," said Rollo.
"She loves it," said Miss Stark. "Boy, you have the soul of a poet.
_Are_ you a poet?"
"I can recite a little," said Rollo, modestly.
"Do so," commanded his hostess.
Rollo was an obliging little boy and therefore, standing in the middle
of the room, he recited as follows, with appropriate gestures which he
had carefully learned at school:
"THE STRAND"
"One day while strolling on the strand
A pearly shell lay in my hand.
I stooped and wrote upon the sand
My name, the place, the day.
As on my onward way I passed
One backward glance behind I cast,
The rolling waves came high and fast
And washed my name away!"
"Bravo!" cried Miss Stark and Uncle George.
"I thank you very much," said Rollo.
"It is a great poem," said Miss Stark. "It sounds simple but it means
more than it says. It has its devious moments. You notice that though
the 'name' is washed away the 'place' and the 'day' remain. I have
just written something myself in the same manner."
"Do let us hear it," said Uncle George.
"I will," replied the poetess. "It is called _Brain-ticks_. Listen:
"In the midnight of day
Myself came to me
Saying, 'See,'--
'See,' I said,
In my hand,
I hold the brain of my head!
How it ticks, ticks, ticks,
'What does it mean?' I cried.
'What is it all about?
Why is it out?
Why was it ever inside?
I don't understand.'"
"I don't understand," said Rollo.
"Of course you don't," cried Miss Stark. "We none of us do. We were
just meant to live quietly and simply near Mother Earth. But you must
come again. I am sorry you will not stay. Good-bye, good-bye."
"Our next visit, and I think it must be our last," said Uncle George,
"will be to a gentleman friend of mine who is a painter. In a way he
is quite a genius. His name is Wilkins. Wilkins' idea is that it is
very wrong for a man to be limited to one form or school of art, to be
exclusively a landscape painter or a portrait painter, a radical or a
conservative. He goes in for all forms of art. But you shall see for
yourself, for here is his studio."
Mr. Wilkins' studio was by far the pleasantest place Rollo had yet
seen in the Village. And it was even as Uncle George had said; all
about the walls were pictures, no two alike, but all, Rollo thought,
very beautiful. Mr. Wilkins, a tall, handsome man, was very cordial
to his visitors and showed Rollo the various pictures, explaining
carefully just how they were made.
[Illustration: "Never in his life had Rollo seen such a strange
woman"]
"There is a formula for each," he said. "In these cow-pictures,
for instance, you will see that there is a definite proportion of
two-thirds cow to one-third landscape. Venetian canal scenes like
this must be exactly fifty per cent reflection. Last week I worked
up a batch of South Sea pictures using the Gauguin formula. It is
very simple."
Mr. Wilkins was delighted with Rollo's clam-shell.
"I must do some!" he said. "Could you leave it here?"
"Yes, indeed, gladly," said Rollo.
"And what have you been working on to-day?" said Uncle George.
"Just a little summer work," said Mr. Wilkins. "Here it is."
He removed a cloth which covered an easel, and Rollo gazed with awe
and admiration at a picture of a beautiful young lady who was about to
go in bathing without any bathing suit. Rollo had never seen anything
like it before and he was much interested.
"She is a hum-dinger," said Uncle George. "Who is she?"
While Mr. Wilkins and Uncle George chatted in a corner Rollo examined
the picture closely and was really very sorry when Uncle George told
him it was time to go.
When they were again seated on the stage on their way home, Rollo
said, "Uncle George, I should not think Mr. Wilkins would wish to show
his wife's picture to people in that way."
"His wife's picture!" said Uncle George. "But I did not know Mr.
Wilkins was married."
"Of course he is," said Rollo. "How ever else could he see a lady so?"
Rollo's uncle was silent for a moment before he said, "Rollo, I had
occasion to say before and I repeat now, you are a bright lad. You
have seen to-day three artists, a sculptor, a poetess, and a painter.
Which would you prefer to be?"
I leave it to my little readers to guess which one Rollo chose.
ROLLO'S ROMANCE
OUR LITTLE HERO DEFEATS BOTH YALE AND PRINCETON AT FOOTBALL
Some of my little readers may recall that shortly after Rollo's family
moved to their city apartment, Rollo was invited to a gay luncheon
party at a public inn which was managed by a Mr. Ritz. It was here
that Rollo first met his cousin Stella, and another little girl named
Anabelle Litchfield. Rollo had liked Anabelle very much, but he had
had no opportunities to talk with her at that time, for Anabelle's
attention was greatly occupied by the laughing chatter of a young Mr.
Rupert Hogan, a boy of about Rollo's own age who lived in New York and
knew a great many things about city life which our little hero had
never learned.
During the months which followed, Anabelle had made a number of
visits, and thus the summer and fall had passed until her memory in
Rollo's mind had become vague and indistinct, though still very
pleasant.
In the meantime, however, Rollo was becoming more and more versed in
the accomplishments which are expected of a city boy. This was due
very largely to the kindness of his Uncle George who frequently took
his little nephew with him to the theatre, to his club, and to a
number of evening festivals where there was dancing, charades, and all
manner of fun.
At the time this chapter of our story opens, Rollo was seated before
the cheerful gas-log at home instructing Jonas as to the proper method
of making a martini. This was indeed a change from the old days in the
country when Jonas used to teach Rollo how to pile wood and pick up
potatoes. The positions were now reversed. Rollo was the teacher and
Jonas was the pupil.
"You see, Jonas," said Rollo, "you must be very careful to put in at
least two-thirds of gin to one-third of vermouth."
"What is vermouth?" asked Jonas.
"Vermouth is a sweet cordial similar to cherry-bounce," said Rollo.
"But now, Jonas, we will have the review lesson. What is a manhattan?"
"A manhattan," replied Jonas, "is a liquid composed of two-thirds of
extract of rye, one-third----"
At this moment Rollo's sister, Lucy, came running into the room.
"Oh, bother!" cried Rollo. "Why do you interrupt Jonas and me at our
work?"
"You will be very glad to hear," said Lucy gaily. "Our cousin
Stella's mother has just telephoned to say that she wishes you and me
to go with her to a great football match at New Haven to-morrow. The
Yales are to play the Princetons, and Stella is to go and her friend
Anabelle, likewise."
[Illustration: "Round about the great arena stretched thousands of
people"]
"Hot towel!" cried Rollo, to Jonas's amazement, and running violently
about the room to the grave danger of the dainty bric-a-brac which
stood on the marble-topped table.
"We start to-morrow morning at ten o'clock," said Lucy, "and mother
said you must surely wear your tippet, and take the little shawl your
Aunt Sarah knit for you."
"Tippet and shawl, indeed!" said Rollo, "I shall wear my new fur-lined
great-coat and my coon-skin hat. Oh, hot towel! Hot towel!"
The little folks then joined hands and danced about excitedly until
they were quite exhausted.
Promptly at ten o'clock on the following day, Cousin Stella's handsome
automobile came rolling around the corner, and Rollo and Lucy, warmly
dressed in their best coats and hats, were soon ensconced among the
comfortable cushions with their little friends.
Somewhat to Rollo's disappointment Rupert Hogan was one of the party,
but this feeling was almost immediately forgotten in his enthusiasm
at again seeing Miss Anabelle who looked charming indeed in a dark
blue dress with grey furs, against which she wore a large bouquet of
violets. Rupert, on the contrary, wore a bright, brown suit with an
extremely large yellow chrysanthemum in his buttonhole.
"Which are you for, Rollo," asked Anabelle, "Yale or Princeton?"
"I am for Princeton," said Rupert loudly, which was very rude as he
had not been addressed.
"I am for Yale, of course," cried Rollo.
"Oh joy!" laughed Anabelle. "So am I. I must teach you the cheer. It
begins 'Brek-ek-kek-kek, ko-ax, ko-ax!'"
"Tiger. Siz-boom-ah!" shouted Rupert.
"See, I have a tin horn, all the Princeton men carry tin horns."
Thus, with much shouting and noise and merry glee the little company
sped on their way towards the city of New Haven. The thoroughfare soon
began to be greatly crowded with thousands of automobiles filled with
other girls and boys as well as grown-ups, some so old that Rollo
marvelled at their being out of doors at all, all bound for the great
match. There was much dust and confusion, and not a little danger.
Racing cars filled with gentlemen with pleasant red faces dashed by
at a break-neck pace, and at one spot there was quite a pile of autos
which had run into each other and were severely damaged. It also began
to be extremely cold.
"Are we not delightfully uncomfortable?" shouted Rollo, as they
whirled off the road to avoid another car, jumped a ditch, grazed a
telegraph pole, and bounced back onto the turnpike again.
"Yes indeed," said Anabelle. "That is half the fun. Of course we might
have made the journey in a warm train, but that is not considered the
smart thing to do. One should always be half-frozen when one arrives
at a football match."
"Right-o!" said Rollo. "Come, Rupert, I will wager you a dime on the
result!"
"Done with you, Rollo," said Rupert, and Lucy and Stella and Anabelle
all applauded.
New Haven town was even more crowded and confusing than the highway
had been. Important constables waved them hither and thither, and they
were soon passing imposing buildings, which Stella's mother told them
were the Halls of Learning.
"There are the new Harkness buildings," she said. "A very great
architect, Mr. Rogers, designed the group."
"We have a Rogers group in our parlor," said Rollo, "but it is by no
means so large or so fine as this one. But do they play the match in
that great courtyard?"
"Dumbbell!" said Rupert. "They play the game in the Bowl."
"Well I vow!" thought Rollo, "who ever heard of playing football in a
bowl!"
But he kept silent and was very glad he had done so, for, after an
hour of snail-like pace through the streets they came in sight of a
gigantic structure, in which Rollo could see thousands and thousands
of people sitting.
"There is the Bowl," cried his friends and they all clambered stiffly
to the ground, still munching their luncheon sandwiches, and made
their way to their seats.
The spectacle which met Rollo's gaze was indeed an imposing one. Round
about the great arena stretched thousands of people, tier upon tier,
an unbroken mass rising far above his head.
"They do not look like people," cried Rollo, "but like the knots on
one of Grandmother's hooked-rugs. But I should like very much to see a
baseball game here."
"And why baseball?" asked Rupert.
"Because," said Rollo, "it would be interesting to see a tiny pitcher
in such a huge bowl."
"Bravo!" cried Anabelle, and Rupert scowled ill-naturedly.
At this moment a tremendous burst of cheering split the air, several
bands began to play at once, and the great multitude rose to its feet
shouting and waving their flags, as two groups of strange padded
creatures pranced into the arena like savage beasts entering the
Coliseum at Rome.
A moment later a whistle blew sharply, and an ominous hush fell over
the vast assemblage. Although he knew not why, a strange sensation of
physical illness almost overpowered Rollo. The game was about to
begin.
"Isn't it wonderful!" cried Stella.
"Is it?" said Rollo in a faint voice.
The contest which followed left our little hero even more dazed and
confused. Time after time he shuddered and winced as the two groups of
players came crunching together, or when ten or more Princetons fell
with a crash upon a single Yale.
"No fair!" shouted Rollo, but Anabelle said, "Hush, Rollo," very
gently, and put her hand on his under the robe.
Occasionally the players would stop to rest, while doctors and men
with stretchers would rush out on the field and remove the wounded.
[Illustration: "--it seemed to him that he kissed her"]
"Who is winning?" asked Rollo.
"Nobody knows," said Anabelle. "No one ever does know at a football
game. The only way to find out what is really happening is to read
about it in the papers to-morrow."
This was a great comfort to Rollo, for he gave up trying to understand
what was going on and from then on began really to enjoy himself. A
few moments later, the whistle blew again, everyone began cheering
wildly and the game was over.
"This way," cried Anabelle as she and Rollo reached the ground outside
the Bowl. Rollo followed her and for several minutes they threaded
their way among the crowd, squeezing between groups of people and
dodging motor cars. Night was falling, and bright headlights were
gleaming over the tumbled fields. This way and that they darted, until
Anabelle suddenly stopped and said, "Oh, Rollo, where are the others?"
"Anabelle," replied Rollo, "I verily believe we are lost."
"I'll say so," said Anabelle. "Well, let us sit here until we are
found. It is much safer than to go wandering about."
"You are quite right," agreed Rollo. "We once lost a fine brindle
cow, because she wandered into a swamp and sank in a quagmire. But,
hello--what is this?" As he spoke Rollo pulled from his coat pocket a
small bottle.
"As I live and breathe, it is a bottle of martini which Jonas has
thoughtfully prepared against the cold."
"Blessings on Jonas!" cried his little companion. "I am almost
frozen."
It was the work of a moment to spread the robe on a grassy knoll, and
here Cousin Stella's chauffeur found them just as Rollo tossed the
empty bottle into a coppice.
"Atta-boy!" cried Rollo gaily as they struggled to their feet and ran
toward the automobile. It was now quite dark, and when they were
snugly tucked among the cushions Rollo began to feel very sleepy. As
they rolled homeward through the night, the little boy drowsed off
into slumber. Then he seemed to see two bright stars gleaming in the
sky, which reminded him of Anabelle's eyes and it seemed to him that
he kissed her. But he may have been dreaming.
"Who won?" asked Jonas when Rollo and Lucy reached the apartment.
"I did," cried Rollo, "I beat Rupert Hogan all to pieces."
"But who won the football match?" persisted Jonas.
"How do I know, Dumbbell," said Rollo. "Look in the papers to-morrow
morning!"
ROLLO GOES A-SHOPPING
THE CHRISTMAS SPIRIT MOVES OUR LITTLE HERO TO A VAST OUTLAY,
BUT THE RESULT IS ALL THAT COULD BE DESIRED
It was now the merry Yuletide season which, in town and country, falls
like a mantle of white snow over the hearts of men and ladies, and you
may be sure that little Rollo was among the very first to feel its
influence. Although it was but early December, he and his Sister Lucy
had long been storing up their pennies, and many an hour had been
passed writing the lists of those to whom they wished to give
remembrances and from whom they expected to receive them.
Rollo had saved a whole dollar, which was indeed a great task for him,
for Rollo's father was a frugal man and few coins came his children's
way. But, by changing his Sunday-school dime into two nickels, our
little hero was able to save five cents a week, and still make a
louder noise in the contribution box than ever before. Thus, little by
little, the small iron bear, into whose jaws Rollo placed his hoard,
became gradually filled, until one day Rollo found to his surprise
that no more coins would go in.
"Feel how heavy my Bruin is become," said Rollo to Jonas. "Now I must
open him, for it is time to do my Christmas shopping. How shall I do
it, Jonas? Shall I cast him on the stone pavement and so burst him?"
"Ho ho," laughed Jonas. "That would be a pretty way indeed! But wait a
moment."
Then, repairing to another chamber, Jonas soon returned with a small
screw-driver from Rollo's mother's sewing-machine. With this he set to
work so diligently that there was soon a sharp snap, and Rollo saw
that the shaft of the screw-driver had broken off.
"Oh, bother!" cried Jonas crossly, at the same time rapping the bank
against the steam radiator with such force that Bruin was split
clearly in two from head to tail.
"Thank you! Thank you, Jonas," shouted Rollo. "How wonderful it must
be to be as handy with tools as you are! But now I must go a-shopping,
for it is not yet nine o'clock, and the signs all ask us to do our
Christmas shopping early."
On the threshold Rollo met his father, who said cheerfully,
"Good-morning, Rollo. And whither are you going so fast?"
"Good-morning to you, sir," said Rollo, touching his cap politely. "I
am about to do my Christmas shopping, sir, and you may believe me, I
have a great list. There is Mother, and you, sir, and Lucy and Jonas
and Uncle George and Cousin Stella."
Rollo's father waited patiently until Rollo had finished speaking
before he said, "Rollo, I think I ought to tell you that there are to
be no family presents in our household this year. The grain business
is most distressing just now, and we can ill afford to waste our funds
on such wicked luxuries as presents. Let us wish each other a Merry
Christmas and a Happy New Year in a suitable and inexpensive manner."
[Illustration: "Everything within was very grand and gloomy"]
"I heartily agree with you, sir," said Rollo, with a cheerfulness
which pleased his father.
Now the real reason for Rollo's happy acquiescence in his father's
plan was that there was one name on his list which he had not
mentioned.
Anabelle--for it was indeed she--was a charming girl of about Rollo's
own age, whom he had met on several occasions, and of whom he had
thought more than ever since their last meeting at the great football
contest between the academies of Yale and Princeton.
"Hurrah!" shouted Rollo to himself as he hurried toward Fifth Avenue,
which is the Main Street of New York City. "Hurrah! I can now spend my
entire dollar on Anabelle."
This was Rollo's first Christmas season in a great city and, although
he had begun to feel quite at home in the thoroughfares, he was
nevertheless greatly surprised to find so many folk abroad at such an
early hour.
He finally found himself in the portal of a magnificent shop in the
windows of which were beautiful oil paintings.
"The very thing!" thought Rollo. "Anabelle herself is so beautiful,
and she paints, too, herself--a little. It is a merry idea."
Everything within was very grand and gloomy, particularly the shop
attendants, who were tall young gentlemen in immaculate cut-away
coats.
"My favourite artist is Rockwell Kent," said Rollo. "He once painted
my father's barn--in a picture, of course. Have you anything by him
which would be suitable for a young lady?"
"I doubt it very much," said the gentleman, "but we shall see."
He then showed Rollo several pictures by his favourite artist, one in
particular which Rollo greatly admired.
"That is most beautiful!" said Rollo. "And what does it fetch?"
The gentleman looked puzzled before he said, "Oh, you mean the price.
Well, that is one of the most reasonable. It is only a thousand
dollars."
Alas! Everywhere Rollo turned he met with the same discouraging reply.
A tiny vial of perfume was supposed to fetch ten dollars; even single
blossoms of rare flowers were three dollars each.
It was a tired and disheartened Rollo who finally turned his footsteps
homeward, his dollar still sagging heavily in his pocket, as his heart
sagged heavily within.
And then a most surprising thing happened, for Rollo suddenly found
himself before the most beautiful shop he had ever seen, its windows
gleaming with brilliant wares and holiday decorations, and its
doorways, beneath a handsome red sign, breathing forth odours of the
utmost fragrance. But what fascinated our little hero most was a card
displayed in many places which stated "Nothing in this store over ten
cents."
[Illustration: "Can you not imagine Anabelle's joy when she opened all
these presents!"]
"Hurrah!" shouted Rollo.
It was a tired but happy little Rollo who emerged an hour later,
clutching his precious purchases in his arms, ten in all, and each to
be marked later, "To Anabelle from Rollo, with love and a Merry
Christmas."
For there, if you can believe me, Rollo found all the marvellous
things which he had so unsuccessfully endeavoured to purchase before,
a beautiful picture called _Spring_ with pink apple-blossoms a-bloom,
a string of magnificent pearls, much larger than those he had seen in
the other shop, a bright red book entitled _Memorandum_, a fragrant
flower similar to the ones he had seen, but made of cloth and wire so
that it could not wither, and a large bottle of most delicious perfume
labelled Bay Rum Lotion, a sample of which the amiable young
saleswoman squirted on Rollo's curly locks to his great delight.
Can you not imagine Anabelle's joy when she opened all these presents
on Christmas morning! Surely hers was the brightest, happiest
Christmas of any little girl in all this wide land.
THE END OF LITTLE ROLLO
WHICH IMMEDIATELY PROVOKES THE USUAL QUESTION--WHICH END?
On a bright midwinter morning, Rollo was sitting before the sputtering
gas-log, endeavouring to warm himself. Although he had on his
red-flannel wristers and the tippet which his Aunt Lucy had given him
for Christmas, and his hands were extended over the blue flames, yet
he felt cold. Ever and anon he shivered slightly.
"Jonas," said he, addressing his father's secretary, who had just
entered the room, "why am I so chilly? The room according to the
mercury-tube is warm, and yet I shiver."
"Some one is walking over your grave," said Jonas cheerfully, "Such
tremblings are oft times presentiments of death." So saying, he passed
out of the room whistling a merry funeral march.
This was the one thing necessary to make Rollo feel colder and more
disconsolate than ever before. He squirmed round on his green cricket,
and seemed to shrink to a smaller size, as he again extended his
hands, his expression becoming more and more disconsolate as the
picture conjured up by Jonas's remarks floated before his eyes. He
saw himself lying on his trundle bed, his family weeping about him.
Among them, he saw in his imagination his little friend Anabelle
approaching, sadly, carrying a large wreath of lilies tied with a
white ribbon, marked "Rollo." At this thought, two large tears rolled
slowly down Rollo's cheeks. It was more than he could bear. And thus
his mother found him when she entered the room.
Now the reasons for our little hero's depression were three. I wonder
if any of my young readers can guess them!