GAY'S POPULARITY BEGINS
When Gay's challenge, "Do I look like a girl of refinement?" was flung
back at Miss Linn, following as it did one of the most extraordinary
scenes of which a girl was ever the heroine, it was indeed marvelous
that it did not reveal him in his true colors. But everybody seemed to
be blind, unreasoning, stupid. It was a mystery that the prowess of the
valiant disposer of the boyish robbers was not speedily traced to its
real origin, that of sex. Gay's conversation, liberally interspersed
as it was with slang, was enough in itself to proclaim him a lively,
wide-awake boy. Speech, actions, and bearing all pointed in one
direction, but Gay's audience permitted their vision to be obscured
by—petticoats.
It was not strange that the gentle, unworldly occupants of Rose Cottage
were, at first, misled. They had invited a girl; and a girl, as far
as outward garb could make one, had arrived. At Cedarville a similar
misconception had occurred. With a single exception no one dreamed that
the twins had exchanged roles and clothes. Miss Maud Berkeley, alone,
regarded Gay with suspicion.
As a matter of fact, after exchanging clothes each acted his or her
part with freedom from disguise that made their success the more
marked. Gay and May had ceased to regard their position as enviable;
it was no longer a "lark" to masquerade in each other's clothes, but
trained from infancy to self-reliance and self-restraint, they were
capable of much endurance, even in a mistaken cause. Already they were
looking forward to their release; the delicate girl not more eagerly
than the strong boy.
After Gay's reply to his aunt, a council of war, at which he was
not present, was held in the drawing-room at Rose Cottage. The
minister confined his efforts to indorsing Miss Celia's sentiments,
notwithstanding the fact that that lady, whose heart was with the
culprit, but whose judgment was with the council, contradicted herself
constantly. It was the doctor's wife who suggested surrounding Gay with
girls as a means of conventionalizing him!
"Invite girls of her own age here; it is the only thing that will do
any good," said she positively.
"I'll do it," said Miss Linn. "I will give a party at once to introduce
May to the girls here."
Then, with the minuteness of detail that characterizes the discussions
of persons who lead uneventful lives, these good people planned the
festivity that was formally to introduce the young rogue to the
Hazelnook girls.
The next event of the day following the skirmish under the pear tree
was Gay's receipt of a letter from his father. It was written, of
course, to the real May, and while reading it, the mock May experienced
a sharp twinge of conscience. It was so unconsciously condemnatory in
its entire confidence that it made Gay really unhappy—for a moment.
The letter was brief.
"MY DEAR LITTLE DAUGHTER,—
"Three days have passed since you left us, and I am glad to be able
to tell you that your mother is better—a few days more and her poor
nerves will have begun to strengthen, then for a holiday for us all
somewhere in the lovely country. Ned is a good boy, and nurse is very
proud of Baby, who grows to look, so she says, more and more like the
sixth Earl of Roslyn. What a comical, pink, squirming little earl he
must have been, mustn't he? Alice is enjoying herself very much; she
has won a prize in a tennis tournament at Lake Hopatcong, and has
been to three parties. You can see what you have to look forward to
when you are a young lady of fifteen! Your dear mother sends love and
kisses, and says, 'Tell my little girl to be gentle and good.' And I
add, try to do as your aunts wish in everything; even though their
way may differ from your mother's way. Different people, different
ways, you know, dear. With love to our little girl, and compliments to
the aunties, I am,
"Your loving father,
"EDWARD WALCOTT."
"New York, Aug. 10, 1900."
"It doesn't seem right for father to think he is writing to one when
he's writing to the other!" thought Gay. "Still, we're really the same
as one, and now that mother is better we can soon tell and then it will
be all right. I'm tired of it and I'm ashamed to have father and mother
and everybody trusting me when I'm a fraud, besides, I'm tearing May's
clothes all to pieces and I shall have to tell pretty soon, or go to
bed."
The letter had a good effect, however, for Gay really tried to be
"gentle and good." He behaved with such propriety that the poor deluded
aunts were in raptures.
"She can be charming when she likes," Miss Linn said.
"I don't condemn her conduct yesterday; it was incomprehensible, but
what a brave little thing she is! I'm sure the doctor admires her,"
Miss Celia said proudly.
"The minister doesn't admire her," Miss Linn said significantly.
Miss Celia's face flushed a delicate rose. "That does not interest me,"
she said.
"Why, Celia!" exclaimed her sister.
And Miss Celia, for some mysterious reason, looked confused.
After dinner Gay wrote a letter to May and asked permission to post it,
which was granted. A small group of boys, among whom were the robbers,
stood in front of the post-office. They were talking earnestly.
"There wasn't any science about it. What are you giving us?" one was
saying.
"Here she is now," another boy cried, as he saw Gay.
"Nice girl! Nice girlie to fight with boys!" a third boy said.
"You don't want any more, do you?" said Gay, forgetting his feminine
apparel and his resolution to be "gentle and good."
A saucy fellow came up to Gay with a gibe on his tongue and made a move
as if to disarrange Gay's frock, when down in the dust he went on his
face.
"If you can be civil we'll call it square; if you can't I'll show you
how to be," said Gay, calmly.
"We'll call it square," said the first speaker with a smile that was
pleasant despite its width. "You're made of the real stuff, if you are
a girl."
"Much obliged for your good opinion," replied Gay with an answering
smile.
"I'll get even with you!" said the boy who had been tripped up.
"Go ahead," said Gay, coolly.
"You talk big because you're a girl and you think I daren't touch you!"
growled the boy.
"I didn't stop to talk big yesterday, did I?" asked Gay, with rising
color.
"No, you didn't; you hit like a good one. I'll take it all back about
big talk," said the boy, heartily.
"Let's shake hands on that," said Gay, forgetting that girls do not
commonly display so much cordiality toward comparative strangers, it
being a boy's privilege to be "hail fellow well met" with all.
After a general handshaking, which was accompanied by some
embarrassment on the part of the boys, who were unaccustomed to the
society of girls and did not know that their new acquaintance was a
very poor imitation of one, they told Gay their names and such portions
of their history as seemed to fit the occasion.
"You'd better call me Brown Walcott," said Gay. "That's what the
fellows in New York call me—my twin sister is called Brownie."
The boys looked at one another sheepishly; they didn't know what to say.
"Well, we will call you Miss—Brown," faltered Lyman Carver at length.
"Drop the Miss," said Gay.
"All right, we will. We can drop her easier than we can beat her in any
other way!" said Will Babbitt.
This speech which everybody applauded—save Gay, who refrained through
a delicate sense of modesty—immediately established a feeling of good
fellowship.
"I promised to come right back," said Gay. "Walk along with me, won't
you? It seems mighty good to see some fellows once more."
The boys stared. This was the most extraordinary girl! There was no
resisting her pleasant manner, however, and they were soon walking
along together, all talking merrily.
"Oh," cried Gay, suddenly, when they were outside the gate at Rose
Cottage, "I'm going to have some kind of a time to-morrow afternoon at
five o'clock; my aunt said so to-day. I wish you'd come."
This was another embarrassing moment! The boys were not generally
included among aristocratic Miss Linn's young guests.
"I don't believe we should know anybody there except by sight," said
Robert Clark at length.
"It will be a good chance to get acquainted with everybody, then," Gay
replied.
"I don't think we can go, anyway, because we've got a game to-morrow
afternoon," said Lyman.
"Ball?" questioned Gay.
"Yes," Lyman answered.
"Put it off till day after to-morrow and I'll come," said Gay.
"Do you know anything about ball?" asked Fred Brown, wondering secretly
if there was anything that this wonderful girl wasn't up to.
"If you can get on to my curves I'll give you the dandiest bat you ever
held in your hands," Gay said, with great enthusiasm.
The boys were literally overcome by this challenge, but Lyman succeeded
in saying,
"We'll take you up on that some day, Brown."
"It can't be too soon to suit me," laughed Gay. Then he threw one
arm across Lyman's shoulders, the other across Will's and added,
persuasively, "Promise you will come to-morrow."
"You see," said Will, "we don't belong to that set and when they meet
us at church affairs they generally treat us as if we were heathen.
They are not like you, Brown."
"I'd like to see anybody treat my guests that way!" said Gay,
defiantly. "If you come I guess you'll see that my party isn't a church
show."
When Gay went into the house the minister was there; his nearest
approach to a week-day occupation was visiting Miss Celia. "Who were
those boys, Miss May?" he asked, with a desire to be agreeable.
"Hazelnook boys; splendid fellows. Don't you know them?"
"I think not, though their parents may be my parishioners. All boys of
that age look alike."
"Aunt Celia," said Gay that evening, when they were alone, "I don't
think much of that minister."
"Why not, dear?" Miss Celia asked with considerable interest.
"Because ministers say they want to be like Jesus, but He wouldn't have
said about the boys, 'They all look alike,' just as if He didn't care
how they looked and didn't want to know them! I'm sure He knew all the
boys wherever He went."
"Thank you, dear, for making something clear to me," Miss Celia said,
softly.
And Gay wondered in vain what Miss Celia meant.