A GRIST OF SMALL HAPPENINGS
Unconscious that Fate was putting her in a very unhappy position with
Nelson, Janice was experiencing a number of small adventures on this
Saturday afternoon.
She had arranged with Miss ’Rill and her mother to take them to
Middletown for some shopping; but they were not, after all, ready to
make the trip. It must be put off for another week, and Janice agreed
to the change in the arrangements. Having the car with her she did not
feel like staying at the Scattergoods’ little home for a call, so drove
on up the hill.
There was a little flock of women out in front of Frederica Morgan’s
house. Her cousin from Montpelier was dressed for departure, and
had her bags piled on the sidewalk in a small pyramid. Frederica’s
daughter, Cala, was likewise dressed for a journey.
“What’s the matter?” asked Janice, stopping at the horse-block, and
seeing that the whole party was excited over something.
“That plagued Walky Dexter jest sent word that his old Josephus has
gone an’ fell lame and he can’t take us to the train. Drat the man!”
exclaimed Mrs. Morgan, who was a gaunt-looking, masculine sort of
woman. “Mahala here has sent word to her folks to meet her to-night
with their carry-all at the Montpelier station, and Cala was goin’ with
her on a visit. Now they won’t ever know what’s become of Mahala and
Cala till some time Monday. Polktown is sure enough the sawed-off end
o’ nothin’! We could all be wiped off the earth here and nobody outside
the town would know it for three days.”
Janice had begun to smile as Mrs. Morgan talked. Now she broke in with:
“Let me help you out, please. I have nothing particular to do, and I
can take you over to Middletown in ample time for the train.”
“Gracious, Janice! we couldn’t all pile into that ortermobile with our
baggage,” gasped Cala, who was a freckled, stringy girl, promising to
be just as awkward as her mother.
“Is your mother going?” asked Janice doubtfully.
“She ain’t gotter,” spoke up Frederica promptly. She was a widow, and
masterful, and everybody called her by her first name. “I dunno but I’m
bridle-shy of them gasoline things, anyway. And I can kiss Mahala and
Cala right here jest as well as though I went dean to the Middletown
station with ’em.”
So it was quickly arranged. Mahala and Mrs. Morgan’s daughter got into
the tonneau, and the various bags and extension boxes were piled in
about them and about Janice on the front seat. The car was started
slowly, amid a chorus of “good-byes” and Janice took the longer way to
Middletown over the mountain. There was plenty of time, it was a lovely
afternoon, and the rain the night before had laid the dust.
They passed few other vehicles,--no other automobiles--and experienced
no accidents at all during the drive. Janice left the pleased ladies
at the station a good half hour before the train was due. Then she
drove out to the seminary to speak with the assistant principal about
the purchase of some text books. Her work at the school would begin on
Wednesday of the next week. Already some of the girls who came from a
distance were at the school, and Janice was introduced to two or three.
They seemed pleasant, and Janice was bound to be popular because of her
car, if for no other reason. The girls admired the Kremlin and finally
climbed in and were driven downtown for an ice-cream “orgie.” It was,
therefore, late in the afternoon when Janice left by the Lower Road for
Polktown.
“I like those girls--and they are city girls, too,” she thought, as she
sped along. “They are not a bit like Annette Bowman. And how prettily
they were dressed! Perhaps I do not pay as much attention to my dresses
as I ought. Aunt ’Mira may be right. I will buy some new ones,” she
determined, for Daddy had sent her a sum of money for deposit in a
Middletown bank, and she could check out against this and pay her own
personal expenses.
She was very glad, indeed, to find the girls she was to associate with
at school so different from Frank Bowman’s sister. And thinking of the
civil engineer--there he was right in the road ahead!
His appearance startled Janice. She had heard from Marty that Frank had
to take the evening boat for Popham Landing and be away over Sunday on
a business matter connected with the building of the railroad bridge.
So his presence half way between Middletown and Polktown, less than an
hour before the departure of the boat from the Polktown dock, certainly
did amaze the girl.
“What has happened?” she demanded shrilly, stopping the car just behind
Frank, who was stooping over a bicycle lying in the road.
He jumped up quickly, evidently not having heard the quietly running
car.
“Janice Day!” he cried, in joy. “And you are running empty?”
“There isn’t anybody hiding in the tonneau,” she said, laughing. “What
has happened?”
“I’ve broken down. I had to run over to Middletown this morning, and I
started back right after luncheon. Had plenty of time, I thought. But
see that sprocket-wheel! Must have been a fault in it somewhere. I’ve
tried to tinker the thing and make it go until I am pretty near mad!”
“Marty says you have to go away to-night?” suggested Janice.
“I’m due to go on the boat; but unless you help me I can’t catch it,”
said Frank.
“Put your wheel in the car and hop in yourself, Mr. Bowman,” said
Janice briskly. “I’ll get you to the dock, all right.”
She did as she promised, although there were none too many minutes to
spare when they came down to the Polktown dock. The councilmen, without
any knowledge of what it meant in wear and tear on a motor-car engine,
had long since made an ordinance ordering motorists to travel within
the town limits at a speed not exceeding eight miles an hour; and
Janice really tried to conform to the law.
Janice knew that the town constable had timed her doubtfully on several
occasions; but all he had was an old silver watch as big as the nickel
star on his bosom, the second hand of which was broken, and before he
had the Kremlin’s speed computed, Janice was usually out of sight.
The constable was not in evidence on this occasion as the car came
down to the wharf. But Nelson Haley was. Janice did not see the school
teacher, and as the _Constance Colfax_ was already blowing her whistle
at the dock, Frank had little observation for anybody. He leaped out
of the car, lifted down the broken bicycle, left it in Walky Dexter’s
care, and then turned to bid Janice good-bye.
“I’m a thousand times obliged to you, Janice Day,” he said, shaking
hands with the girl warmly. “You are a friend in need. I do believe
that car of yours helps more people than we realize. It is a regular
institution--Polktown could not get along without it.”
Janice laughed, and waved her hand to him as he ran to cross the
gangplank. The steamer pulled out at once and the girl turned her car
carefully upon the dock, and went back up the hill.
It was then that she saw Nelson standing at the corner of the freight
shed. She was about to slow down, and she nodded to the school teacher
and smiled. Nelson responded very stiffly, and turned away. He did not
offer to speak to her, and Janice drove the Kremlin up the hill with a
new feeling of despondency.
She could not hope to see the young school teacher very frequently
thereafter, for his work began on Monday morning. The Polktown school
had increased in membership until Haley had to have two assistants.
Pupils remained for higher studies than had been the custom in the
old school, and fewer Polktown boys and girls went to the Middletown
business college and academy.
Marty, after some sulking, went back to school. The thing that
encouraged him most to do this was the fact that Frank Bowman had
explained to him the impossibility of his ever being a civil engineer
unless he at first secured a good, all-round education.
“It’s goin’ to be powerful lonely about the house with ev’rybody gone,
I declare for’t!” sighed Aunt ’Mira. “I should think you’d be satisfied
with the book-larnin’ you’d already got, Janice.”
Just the same, she was desirous that Marty should remain in attendance
at the town school; and she put up a very attractive basket of luncheon
for Janice to take in the car. Janice did not have to start until about
eight o’clock to reach the seminary by the time recitations began. Day
scholars were not required to report at chapel.
Aunt ’Mira did find the time hang heavy on her hands after her
housework was done. One could not read love stories all the time. In
fact, the supply of _Household Love Letters_, and its ilk, ran out.
But it was about this time that Polktown was introduced to something
entirely new--and by Annette Bowman.
A little dapper man, with black curls and a waxed mustache, appeared
at the Lake View Inn. Although Mel Parraday and his wife were glad to
see guests come so late in the season, had he not been vouched for by
Annette, this stranger would never have received a cordial welcome, to
say the least, at Polktown’s single hostelry.
In the beginning, he was a foreigner. Mel “opined” at first that he was
a “Canuck,” which was the local appellation for Canadians of French
extraction. Polktown people did not welcome any influx of foreigners.
Mr. Bogarti engaged the use of the Odd Fellows’ Hall for the
afternoons. Then he sent a boy around with cards announcing that his
mission in life was to teach dancing--especially the modern steps.
Annette had done good missionary work for Mr. Bogarti. As he was to
give much individual attention to his pupils, and the dancing classes
were for only three hours in the afternoon, he very quickly had all he
wanted to do every day save Sunday.
He took private pupils for his off hours, going to their houses if they
so desired.
He was wise enough to invite visitors to his public classes, and Aunt
’Mira was one of several ladies who went to look on. She dared only
sit on a bench at first, perspiring enviously as she saw some women
quite as old as herself essaying the graceful steps that make up some
of the simpler new dances.
At last she was invited to try, she was tempted, she fell! Not
literally, luckily for the foundations of the Odd Fellows’ Building.
Secretly Aunt ’Mira tried to become a dancer. Years before, when she
was a young girl, although always plump, she had been very light on her
feet and had enjoyed the old-fashioned square dances. Hope was awakened
in Aunt ’Mira’s soul. She greatly wished to go back to the Land of
Yesterday; and if youth could be overtaken, as they said, by more or
less painful gyrations on the dancing floor, she was determined to do
her very utmost to attain the proper movements.
She put none of Janice’s board money in the bank that month. For the
extra twenty dollar bill, Mr. Bogarti patiently taught her in private.
He was really a lover of his art and he believed faithfully that anyone
could, with patience, be taught to dance.
Poor Aunt ’Mira groaned and wept in secret at first. She had carried
around a superabundance of flesh for many years; and what it did to her
at first to joggle and shake herself upon the polished planks of the
Odd Fellows’ floor was, as Marty would have said had he known about
it, “a shame!”
Marty was safe at school. Janice was away all day at the seminary.
Uncle Jason had taken the contract to build Hiram Bulger’s new barn.
And that fall in Polktown there were more women than Aunt ’Mira keeping
secrets from their husbands and families.
Early one morning while Marty was at the barn and Janice was making a
more lingering toilet than usual in her room, Uncle Jason happened to
shuffle in at the kitchen door unexpectedly. The rich odor of frying
pork filled the room and was wafted invitingly out of doors. The blue
smoke from the huge griddle on which the flapjacks were baking made a
halo about Aunt ’Mira’s head.
“I vum, Almiry! Be ye gone clean daft?” gasped her husband, in horror.
Aunt ’Mira had been so earnest in her endeavors that she had not heard
his approach. A strip of pork was poised on the fork held in her left
hand, while the cake-turner waved aloft in the other; and Aunt ’Mira
was counting:
“One, two, dip; one, two, dip; one, two, three, slide.”
She came up, facing Uncle Jason, after a sweeping “sink” that would
seem impossible for a lady of her build to accomplish.
“Almiry! what air you doin’?” ejaculated her husband again.
“Dancin’,” said his wife meekly.
“Doin’ _what_?”
“Dancin’. Them’s some of the new steps.”
“‘Steps’? Them warn’t steps, Almiry.”
“So they call ’em, Jason,” she said, meekly enough. “They say them
steps will help ter remove super-floo-ous flesh, and build up tissue.”
“Great Cannibal Islands!” exploded Uncle Jason. “Ye don’t mean ter say
ye think that you air made of _tissue_? That’s too thin--huh!” and he
snorted his disgust. “And what’s become of your rheumatism? You was
gruntin’ an’ groanin’ here a spell back if ye had to stoop and pick
up the poker; and now ye air slinkin’ an’ slidin’ about here like an
overgrown eel. I never seen the beat! Have all ye wimmen gone plumb
crazy? Don’t, for massy’s sake, let the children see ye--an old woman
like you!”
That last finally struck a spark from Aunt ’Mira. She had meekly
returned to the turning of the pork and flapjacks; now she exclaimed:
“I ain’t! I ain’t old--nor you ain’t old, Jason Day! That’s jest it--we
let our elves sag back an’ feel old! But we oughtn’t to--no, sir! It’s
our duty to keep young. Dancing helps do it, and keeps us limber. We’re
only in the prime o’ life, you an’ me, Jason. We ain’t no right to act
like one foot was in the grave an’ the other all but. No, sir!
“‘Don’t let yourself sag!’ That’s what the dancin’ teacher says. Keep
it in mind ter walk straight, an’ hold yer head up; when ye can, take a
few steps for exercise.”
“My soul an’ body, Almiry! _Stop it!_ Don’t wiggle that-a-way again,”
gasped Uncle Jason, as his good lady executed a few more posturings.
“’Tain’t decent! And here’s Marty a-comin’ in with the milk.”