see Mr. Manners first thing about getting off if the call comes."
"I hope he'll say no," said Jessie Wallace, promptly. She was the
younger, prettier sister, and the more impulsive.
"You thought the regiment beautiful on Memorial day, Jess, and were glad
enough to go and see the parade," said Fred, with a mouth nearly full of
porridge.
"That's different. I like the band, and the plumes and uniforms, and
parading and drilling, but I don't want you to be shot or stoned or
abused the way the other regiment was at the mines last spring."
"Well, there's where you and Manners don't agree. He objects to my
belonging because of the parades and drills and summer camp, says it's
all vanity, foolishness, and that only popinjays want to wear uniforms.
I guess he'd be glad enough to have us in line if a mob should make a
break for the works, but I own I'm worried about what he'll say to-day."
And Fred might well be worried. Dense throngs of excited men were
gathered along the yards as he wended his way to the works after a few
words with his father at the gloomy shop. An engine with some flat cars
had come out with newly employed men to man the switches. Engineer,
firemen, and the newly employed had to flee for their lives, and the
assistant-superintendent was being carried to the emergency hospital in
a police patrol wagon. Nobody was being carried to the police station.
"There'll be worse for the next load that comes," shouted Stoltz from
the sidewalk, and a storm of jeers and yells was the applauding answer.
These sounds were still ringing in young Wallace's ears when he came
before the manager. Mr. Manners turned round in his chair when Fred told
him of his orders of the night before.
"Wallace," said he, "I told you last month that no man could serve two
masters. We can't afford to employ young men who at any time may be
called out to go parading with a lot of tin soldiers."
"This isn't parade, sir; It's business. It's protecting life and
property."
"Fudge!" said Manners; "let the police attend to that--or the regulars.
It's their business. If you leave your desk on any such ridiculous
orders you leave it for good."
And at four o'clock that afternoon, towards the close of a day filled
with wild rumors of riot, bloodshed, and destruction, a young man in the
neat service dress of a sergeant of infantry--blue blouse and trousers,
and tan-colored felt hat and leggings--walked in to Corporal Fred's
office with a written slip in his hand, and Corporal Fred walked out.
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
OAKLEIGH.
BY ELLEN DOUGLAS DELAND.
CHAPTER VI.
Jack and Neal entered into partnership in the poultry business.
"You see, I sha'n't have a cent of my own until I am twenty-five,"
explained Neal, "and my old grandmother left most of the cash to Hessie.
She had some crazy old-fashioned notions about men being able to work
for their living, but women couldn't. It's all a mistake. Nowadays women
can work just as well as men, if not better. Besides, they marry, and
their husbands ought to support them. Now, what am I going to do when I
marry?"
Cynthia, who was present at this discussion, gave a little laugh. "Are
you thinking of taking this important step very soon? Perhaps you will
have time to earn a little first. Chickens may help you. Or you might
choose a wife who will work--you say women do it better than men--and
she will be pleased to support you, I have no doubt."
They were on the river, tied up under an overhanging tree. Cynthia, who
had been paddling, sat in the stern of the canoe; the boys were
stretched in the bottom. It was a warm, lazy-feeling day for all but
Cynthia. The boys had been taking their ease and allowing her to do the
work, which she was always quite willing to do.
"I'll tell you how it is," continued Neal, ignoring Cynthia's sarcasm.
"I'll have a tidy little sum when I am twenty-five, and until then
Hessie is to make me an allowance and pay my school and college
expenses. She's pretty good about it--about giving me extras now and
then, I mean--but you sort of hate to be always nagging at a girl for
money. It was a rum way of doing the thing, anyhow, making me dependent
on her. I wish my grandmother hadn't been such a hoot-owl."
Cynthia looked at him reprovingly. "You are terribly disrespectful," she
said, "and I think you needn't make such a fuss. You're pretty lucky to
have such a sister as mamma."
"Oh, Hessie might be worse, I don't deny. It's immense to hear you great
girls call her 'mamma,' though. I never thought to see Hessie marry a
widower with a lot of children. What was she thinking of, anyway?"
"Well, you are polite! She was probably thinking what a very nice man my
father is," returned Cynthia, loftily.
"He is a pretty good fellow. So far I haven't found him a bad sort of
brother-in-law. I don't know how it will be when I put in my demand for
a bigger allowance in the fall. I have an idea he could be pretty stiff
on those occasions. But that's why I want to go into the poultry
business."
"And I don't mind having you," said Jack. "Sharing the profits is
sharing the expense, and so far I've seen more expense than profit.
However, when they begin to lay and we send the eggs to market, then the
money will pour in. I say we don't do anything but sell eggs. It would
be an awful bore to get broilers ready for market. By-the-way, I think
we had better go back now and finish up that brooder we were making."
"Oh, no hurry," said Neal. "It won't take three minutes to do that, and
it's jolly out here. It's the coolest place I've been in to-day. Let's
talk some more about the poultry business. We'll call ourselves
'Franklin & Gordon, Oakleigh Poultry Farm.' That will look dandy on the
bill-heads. And we'll make a specialty of those pure white eggs. I say,
Cynthia, what are you grinning at?"
"I am not grinning. I am not a Cheshire cat."
"I don't know. I've already felt your claws once or twice. But you've
got something funny in your head. The corners of your mouth are
twitching, and your eyes are dancing like--like the river."
Cynthia cast up her blue eyes in mock admiration. "Hear! hear! He grows
poetical. But as you are so very anxious to know what I am 'grinning'
at," she added, demurely, "I'll tell you. I was only thinking of a
little proverb I have heard. It had something to do with counting
chickens before they are hatched."
"Oh, come off!" exclaimed Jack, while Neal laughed good-naturedly.
"And I've also a suggestion to make," went on Cynthia. "From what I have
gathered during our short acquaintance, I think Mr. Neal Gordon isn't
over-fond of exerting himself. I think it would be a good idea, Jack,
when you sign your partnership papers, or whatever they are, to put in
something about dividing the work as well as the expense _and_ the
profits."
"There go your claws again," said Neal. "Let's change the subject by
trying to catch a 'lucky-bug.'" And he made a grab towards the myriads
of insects that were darting hither and thither on the surface of the
water. "I'll give a prize--this fine new silver quarter to the one who
catches a 'lucky-bug.'"
He laid the money on the thwart of the boat and made another dash.
"When you have lived on the river as long as I have you'll know that
'lucky-bugs' can't be caught," said Cynthia. "Now see what you have
done, you silly boy!"
For with Neal's last effort the quarter had flown from the canoe and
sunk with a splash in the river.
"Good-by, quarter!" sang Neal. "I might find you if I thought it would
pay to get wet for the likes of you."
"If that is the way you treat quarters, I don't wonder you think your
allowance isn't big enough," said Cynthia, severely; "and may I ask you
a question?"
"You may ask a dozen; but the thing is, will I answer them?"
"You will if I ask them. Were you ever in a canoe before?"
"A desire to crush you tempts me to say 'yea,' but a stern regard for
truth compels me to answer 'nay.'"
"You couldn't crush me if you tried for a week, and you couldn't make me
believe you had ever been in a canoe before, for your actions show you
haven't. People that have spent their time on yachts and sail-boats
think they can go prancing about in a canoe and catch all the lucky-bugs
they want. When you have upset us all you will stop prancing, I
suppose."
"Claws again," groaned Neal, in exaggerated despair.
"I say, Cynth, let's go back and put him to work on that brooder," said
Jack, who had been enjoying this sparring-match. "We'll see what work we
can get out of him."
And, notwithstanding his remonstrances, Neal was paddled home and put to
work. Cynthia's "claws" did take effect, and for the first time in his
life he began to feel a little ashamed of being so lazy.
Jack was one of the plodding kind. His mind was not as brilliant as
Neal's, nor his tongue as ready, but at the end of the year he would
have more to show than Neal Gordon.
Mrs. Franklin carried out her plan of inviting their friends to the
"hatching bee," and Thursday was the day on which the chicks were
expected to come out. As the morning wore on Cynthia's excitement grew
more and more intense, and all the family shared it.
"What shall we do if they don't come out?" she exclaimed a dozen times.
At one o'clock a crack was discovered in one of the eggs in the
"thermometer row." At three it was a decided break, and several others
could be seen. Cynthia declared that she heard a chirping, but it was
very faint.
Mrs. Franklin remained upstairs to receive the guests, who came down as
soon as they arrived. There were about a dozen girls and boys.
Fortunately the cellar was large and airy, and the coolest place to be
found on this warm summer day.
And presently the fun began. Pop! pop! went one egg after another, and
out came a little struggling chick, which in due time floundered across
the other eggs or the deserted egg-shells, and flopped down to the
gravel beneath on the lower floor of the machine. It was funny to see
them, and, as they gradually recovered from their efforts, and their
feathers dried off, the little downy balls crowded at the front, and,
chirping loudly, pecked at the glass.
Mrs. Franklin joined them now and then, and at last, when about seventy
chicks had been hatched, she insisted upon all coming upstairs for a
breath of fresh air before supper.
Here a surprise awaited them. Unknown to her daughters Mrs. Franklin had
given orders that the supper-table should be arranged upon the lawn in
the shade of the house, and when Edith stepped out on the piazza she
paused in astonishment.
What terrible innovation into the manners and customs of Oakleigh was
this? Last year, for a little party the children gave, she had wanted
tea on the lawn, but it could not be accomplished. How had the new-comer
managed to do it?
"Isn't this too lovely!" cried Gertrude Morgan, enthusiastically,
turning to Edith. "My dear, I think you are the luckiest girl I ever
knew, to have any one give you such a surprise. Didn't you really know a
thing about it?"
"I have been consulted about nothing," returned Edith, stiffly. She
would have liked to run upstairs and hide, out of sight of the whole
affair.
"I hope you like the effect, Edith," said Mrs. Franklin, coming up to
her as she stood on the piazza step. "I thought it would be great fun to
surprise you."
"I detest surprises of all kinds," replied Edith, turning away, "and it
seems to me I have had nothing else lately."
Much disappointed and greatly hurt, Mrs. Franklin was about to speak
again, but at this moment Cynthia, enchanted with the success of the
hatch, and with the pretty sight on the lawn, rushed up to her
step-mother and squeezed her arm.
[Illustration: "YOU ARE A PERFECT DEAR!" SHE WHISPERED. "EVERYTHING IS
NICER SINCE YOU CAME."]
"You are a perfect dear!" she whispered. "Everything is nicer since you
came. Even the chickens came out for you, and last time it was so
dreadful." And Mrs. Franklin smiled again and felt comforted.
The table was decorated with roses and lovely ferns, strewn here and
there with apparent carelessness, but really after much earnest study of
effects. Bowls of great unhulled strawberries added their touch of
color, as did the generous slices of golden sponge-cake. The dainty
china and glass gleamed in the afternoon light, and the artistic
arrangement added not a little to the already good appetites of the boys
and girls.
Fortunately Oakleigh was equal to any emergency in the eating line, and
as rapidly as the piles of three-cornered sandwiches, fairylike rolls,
and other goodies disappeared the dishes were replenished as if by
magic.
After supper the piano was rolled over to the front window in the long
parlor.
"Put it close to the window," said Mrs. Franklin, "and I will sit
outside, like the eldest daughter in _The Peterkins_, to play. That will
give me the air, and you can hear the music better."
They danced on the lawn and played games to the music; then they
gathered on the porch and sang college songs, while the sun sank at the
end of the long summer day, and the stars came twinkling out, and
by-and-by the full moon rose over the tree-tops and flooded them with
her light.
Altogether, Jack's second "hatching bee" was a success. A good time, a
good supper, and, best of all, one hundred and forty chickens. Yes, it
really seemed as if poultry were going to pay, and "Franklin & Gordon,"
of the Oakleigh Poultry Farm, went to bed quite elated with prosperity.
The next morning at breakfast they were discussing the matter, and Mr.
Franklin expressed his unqualified approval of the scheme.
"If you succeed in raising your chickens, now that they are hatched,
Jack, my boy, I think you are all right. You owe Aunt Betsey a debt of
thanks. By-the-way, where is Aunt Betsey? Have you heard from her
lately?"
There was no answer. Jack exploded into a laugh which he quickly
repressed, Edith looked very solemn, while Cynthia had the appearance of
being on the verge of tears.
"I want to see Aunt Betsey," said Mrs. Franklin, as she buttered a roll
for Willy. "I think she must be a very interesting character."
"It is very extraordinary that we have heard nothing from her," went on
Mr. Franklin. "What can be the meaning of it? When was she last here,
Edith?"
"In June."
"Was it when I was at home? Hasn't she been here since the time she gave
Jack the money for the incubator?"
"That was in May. You were in Albany when she was here the last time."
"It is very strange that she has never written nor come to see you,
Hester. It can't be that she is offended with something, can it? I must
take you up to Wayborough to see the dear old lady. I am very fond of
Aunt Betsey, and I would not hurt her feelings for the world."
There was a pause, and then into the silence came Janet's shrill tones:
"I know why Aunt Betsey's feelings are hurted. They was turribly hurted.
Edith an' Cynthia an' Jack all knows too."
"Janet, hush!" interposed Edith.
"Not at all; let the child speak," said her father. "What do you know,
Janet?"
"Aunt Betsey came, an' she went to see Mrs. Parker, an' Mrs. Parker said
she'd been there before an' Aunt Betsey said she hadn't, an' it wasn't
Aunt Betsey at all, it was Cynthia dressed up like her, an' Aunt Betsey
said we was all naughty 'cause we didn't want the bride to come, an' the
bride was mamma, and we didn't want her, it was the trufe, an' Aunt
Betsey went off mad 'cause Cynthia dressed up like her. She wouldn't
stay all night, she just went off slam-bang hopping mad."
"What does the child mean?" exclaimed her father. "Will some one
explain? Edith, what was the trouble?"
"I would rather not say," said Edith, her eyes fastened on her plate.
"That is no way to speak to your father. Answer me."
"Papa, I cannot. It is not my affair."
"It is your affair. I insist."
"Wait, John," interposed Mrs. Franklin.
"Not at all; I can't wait. Edith was here in charge of the family.
Something happened to offend Aunt Betsey. Now she must explain what it
was. I hold her responsible."
"Indeed she's not, papa," said Cynthia, at last finding her voice.
"Edith is not to blame; I am the one. I found Aunt Betsey's false front,
and I dressed up and looked exactly like her, and Jack drove me to see
Mrs. Parker. Edith didn't want me to go, but I would do it. Really,
papa, Edith isn't a bit to blame. And then when Aunt Betsey came soon
afterwards she went to see Mrs. Parker, and she didn't like it because
she said she had been there two weeks ago and told her--I mean, Mrs.
Parker told me about--"
Cynthia stopped abruptly.
"Well, go on," said her father, impatiently.
Still Cynthia said nothing.
"Cynthia, will you continue? If not--"
"Oh yes, papa; though--but--well, Mrs. Parker told me that you were
going to marry again. And then when Aunt Betsey really went, Mrs. Parker
said, 'I told you so.' Aunt Betsey didn't like that, and when she asked
us if she had been here, of course we had to say no, and she was going
right back to tell Mrs. Parker what we said; so I had to confess, and,
of course, Aunt Betsey didn't like it, and she went right home that
day."
Mr. Franklin pushed back his chair from the table, and began to walk up
and down.
"I am perfectly astonished at your doing such a thing, and more
astonished still that Edith--"
"Papa, please don't say another word about Edith. She didn't want me to
go, and I would do it."
"Why have you not told me all this before?"
"Because, you see, I couldn't. I had heard that you were going to be
married, and I didn't believe it until you told me; at least--"
Cynthia paused and grew uncomfortably red.
"Poor child!" said Mrs. Franklin, smiling at her sympathetically. "It
must have been very hard for you."
"It was," said Cynthia, simply; "only you know, mamma, I don't feel a
bit so now. And then when you came home, papa, it was all so exciting I
forgot about it, and I have only thought of it once in a while,
and--well, I've been afraid to tell you," she added, honestly.
"I should think so! I am glad you have the grace to be ashamed of
yourself, Cynthia. Has no apology gone to Aunt Betsey?"
"No, papa."
"It is outrageous. The only thing to do is to go there at once. Jack,
get the _Pathfinder_."
The _Pathfinder_, boon of New England households, was brought, and Mr.
Franklin studied the trains for Wayborough.
"Hester, you had better come too. It is only proper that I should take
you to call on Aunt Betsey. Get ready now, and we will go for the day."
The Franklins were quite accustomed to these sudden decisions on the
part of their father, and Mrs. Franklin did not demur. She and Cynthia
hurried off to make ready, and the carriage was ordered to take them to
the station.
Cynthia's preparations did not take long. Her sailor-hat perched sadly
on one side, her hair tied with a faded blue ribbon, one of the cuffs of
her shirt-waist fastened with a pin. All this Edith took in at a glance.
"Cynthia, you look like a guy."
"I guess I am one."
"Don't be so terribly Yankee as to say 'guess.'"
"I am a Yankee, so why shouldn't I talk like one? Oh, Edith, what do I
care about ribbons and sleeve-buttons when I have to go and apologize to
Aunt Betsey."
Edith was supplying the deficiencies in her sister's toilet.
"It is too bad. Janet ought not to have told. But it is just like
everything else--all Mrs. Franklin's fault."
"Edith, what do you mean? Mamma did not make Janet tell; she tried to
stop papa."
"I know she _appeared_ to. But if papa had not married again would this
ever have happened? You would not have heard at Mrs. Parker's that he
was going to, Mrs. Parker wouldn't have said 'I told you so' to Aunt
Betsey, Aunt Betsey wouldn't have found out you were there--"
"Edith, what a goose you are! Any other time you would scold me for
having done it, and I know I deserve it. Now you are putting all the
blame on mamma. You are terribly unjust."
"There, now, you have turned against me, all because of Mrs. Franklin. I
declare it is too bad!"
"Oh, Edith, I do wonder when you will find out what a lovely woman mamma
is! Of course you will have to some day; you can't help it. There, they
are calling, and I must run! Good-by."
Hastily kissing her sister, Cynthia ran off.
Neal had much enjoyed the scene at the breakfast-table. He only wished
that he had been present when Cynthia impersonated her aunt. It must
have been immense. He wished that he could go also to Wayborough, but he
was not invited to join the party. He was to be left alone for the day
with Edith, for Mr. Franklin had decided that Jack should accompany
them, to thank Aunt Betsey once more, and to tell her himself of the
success of the hatch.
"I'll have to step round pretty lively, then," said Jack. "Those birds
must get to the brooders before I go. Come along, Neal. It's an awful
bore having to go to Wayborough the very first day. You'll have to look
after the chicks, and don't you forget it."
The chickens safely housed, and the family gone, Neal prepared to enjoy
the day. He had made up his mind to see something of Edith, and he had
no idea of working by himself, especially as there was no absolute
necessity for it.
"The day is too hot for work, anyhow," he said to himself.
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
STORIES OF OUR GOVERNMENT.
THE PRESIDENT'S CABINET.
BY THE HONORABLE THEODORE ROOSEVELT.
The executive business of the national government is divided into eight
departments, and the heads of these eight departments are known as
Cabinet officers, and form the President's Cabinet.
It often happens that we use the same name that is used in England for
an officer or an institution, which is not, however, quite the same, and
is sometimes widely different, and we must always be on our guard not to
be confused by such seeming similarity. This is true in our political
life, just as it is true in our sports. For instance, we could not get
an international match between Harvard, Yale, or Princeton, and Oxford
or Cambridge on the football field, because, although football is played
at all of them, yet the game in the American colleges is so different
from that played in the English universities that it would be impossible
to have American and English teams meet on the same ground, any more
than we could put a baseball nine against a cricket eleven. It is just
the same way in our politics. The Senate is sometimes spoken of as
corresponding to the House of Lords; but they really have few points of
resemblance, save that they are both second chambers. So the Speaker of
the House of Representatives is sometimes spoken of as if his position
corresponded to that of Speaker of the House of Commons. This is not
true at all. The Speaker of the House of Commons is, properly, merely a
moderator, like the moderator of a New England town meeting, and his
duty is to preside and keep order, but not to be a Speaker, in our sense
of the word, at all, not to give any utterance to party policy. In the
American House, on the contrary, the Speaker is the great party leader,
who is second in power and influence only to the President himself. The
functions of the two officers have nothing in common, save in the mere
presiding over the deliberations of the body itself.
[Illustration: THE CABINET-ROOM.]
So in England the cabinet officers are all legislators, exactly as the
Prime Minister, their chief, and they are elected by separate
constituencies just as he is. In America the cabinet officers are not
legislators at all, and have no voice in legislation. Instead of being
elected by their own constituencies, they are appointed by the
President, and he is directly responsible for them. It is upon his
Cabinet officers that the President has to rely for information as to
what action to take, in ordinary cases, and he has to trust to them to
see the actual executive business of the government well performed.