LAURIE IS CORNERED
The following afternoon saw the boys, minus Kewpie, escorting Polly
and Mae to the _Pequot Queen_. Mrs. Deane had begged off. One mustn’t
expect all April days to be fine, and this particular day proved it.
It had showered off and on during the forenoon, and now, at half-past
three, the rain was coming down hard and fast. The girls wore rain-coats
over their Sunday gowns, and Ned and Laurie were draped in colorful
yellow oilskins. Bob, in an old Mackinaw jacket, huddled under the
dripping eaves of one of the two umbrellas. It seemed a particularly
long way to the _Pequot Queen_ under these circumstances, and it was a
rather bedraggled quintet that at last filed into the cabin. Once there,
however, discomforts were forgotten. A fire in the stove defied the
dampness of the outside world; a kettle sang cozily; the white light
that entered the open windows flashed on polished surfaces; and the bowl
of flowers on the table added a cheerful note of color. And then there
was the little hostess, all smiles of welcome and concerned murmurs over
dripping coats and wet skirts.
The coats were laid aside quickly, and the visitors found seats, Polly
and Mae occupying the same arm-chair, since there were but five chairs
in the cabin and not even Laurie would have thought of sitting on Miss
Comfort’s immaculate blue and white spread! The lack of a sixth chair
troubled Miss Comfort considerably. Bob pointed out that even had she
possessed such a thing there wouldn’t have been room for it and some
one would have had to sit out on deck! And Polly and Mae assured in
chorus that they didn’t _mind_ sitting together, not one _bit_.
Miss Comfort was brimming over with pride and happiness. Everything was
too wonderful for words! And sleep―― She held up her hands in something
almost like consternation. Why, she hadn’t slept the way she had slept
last night for years and years! She had had her supper late because she
had been so busy fixing things up, and then she had sat at the window
there for a long time watching the lights on the water and on the
further shore; and suddenly she couldn’t keep her eyes open a minute
longer, it had seemed, and she had gone to bed and fallen right to
sleep and slept and slept!
“It was so wonderful lying there and listening to the water lapping
against the boat that I tried my best to keep awake. But I couldn’t.
And then this morning when I awoke there was a beautiful fog and I
could hear bells sounding and now and then a great, deep fog-horn on
some boat. It was perfect! From my bed I can look out of the windows
and see the river, and when the sun came out for a little while, quite
early, it was beautiful!”
“Yes, ma’am,” agreed Laurie. “For myself, I never cared much for
fog-horns, but maybe the kind they have here are different. I’m awfully
glad you slept so well, though, and――and like it.”
“Like it! Oh, Mr. Laurie, I can never, never thank you enough for
finding this beautiful home for me!”
“Oh, that wasn’t anything,” muttered Laurie.
“Why, Laurie Turner,” exclaimed Polly, “it was wonderful! The rest of
us might have passed this boat a thousand times and never thought of
making it into a――an apartment!”
“Please, Polly dear,” Miss Comfort protested, “not an apartment! I want
it just what it is, a boat――my boat. You don’t think, do you”――she
appealed to Laurie――“that it would do to change the name? Of course the
_Pequot Queen_ is very pretty, but I would so like to call it after
grandfather’s ship there.” Her gaze went to the oil-painting on the
wall.
“Don’t see why not,” said Laurie. “All we’d have to do would be to
paint out the old name. What was your grandfather’s ship called, ma’am?”
“The _Lydia W. Frye_,” replied Miss Comfort raptly. “He named her after
my grandmother. She was one of the New Jersey Fryes.”
Laurie had a slight fit of coughing, which he recovered from so
abruptly, when he encountered Ned’s scowl, that he nearly choked. “A
nice name,” declared Ned sternly. “I’m sure we could change the letters
on the bow.”
“Oh, now I don’t believe I’d want you to go to all that trouble,” said
Miss Comfort. “I’ll just call it the _Lydia W. Frye_ to myself, and
that will do quite well. Now I’m going to give you some tea.”
There were some cookies and sweet crackers with it, and for these the
hostess apologized. She hadn’t had time to do any baking yet, she
explained, and Brose had got these at the store for her last evening.
To-morrow, however, she was going to get to work, for she had several
orders that just had to be filled at once. It was after the first
cup of tea――and it did seem that Miss Comfort’s tea was very, very
different from any other tea, tasting, as Ned put it, like _tea_
instead of leather――that Laurie looked inquiringly at his brother and
Ned nodded and the twins arose and stood with their backs to the door.
Then Ned bowed and announced: “Original poetical composition by the
Turner Brothers entitled――”
He paused and looked at Laurie. “What _is_ it entitled?” he demanded.
Laurie shook his head.
“We forgot to entitle it.”
“Entitled,” continued Ned, “entitled ‘Ode.’”
Polly clapped delightedly, and Bob inquired facetiously, “How much?”
The twins bowed in unison, and Ned recited the first line and Laurie
the second, after which they again alternated.
“O _Pequot Queen_, your stormy voyaging ’s o’er.
No more you’ll brave the wave’s and wind’s discomfort.
Here, nestled ’gainst a peaceful, kindly shore,
You’re parlor, bedroom, bath for our Miss Comfort!”
Applause was loud and prolonged. The twins bowed repeatedly, their
hands on their hearts, their eyes languishing gratitude on the
appreciative audience.
“Why,” exclaimed Miss Comfort, with the tone of one making a surprising
discovery, “it was poetry!”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Laurie defensively, “but we warned you!”
Miss Comfort looked a trifle puzzled until Polly laughingly assured her
that she mustn’t mind Laurie, that he was always saying silly things.
Whereupon the little lady said disapprovingly: “You mustn’t say that,
Polly. I’m sure Mr. Laurie isn’t _silly_. Sometimes I don’t quite
understand him, my dear, but I’m sure he isn’t _silly_!”
“You’re a perfect dear!” replied Polly rapturously.
Laurie had seized his cap and Mae’s umbrella. “Back in five minutes,”
he said from the doorway.
“Hold on! Where are you going?” demanded Ned.
“Got to see Brose Wilkins a minute about――about something.”
“Well, make it peppy,” said Ned. “We’re not going to wait for you long,
old son.”
Laurie’s five minutes was more like fifteen, but he returned at last
and they said good-by and were almost on their way when Miss Comfort
sent Laurie’s heart down toward his shoes. “Mr. Laurie,” she asked
apologetically, “I wonder if you’d mind stopping in to see me for a
minute to-morrow.”
“Why――why, no, ma’am,” stammered Laurie. “I’d be pleased to.” He
exchanged meaning glances with Polly. Then Polly asked: “Why don’t you
stay now, Laurie, if Miss Comfort would like you to? We’ll leave one of
the umbrellas.”
Laurie viewed her in strong disapproval but accepted the situation. “I
don’t need any umbrella, though,” he said sadly. “I’ve got my coat, and
it isn’t raining so hard now.” He and Miss Comfort watched the others
depart, and then she motioned to a chair.
“Won’t you sit down, please?” she asked. Laurie sat down, but on the
extreme edge of the chair as though to lessen the space between him and
the door. “You see,” Miss Comfort went on after a pause, “I’ve wanted
to ask you ever since Wednesday how you were doing all this, but I
didn’t like to when the others were around. Now I do wish you’d tell
me, please.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Laurie gulped. “What――was it you wanted to know, ma’am?”
“Why, who has――has met the expense of all the changes and improvements
you have made here, Mr. Laurie.”
“Oh,” said Laurie. “Oh! Well, you see, Miss Comfort, we haven’t done so
much after all. Now, you take that hanging lamp. Mrs. Deane had that
and wasn’t using it――”
“Yes, I know about the lamp,” interrupted Miss Comfort gently, “but
there’s that sink and the awning and――and so many, many things.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Laurie glanced longingly at the doorway. “Well, now,
you’d be surprised how little things like that cost. You take that
stove-piping, Miss Comfort. Maybe you thought that was new pipe, but
it wasn’t. It was second-hand. We just shined it up, you see!” Laurie
waved an all-encompassing hand. “Same way with the other things――more
or less.”
“That sink isn’t second hand, is it?” she asked.
“Well, no, ma’am, not the sink.” Laurie smiled engagingly. “But sinks
aren’t expensive. I was surprised, honest, I was, ma’am, when we got
the price on that! Why, seems like things don’t cost half what they did
a couple of years ago!”
“Mr. Laurie,” said Miss Comfort firmly, sitting very straight in her
chair and looking at him earnestly, “you shouldn’t try to deceive me. I
know that you and the others have spent a great deal of money, and I’d
feel horribly if I thought it was all yours. Now, please tell me.”
“Well――well, it’s like this. We did put in a few dollars, Miss
Comfort, but not enough to mention, and we were so glad to do it that
you oughtn’t to care a mite. Then――then two or three other folks,
grown-ups, you understand, wanted to help out, and there was quite a
good deal to be done, and so we took the money and promised not to
tell who’d given it. You see, Miss Comfort, they wanted to see you
comfortable here. And they were folks who could afford to do it, you
know. And so――well, that’s how it was,” Laurie concluded, observing
Miss Comfort anxiously.
“Thank you for telling me,” she said. “If you promised not to divulge
the names of the people who were so kind, I shan’t expect you to. After
all――” But she stopped and was silent a moment. Then, “I’ve always said
that I would never accept charity,” she went on musingly, “but――well, I
don’t know. Maybe I haven’t any right to be proud. Then, somehow, this
doesn’t seem so――so degrading. It seems more like――well, just kindness,
don’t you think so?”
“Yes, I do,” agreed Laurie emphatically. “And that’s just what it is,
ma’am.”
“I don’t feel about it as I would have a few years ago, anyhow,” said
Miss Comfort thoughtfully. Then she smiled. “Thanks for telling me,
Laurie. You don’t mind my calling you just that, do you? You’ve been
so――so―― _Won’t_ you have some more cookies?”
“No, ma’am, thank you.” Laurie felt that after going through the last
few minutes he deserved a whole plate of cookies, but he resisted
the temptation. Too many cookies weren’t good for a fellow who
hoped――sometimes――to be a catcher!
He was so relieved at the outcome of the talk that he didn’t realize
it was pouring harder than it had poured all day until he had turned
into Ash Street. When he did, he gave up the idea of joining the others
at the Widow’s and headed as straight as Orstead’s wandering streets
would let him head for East Hall, arriving there extremely wet despite
his oilskin coat. Sounds told him that many of the fellows had already
returned, and at the head of the first flight he encountered Elk
Thurston and his room-mate, Jim Hallock, coming down. Hallock said,
“Hello, Nod,” and then Elk asked: “How’s the great pitcher coming on?
Going to spring him on us pretty soon?”
Laurie said, “Not for another week or so, Elk,” and heard Elk laughing
as he and Jim went down.
A little later, when Ned and Kewpie arrived in No. 16, Laurie held
their undivided attention.
Monday morning and recitations once more. Monday afternoon and baseball
practice again. Things went well on the field, for the candidates for
the team had returned with renewed ambitions. Besides, there was a game
with Benson High School two days later, and that was something to work
for. Laurie managed to hit the ball on the nose every time he stood
at the batting-net, and later on, in the five-inning practice game,
he caught for an inning and, so far as he could discern, didn’t do so
badly.
Back in No. 16 at half-past five, he found Kewpie awaiting him, Kewpie
looking disheveled, weary, but triumphant. “I’ve got it!” he announced
excitedly before Laurie was well through the door. “I’ve got the hang
of it at last! That guy’s a corker, Nod, and he says I’ll know as much
about it as he does in another month!”
“Restrain your enthusiasm, Kewpie,” urged Laurie. “No use telling the
whole dormitory about it. These walls aren’t awfully thick, and I can
hear Elk tramping around up-stairs like a hippopotamus right now.” But
Laurie looked very much pleased and settled himself to hear Kewpie’s
gladsome tidings. And when Ned came in a little later he heard them
all over again, and after Kewpie had reluctantly torn himself away
the twins agreed that, even allowing for a slight exaggeration of the
facts as set forth by their late visitor, stock in the Association for
the Reclamation of Kewpie Proudtree had advanced many points. The next
afternoon the lady members of that association were also taken into the
secret, and there was much rejoicing.
Polly and Mae learned the news at Bob’s tennis tea, for that long
heralded affair was at last taking place. The court was finished and
marked, the new creamy-white net was up, and, near at hand, a wicker
table bore the paraphernalia of afternoon tea. Practice kept Laurie
away until well after five, and Kewpie was missing for a time, too, but
Ned and George Watson and Hop Kendrick and Hal Pringle and half a dozen
other boys were there from the start. The gentler sex was represented
by Polly, Mae, and Bob’s aunt, the latter presiding at the tea-table.
Bob beat George Watson, 6 to 4, in an exhibition set, and then Mae and
Hal Pringle played Polly and Hop Kendrick. After that there was tea
and sandwiches and cake, and then Bob took on Hal and Lee, and the
set went to 9 to 7 before Bob finally broke through on Hop’s service
and won. The court was all that Bob’s fondest hope had pictured. Mr.
Starling arrived before the party broke up and went through three games
with Mae to the delight of the audience, by that time swelled with the
arrival of Kewpie and Laurie.
Benson won from Hillman’s the next afternoon, 13 to 7. The home team
played rather ragged ball in the field, although the pitching of George
Pemberton and Nate Beedle was satisfactory enough. Nate relieved
Pemberton in the fifth inning, too late to prevent three runs that put
the visitors well in the lead. Laurie saw the game from the bench, for
Cas Bennett wore the mask from start to finish.
On Saturday afternoon Hillman’s met Tudor Hall School and played a much
steadier game. The Blue dislodged the opposing pitcher in the third
inning and put the game safely away with six runs. Later four more
were added, and the total of ten was more than enough to win, even
though Tudor Hall staged a rally in the first of the ninth and hit
Croft, who had succeeded Pemberton in the seventh, to all corners of
the field and got three runners across the plate before Pat Browne,
in right field, pulled down a fly and ended the fracas. Again Laurie
was a non-combatant, although Elk Thurston caught during the final two
innings and behaved rather well during that hectic ninth.
The following afternoon Ned, as self-appointed secretary and treasurer,
rendered an accounting of the _Pequot Queen_ fund, showing a balance
in the treasury of $1.42. All bills had been paid, and the question of
disposing of the balance came before the meeting. Kewpie’s suggestion
was typical.
“Pay it to Miss Comfort,” he said, “and we’ll trade it out in cake!”
“It isn’t ours,” Ned reminded him sternly. “Besides it’s not for you to
be thinking of cake, old dear.”
It was Polly’s suggestion that was finally adopted. They would give the
vast sum to Brose Wilkins to be used for the purchase of flower-seeds
for the boxes and beds. That momentous question settled, they set forth
to call at the _Pequot Queen_, or, as Laurie reminded them they should
now call the boat, the _Lydia W. Frye_.
April became May, and the Hillman’s School nine went on playing
Wednesday and Saturday games, losing not quite as often as it won.
Laurie twice donned the mask in contests and did as well, perhaps a
bit better, than he had expected to. He did very well at receiving the
ball from the pitcher, and he was remarkably steady at all times, but
he was weak when it came to holding the runners on bases, his heaves
to second being erratic, to say the least. At bat, however, he was
improving fast, and when May was a fortnight old there was not much to
choose between him and Elk Thurston as a catcher, although possibly the
latter’s greater age and size inspired more confidence. Perhaps Coach
Mulford thought so, for Elk was given more chances than Laurie behind
the bat.
When Hillman’s went to play Benson, most of the school accompanied
the team. Polly and Mae went, too, escorted by Ned and George Watson.
Hillman’s won, but not until the tenth inning, and then by 3 to 2. Nate
Beedle pitched fine ball that day. Hillman’s returned to Orstead tired
but happy.
Just a week later Polly celebrated her sixteenth birthday with a party
attended by Mae, Ned, Bob, Kewpie, and, since the affair was held in
the forenoon, Laurie. And, of course, Mrs. Deane was present. Miss
Comfort had been invited and in lieu of her presence had provided a
gorgeous birthday cake. Antoinette, wearing a new pink ribbon that
exactly matched her pink nose and ears, and Towser, the cat, may also
said to have attended. Polly received many presents and was very bright
of eye and very happy.
The celebration continued in the afternoon when the entire party
attended the game with Cole’s School, although, Laurie, of course,
did not sit with the others in the stand but watched the nine tragic
innings from the bench. Nate Beedle had a bad day; Croft, who succeeded
him, was far worse; and Pemberton alone of the pitching staff showed
any class. Pemberton got through the final two innings without allowing
a hit, but the damage was already done. Cole’s won by the scandalous
score of 16 to 3! Polly remarked, a trifle unreasonably, that she
thought, since it was her birthday, Hillman’s might have won!
Rain caused the cancellation of the game with Highland the next
Wednesday, and Laurie accompanied Kewpie on his mysterious pilgrimage
to the home of Brose Wilkins. Those pilgrimages had been made daily,
excepting Sunday for about a month now, and never once, rain or shine,
had Kewpie sought to avoid them. Whatever it was that kept the two
boys on the dilapidated Wilkins premises for more than an hour this
Wednesday afternoon, it must have been something important, for the
rain never ceased for a moment during that time, and, knowing Kewpie
as we do, it seems fair to assume that only an important mission could
have kept him from the snug window-seat of No. 15 East Hall on such a
day.
Returning, their way took them within a few yards of the _Pequot
Queen_. The river beyond looked gray and sullen; the rain was falling
steadily and remorselessly; the new paint of the transformed ferry boat
gleamed with moisture. But from the smoke-pipe in the roof a cheerful
trail of gray ascended, and at the windows the blue and white curtains
shone cozily. Once they saw the small, erect form of Miss Comfort,
white-aproned, pass a casement and, or so Kewpie solemnly averred,
heard the sound of a faintly sung song. There was such an atmosphere of
warmth and hominess and cheer about the quaint abode that Kewpie lagged
noticeably and would have welcomed a suggestion from his companion that
they stop a moment and say “Hello” to the occupant. But it was close
to supper-time and Laurie went sternly on, refusing to notice Kewpie’s
deep sigh.
They reached the entrance of the dormitory just as Ned got there.
Ned carried his golf-bag and was very wet indeed. Laurie viewed him
commiseratingly. “You poor forlorn fish,” he said. “Don’t tell me
you’ve been playing golf a day like this!”
“Sure have,” answered Ned cheerfully. “Won, too. Had Peyton three up on
the seventh, too, old son.”
“Well, you certainly are a nut! Didn’t either of you know it was
raining?”
“Didn’t you?” countered Ned. “Look at your own shoes!”
“We,” replied Laurie with dignity, “were engaged in a sensible and
important occupation, not merely amusing ourselves!”
“Were, eh?” Ned grinned. “What important part did you play in it?”
“I,” began Laurie, “contributed my――er――my――”
“He chased the ball,” chuckled Kewpie as he disappeared to No. 15.