beginning already to feel the prickles run up and down his legs, from
sitting still so long, and wishing for nothing so much as a good scamper;
"they're both as horrid as they can be."
"Oh, Joel!" exclaimed Mrs. Sterling, quite crestfallen.
"Well, propose something yourself, then, Joe," said his next neighbor, with
a nudge.
"Oh, I can't," said Joel, quite horrified; "I don't know anything that we
can write down."
Jack leaned over and whispered in his ear.
"The very thing!" cried Joel, slapping his knee. And, "Tell it yourself,
Jack," in the next breath.
"Oh, no, no," protested Jack, shrinking as far back in his chair as he
could, and getting very red in the face.
"I very much wish you would, Jack," said Mrs. Sterling. And she looked at
him in such a way, that Jack although he had wild thoughts of taking a
flying leap out of his chair, and off to the small grocery shop,
nevertheless stuck to it manfully and at last found his tongue.
"We might cut out pictures that spell the names of books," he said.
"Capital!" said Mrs. Sterling.
"Well, those are puzzles," said Frick.
"Well, not like the ones you meant," said Joel, leaning back of Jack to
bestow a punch. "Do be still," he added furiously.
"But mine would be puzzles, anyway," declared Frick, unwilling to give up
the point.
"Well, we'd much rather have these, anyway," said Curtis Park, projecting
himself into as much of the circle as possible. "Who cares for your old
puzzles, Frick?"
"Boys--boys," said Mrs. Sterling gently.
"Beg pardon," said Curtis. "But we really do want these that Jack has just
proposed, Mrs. Sterling. At least I do, and I'd give up conundrums to have
them; so please let us have these."
"How is it, Frick?" asked Mrs. Sterling. "Do you give up your puzzles in
favor of our making Jack's pictures?"
Frick wriggled in his chair; he wanted his puzzles dreadfully, and he
couldn't see, since he had proposed them first, why he shouldn't carry the
day, but every boy was looking at him sharply, so he mumbled, "Yes."
It was Jack who settled it happily after all.
"Let's have one of his"--bobbing his head at Frick--"and a conundrum," and
he looked over and smiled at Curtis, "then one of mine after that. Won't
that do, ma'am?"
"Well, now, Jack, you've fixed it cleverly," said Mrs. Sterling, much
relieved. "Get your pencils all ready while Gibson goes into my bedroom and
brings out the pile of magazines, and we'll have such a lovely evening of
work. You know you must each select pictures, and each write a puzzle, and
each give a conundrum; then they must be read aloud and we will choose the
very best ones to send. Now then "--as Gibson deposited her armful of
magazines on the little stand, and laid several pairs of scissors on the
top of the pile--"let us all set about it."
Then what a whirling of leaves and snipping of paper, because they all
decided they would begin on Jack's first.
"Can't we have some mucilage?" asked Joel.
"Yes, indeed," said Mrs. Sterling. "Gibson, will you get----"
Boom, boom, clang, clang, clang! It was the fire-bell, loud and clear and
strong. Down went all the scissors, and a whole litter of papers to the
floor, and the magazines sprawled every way, as each boy sprang out of his
chair.
"Gibson," said Mrs. Sterling faintly.
"Now, you boys," cried Gibson, hurrying in, her cap strings flying in her
perturbation, "don't you know no better than to jump up like that?"
"Gibson--Gibson," said Mrs. Sterling reprovingly, but she laid her hand on
her heart.
"It's a fire!" cried Joel, with very red cheeks, whirling around from the
window where the mass of boys was pressed.
"Well, is that any reason why you should act so and scare the mistress to
death?" said Gibson sharply.
"We didn't scare her," said Joel bluntly; "it was the fire."
"Well, we must go," declared little Porter Knapp, struggling out from the
knot of boys, who, all bigger and stronger, were pinning him against the
window most uncomfortably.
"Oh, he mustn't," Mrs. Sterling said, in alarm.
"His father wouldn't like it at all; he was to stay here until he was sent
for."
"It's a fire!" exclaimed Porter, kicking dreadfully, and his face getting
red, "and I _shall_ go!"
The other boys, just on the edge of saying the same thing, now stood quite
still. Every nerve was quivering to be off to the fire, which, from all
appearances, must be a splendid one. The bells were clanging fast and
furiously, hoarse cries were heard, as if raised from hundreds of throats,
and now, to add to the general melee, an engine dashed around the corner.
They could hear the mad plunge of the horses, the shouts of the people; and
then off in the distance, yet approaching nearer each instant, was another
and evidently a more powerful one, the horses at a mad gallop. It was too
much for any boy to stand.
"You see we _must_ go." Curtis Park went over to the sofa, and said
this hoarsely. "He's a baby"--pointing to Porter--"and he's got to stay
here, but we big boys must go."
Mrs. Sterling looked up, and her face grew white. "But your fathers
wouldn't wish you to go, I am quite sure," she said.
Curtis turned away his face, but his teeth were set. "I'm going," he said
briefly.
Jack Parish's head spun, and he clenched his hands. Why had he come to this
sick woman's house! If he were only out in the free, open air, he'd go in a
flash. His father let him run to fires, and it wouldn't be many minutes
before he'd be in the thick of it. He'd make a break and run!
But how white she looked as she laid her head on the pillow. Like it or
not, there he was in her house, an invited guest; and she'd been so kind to
him and sent him the first invitation he'd ever had. He opened his hard
fists and closed them tighter than ever. Curtis Park was now at the head of
the stairs. Having decided, he was bolting off. Little Porter Knapp was
engaged in kicking Gibson, who was detaining him by the end of his jacket,
and screaming wrathfully and slapping her hands. The other boys, most of
them making up their minds to follow Curtis, were watching proceedings.
Jack strode off to Curtis. "See here," he said, "we ought not to go, don't
you know?"
Curtis turned on him in a towering passion. "You let me alone, you grocer's
boy, you! What business is it of yours?"
"I may be a grocer's boy," said Jack, feeling himself wonder fully cool, as
the other's anger raged, "but I know something of good manners, p'raps, and
we're scaring that lady to death."
Curtis Park was dreadfully proud of his manners, and he would have stopped
there, but as it again occurred to him that this was the son of a grocer
who was setting up to be an authority, he cried angrily:
"You're a great one to teach me manners," and he dashed down the stairs and
was out of the house.
"I wish I'd stopped him," said Jack to himself. "Hello, here's the whole
mob"--as all the boys except Joel and David, and of course Porter, now
plunged out to do the same thing. "No, you don't." He squared up in front
of the staircase. "Not one of you goes down there."
They brought up with a gasp. At that instant a cheery voice in the hall
below rang out:
"Hello, boys; I knew you were to be here tonight. Don't you want to come
with me to the fire?" It was Hamilton Dyce to whom the voice belonged.
And in five minutes Hamilton Dyce set forth, with Mrs. Sterling's complete
approval; a string of boys in his wake, including little Porter, who was
parted from Gibson only on her hearing her mistress say, "Yes, indeed, he
can go; but do look out for him."
Mr. Dyce nodded over to her couch. "Come on, you little rascal"--to
Porter--"you stick close to me or--" he didn't finish the sentence.
Gibson, pale, and shaking in every limb, but seeing no reason to regret
that she had hung on to little Porter's jacket, sank into a chair, and
simply looked at her mistress.
"Nevertheless," said Mrs. Sterling, with a long breath, and beginning to
smile, "I am very glad those boys were here to supper."
If her mistress could smile, it wasn't so very black and dreadful after
all, and Gibson came enough out of her gloom to mutter, "But look at this
room," and she waved her hands in despair.
"Oh, that's nothing," said Mrs. Sterling cheerfully, and then she laughed
outright as she glanced around at the effects of the tumult. "Gibson, come
here a minute."
The old serving-woman crept out of her chair, and went over to the sofa.
"Do you know"--Mrs. Sterling took her arm and pulled her gently down to a
level with the face on the pillow, and her soft eyes twinkled--"it really
seems good to see such a muss for once in my life: you do keep me so
immaculately fine, Gibson."
"Oh, mistress!" breathed Gibson, aghast.
"And to think I have had boys, actually young life here in this room." Mrs.
Sterling raised herself suddenly to rest on one elbow.
"Mistress--mistress," implored the alarmed Gibson, with restraining hands,
"you'll hurt yourself."
"No, I shan't," protested Mrs. Sterling, her eyes beaming, and going on
resolutely, "and just to think of boys being here!"--she looked around the
room with a sudden affection--"and liking it--for they did, Gibson, they
surely did, until the fire started. Oh, it is perfectly beautiful!"
"Well, do lie back, mistress," begged Gibson, thumping up the pillows
invitingly, "else those dreadful creatures will finish you entirely."
"Don't say so," cried Mrs. Sterling laughingly, "and I will be good," and
she settled back comfortably into her accustomed place. "Yes, Gibson, I
have my young folks now, the same as other people," she added proudly. "You
needn't try to fix up the room yet; you may finish the story you were
reading to me last night."
She had to turn her face on the pillow, for the smile would come, at the
picture of Gibson, the immaculate, sitting down calmly in the midst of the
awful effects of the tumult that had so vexed her soul.
She had her young people, there was no manner of doubt after that. And
though the exit from their evening's excitement was not again made to the
clang of the fire-bell, all the subsequent visits held fun and jollity, and
quiet enjoyment, and everything else that was delightful, mixed up
together.
And the Comfort committee had so much pleasure out of the whole thing, that
one evening little Porter looked up from his laborious pasting, whereby a
joke from a funny paper was going down for the sick boy's amusement.
"I wish some one else would get hurt," he said abruptly, without stopping
to think.
"Oh, you beggar!" It was Curtis Park who turned on him, though every boy
had glanced up in surprise.
"We can't have such fun," said Porter, waving his sticky hands in both
directions, "unless they do," and he twisted uncomfortably in his chair, as
he realized the effect of his words.
"Well, we must think of somebody else to help with our Comfort committee,"
said Mrs. Sterling from her sofa. "Don't worry, Porter, we won't let
ourselves die out for want of work. Boys--" She looked at them suddenly,
and raised herself on her elbow, Gibson over in her watchful corner
trotting across in great apprehension.
"Mistress--mistress," she began.
"There are ever so many young people who are hurt and sick and distressed
and are taken right out of life." She was gazing at them now with eyes that
were large and dark and shining.
"But we don't know them," burst out Joel Pepper, for she seemed to expect
somebody to answer.
"No, but they need you."
"Mistress--mistress," begged Gibson, hanging over her.
"And if you do the work after Lawrence doesn't need it, and he is here with
us, well and happy once more, I will see that some sick or unhappy boy gets
it."
Joel Pepper hopped out of his chair, upsetting the mucilage bottle, seeing
which, Gibson left her mistress to reach the table in time to save a
disaster.
"Will you--will you?" he cried, running over to the sofa. "Will you give
our things, if we make them, to some poor sick boys who are hurt, Mrs.
Sterling?"
"I surely will, Joel," promised Mrs. Sterling, taking his two brown hands
in her thin one.
"Then I'm going to make things," declared Joel, who never in his life
before had been willing to sit still and cut out and snip and paste and
write, and he plunged back to his seat. "Oh!" he cried, in dismay, and his
face grew terribly red, "did I upset that?"--pointing to the mucilage
bottle.
"You surely did," said Gibson tartly, and taking up the last of the sticky
mess with a wet towel, "and I suppose you'll do it again, or some of the
rest of you boys will. It don't make much difference which," and she moved
off slowly.
"Gibson--Gibson," said Mrs. Sterling gently.
"Oh, Gibson!" Joel flew after her and twitched her apron string.
"What is it?" She turned on him with asperity. "I never will upset the
mucilage bottle again, I won't, Gibson, really."
"See that you don't," replied Gibson, moving off with small faith in such
promises.
And another promise had that very evening been made, just before the boys
had gathered in Mrs. Sterling's handsome sitting-room.
Curtis Park had been through several spasms of distress over his attack on
Jack, when, whirling around from the friendly attitude he had chosen to
assume, he had made a tirade on the grocer's son. Look at it whichever way
he might, it didn't seem pleasant to view. And all the delight in the fire
and the companionship of Mr. Dyce, of whom all the boys were exceedingly
fond, was suddenly blotted out. He went home that night, and crept into
bed, a most disconsolate boy.
"I was a beastly cad," he fumed, kicking the covering down to the foot, and
rolling out with the vain attempt to find some diversion. But that being
impossible, he tumbled in again, with his unhappy thoughts.
And all through the following days, go whichever way he might, there was
the fact to stare him in the face, that he, Curtis Park, who had hitherto
prided himself upon his fine manners, had dropped from his height, to
blackguard a boy, who, despite the fact of having been born the son of a
little grocer on Common Street, had yet shown himself capable of the
height.
"It's no use to deny it. I've been a bully and a cad," he groaned, and
wiped the perspiration from his face. "What can I do!"
There was only one way, and he knew it, just as well at first as after all
the fencing with himself that ensued the next few days. And at last on this
very evening, he stopped fighting the idea, and marched up to what it
suggested, like a man.
"See here, will you, though I shouldn't think you'd want to speak to me."
It was a boy who said this to Jack standing on the step of the grocer's
front door, next to the shop.
"Hey?" said Jack, in a great bewilderment. Was that really Curtis Park,
whose rap on the door had announced him?
"Oh, it's no use to deny, Jack," said Curtis, speaking rapidly and
desperately, "that I've been a cad--a mean, low cad--to talk to you in that
way. It's done, and can't be helped now, only I want you to know what I
think of it."
Jack swallowed hard. He was going to put out his hand, but luckily thought
in time, This is Curtis Park.
"I don't wonder you won't shake hands with me," said Curtis, who saw the
movement. "I'm no end sorry; and perhaps sometime, Jack, why, you will."
Jack's brown hand shot out so swiftly it nearly knocked the other boy from
the doorstep.
"It's all right," he said heartily.
"And you will never have another chance to call me a cad, I promise you,"
declared Curtis, wringing it. "Come on now, Jack"--hooking him by the
arm--"it's time to go to Mrs. Sterling's; this is the evening, you know."
And the boys who had begun to think they had made a mistake in supposing
that Curtis Park had taken a fancy to Jack Parish, were pushed back into
their first conviction by seeing them come into the meeting of the Comfort
committee arm in arm.
XXVII
A PIECE OF GOOD NEWS
Polly Pepper ran down the steps of Miss Taylor's house, and set off at a
lively pace on the pavement. Presently she came to an abrupt stop. "Oh, how
could I forget, Mamsie wouldn't like me to run in the street," she thought
remorsefully. And this took away some of the glad little thrills running
over her.
When she got to Mrs. Cummings' very select boarding-house on the avenue,
there was Miss Rhys at the window of her room, looking up from her
embroidery. When she saw Polly Pepper, she smiled.
"Oh, it's you, Polly; I'm glad to see you."
"Is Alexia there?" called Polly, looking up, and feeling her lovely bit of
news dancing within her again, so that she could hardly control her
impatience. "Do tell her to come out, please, Miss Rhys."
"She isn't here. She went down-town."
Miss Rhys laid her precious work in her lap, and put her face close to the
window screen. "Her candy wasn't a success, and she's gone down for more
confectioner's sugar."
"Oh, dear me!" exclaimed Polly, quite gone in distress over the failure of
the candy, and feeling very helpless in the fact that there was no one to
tell her news to, for of course Alexia must be the first one to hear it.
"Which way did she go, Miss Rhys?"--lifting a troubled face to the window
above.
"I don't know," said Miss Rhys absently, her mind on her embroidery, and
very much wishing she could return to it. "She was going to your house, I
know, for one thing, on her way down."
"Oh, she couldn't have gone there," cried Polly, "for I should have met her
on the way."
"So you would," assented Alexia's aunt, wondering whether the bunch of
grapes should be filled in solid, or worked with the mixed stitch that she
had seen in a shop. "Well, then, I think on her way back she was going to
see you, Polly."
"Then, I am going to run down and meet her," declared Polly, with a long
breath. "Was it Pennsey's where she was going for the sugar, Miss
Rhys?"--pausing a moment.
"Yes," said Miss Rhys, turning back with a sigh of relief to her embroidery
again, while Polly hurried off, wishing that she was a boy, when it would
be quite proper for her to run through the streets.
"Oh, if it were only Badgertown!" she sighed to herself, thinking of the
many happy runs she had enjoyed down the lane to Grandma Bascom's cottage,
or over across the fields to the parsonage. "Dear me!"--when a voice,
"Polly Pepper, Pol--ly Pepper!" called after her. She looked back, and
there, with the window screen up, and her face thrust well forward, was
Alexia's aunt, loudly summoning her.
When she saw that Polly heard, and had turned back, she beckoned smartly
with her long fingers, on which shone, as Alexia had once said, "all the
rings the Rhys family had ever owned," drew in her head, and waited till
Polly came up under the window again.
"Oh, Polly, it's just this--how fortunate you hadn't gotten far. I want you
to tell Alexia to get me some more green floss at Miss Angell's."
"Yes, Miss Rhys," said Polly, with a dismayed remembrance just how far it
was to the little shop where the very latest patterns and materials for
fancy work could be obtained, and the first supper of the Cooking Club to
be given to-night!
"And stay, Miss Angell may send me up some more patterns to choose from;
that is, if she has had any new ones since I was there last week, and I
presume that she has."
Polly could only utter, "Yes, Miss Rhys," so very faintly it could scarcely
be heard. Dear me! and it was three o'clock already, and all that candy to
be made over again!
She crept off on very dismal feet, till she reflected it wouldn't help
matters any to lose heart, and so she set forward at a brisk pace again.
Miss Rhys pushed down the window screen and set to work with a complacent
smile at the prospect of having her errand performed so nicely.
"That's the good of having young people around," she said; "it's so
convenient at times to get one's errands done."
Polly went the whole length of North Street to the great establishment of
Pennsey's, where the avenue people traded. But search as she might, up one
aisle and down another, there was no trace of Alexia; and inquiring of a
clerk at the sugar department, if she had been there, he whipped his pencil
out from behind his ear, and picked up his order pad before he stopped to
think.
"She's just gone," he said. "Yes, madam"--all attention to the next
customer.
Polly hurried on rapid feet. It was half-past three by the big central
clock as she went down the main aisle--well, she must hurry home, for
Alexia was probably on her way there, as Miss Rhys had said, when, "Dear
me, Polly Pepper, wait!" struck her ear.
She turned, and there before an opposite counter was Alexia, picking up her
package of sugar and preparing to race after her.
"I'm getting some more nuts," she said; "my candy was perfectly horrid, and
everything was spoiled."
"Yes, I know," said Polly, coming up close to comfort as much as possible,
for Alexia had a very long face on, and looked as if it would take a good
deal to cheer her up. "How can I tell her about that dreadful green floss
and those patterns?" said Polly over and over to herself. "I must wait till
we get out on the street."
But when the two girls were outside the shop, Polly carrying the bundle of
nuts tucked under her arm, it was just as bad, and she put it off until the
corner was reached down which they must turn to go to Miss Angell's. And
worst of all, they were hurrying on so fast the lovely bit of news must be
postponed.
"How glad I am, Aunt didn't take it into her head to send me spinning off
down there!" observed Alexia, glancing down the long thoroughfare with
anything but a pleasant expression on her long face. "I just hate that Miss
Angell's shop. Goodness me! we never could do it, with all this candy to
make, and get our Club supper to-night."
Polly stopped short, and seized Alexia's arm. "Oh, don't feel badly!" she
gasped, and then, thinking, "It's better to have the whole out at once,"
she finished in one breath, "Your aunt wants some green floss, Alexia."
"Well, she shan't have it," declared Alexia, stopping short, too, and
glaring at Polly over her bundle of sugar. "No, indeed!" and her pale eyes
grew very angry. "The very idea! she's always wanting green floss, every
single minute. Come on, Polly Pepper." She set her face straight ahead and
marched on. But not hearing Polly following, she looked over her shoulder,
and then ran back. "Why don't you come on? I shan't get that old green
floss"--all in one breath.
"We can get there in a few minutes perhaps," said Polly, "Alexia, do let us
hurry," and, turning down the corner, without so much as a glance backward,
she went swiftly on, without trusting herself to look down the long street.
"I shan't get that old green floss," declared Alexia wrathfully, standing
quite still on the corner, yet, as Polly kept steadily on, showing no
intention of stopping, she pattered after. But she kept saying, every step
of the way, "I shan't get that old green floss, Polly, _wait!_"
But it was not until the door of Miss Angell's shop was reached that the
two girls came together.
"It's a hateful mean shame," exploded Alexia, huddling up her bundle of
sugar passionately. "There, I've punched a hole with my thumb; see what
you've made me do."
Polly turned around in dismay, to see a little trail of fine sugar drifting
from the package down over Alexia's gown.
"Oh, dear me!" she exclaimed, in dismay. "I'll help you; stand still,
Alexia, do; it's all running out."
"Well, you made me," cried Alexia, whirling around and wildly patting the
bag in just the wrong places, so that the stream of sugar became now quite
big.
"Do stand still, Alexia," implored Polly; "here, I'll pinch it up," She set
down her bundle of nuts on the top step, which a lady, not seeing, came out
of the shop, and promptly fell over.
"Oh, dear me!" exclaimed Polly, in terror, and running down the steps. "Did
you hurt you? Oh, I'm so sorry!"--clasping her hands and looking the
picture of distress. Then she saw it was Mrs. Patterson, a friend of Auntie
Whitney's.
"No," said the lady tartly, getting up to her feet to draw a long breath
and gaze up and down the street. "Why, Polly Pepper!"--bringing her gaze
upon the flushed face.
"Are you sure you are not hurt, Mrs. Patterson?" Polly looked at her
anxiously. Oh, dear me! how could she be so careless!
"Not a bit of it," declared that lady, "but, oh, Polly, do you suppose any
one saw me?" and she gazed ruefully up and down the street again.
"I don't believe any one did," said Polly, peering this way and that.
"Polly, do come; this sugar is all running away," cried Alexia loudly.
"And do let me brush your gown," implored Polly, feeling as if everything
were going wrong this afternoon.