[Illustration: SUTRO.]
There was some suspicion among the other dwellers at Santa Felisa that
Kentucky Bob had once been employed about a real circus, else how had
he acquired that intimate knowledge of the “rules and regulations of
the ring” which he so constantly quoted for their benefit or reproval?
Into this “ring” of theirs, the boxes, hurdles, and other such things
which the riders had been accustomed to use were soon gathered, and
the labor of arranging these gave a wholly pleasant diversion to their
feelings. A card of invitation, beautifully engrossed by a vaquero who
had passed from the halls of Harvard to the great solitudes of the
Sierras, was issued to Lord Plunkett, and a seat of honor erected for
him on the southern side of the campus, while a spreading canvas wall
on the north was to serve as a screen for the preparatory operations of
the various actors.
Needless to say, maybe, that having once been won over to the project
of an “extra show,” an enthusiastic determination was roused among the
Santa Felisans to make this farewell entertainment of their beloved
“mascot” eclipse everything which had ever gone before.
Nor did the interest end at this ranch; for mounted messengers were
dispatched to invite the people of the neighboring estates to be
present at the exhibition, and the invitations were as generally as
promptly accepted.
But, of course, all this preparation took time to accomplish, so the
hour had been appointed for one o’clock of the following day; and
during the interval Steenie’s thoughts were so full of the matter, her
tongue so busy discussing it, that she neither felt the time long nor
permitted others to do so.
Indeed, so affected was everybody by the pleasant excitement of
“getting ready,” that evening came before Lord Plunkett and his manager
were finally seated with their books before them and a secretary at
hand, to examine into the business which had brought them together.
Even then his lordship would gladly have waived the matter, had he been
allowed. “For ten years. No, twelve. Ship-shape. Paid well. Prompt.
What more, eh? I’m satisfied. Why not you?”
“But, my lord, I cannot be. Any new manager will have enough to learn,
even without all that I can do for him. It is a great responsibility;
and, my lord, I would respectfully suggest that in the future you visit
this part of your property oftener than once in a dozen years.”
“Hm-m! maybe; don’t know. Planned to stay a year now. Girl going away.
Give it up. Consider. She comes back; so ’ll I. Like her. Credit to
you; so’s the ranch.” Then the nobleman looked up as Sutro entered,
bringing the “new manager’s” card. “Hello, Mexican! Well, where?
Indigestion? Missed you. Say you’ve character? Born here? Eh? What?”
Sutro bowed profoundly, but a malicious grin overspread his wrinkled
face. “_En verdad!_ Thy Excellency honors his humble servant. Ten
thousand thanks. But the señor stranger is arrived.”
Mr. Calthorp rose and advanced carefully in the direction of the
door, extending his hand toward the new-comer, whom he immediately
presented to Lord Plunkett; and, while these gentlemen were exchanging
civilities, he turned sharply upon old Vives, whom he could hear
rustling about near him. “Where have you been so long, Sutro? We have
not seen you since dinner. His lordship has inquired for you several
times.”
“_Si?_ He does the least of his household too great respect,” answered
the Spaniard, with haughty accent.
“Come, come, Sutro, don’t be foolish! It would be wiser of you to
conciliate both him and the new ‘boss.’ They can easily turn you
adrift, and you are an old man. From the tone of your voice, I judge
that you are angry. That is senseless, and I am sorry. I wish to feel
that one as fond of my little daughter as you are will be quite happy
and comfortable when we are gone.”
“I bow myself in obligation to thee, Señor Calthorp,” responded the
old Castilian, servilely. But his mood was neither servile nor happy;
and, as the retiring manager turned once more toward his successor, he
sought the cozy corner of the office which Steenie called her own, and
where she sat by her pretty shaded lamp, sorting her picture-books.
“_Hola_, my Little Un! But I have put a thorn in his shirt, no? Trust
old Sutro!”
“How? What do you mean? And surely I can trust you to do ’most anything
hateful when you look such a way! What have you done now, Sutro Vives?
Tell me that!”
“Hi, hi, hi! maybe no. _Si?_ Dost thou wish to go from San’ Felisa to
the land of snow and ice and no sunshine? Answer thou me that!”
“You know I don’t wish it; but I must, that is all. But, wait, how do
you happen to know anything at all about it? You ran away directly
after dinner, and now you’ve just come in!”
“Pouf! thinkest thou an old caballero knows nothing but what a baby
tells him? I have known for--this--long--time all that has been planned
for the little señ’rita. _Si! Lo dicho dicho_ [what I have said I have
said].”
For a moment Steenie was silent, unable to answer this argument. Then
she cried triumphantly: “But you need not tell me that. A ‘long time’
may be from this very mid-day that ever was, but from no longer. Does
anybody at San’ Felis’ ever tell Sutro Vives secrets? In verity, no;
for Suzan´ says you are a sieve that holds nothing. At the _Natividad_,
poor dear old caballero, with a word they don’t want spoken? Why,
nobody. And if you’d known about my father’s eyes and all, you’d have
told me the very first minute! You would so, my Sutro, you couldn’t
have helped it!” clapping her hands.
It was the señor’s turn to look crestfallen. What his little lady
declared against him was quite true; but this had never prevented his
adopting an air of great mystery and secrecy whenever the slightest
occasion offered. Poor old Sutro Vives was not the only one in this
world bigger in his own estimation than in that of anybody else.
But he rallied as swiftly as she had done. “_Tente!_ what of that? He
will not stay at San’ Felisa--yes? In verity, no; I have taken care
about that.”
“Sutro, you look, you truly do look, naughty! What badness have you
been doing now, señor? Answer me that.”
“Is the truth badness? Then have I been bad,” retorted the other,
bridling. “I have told him the truth, this not-wanted, unmannerly,
new director-manager. Thou belongest to us,--to the vaqueros and
caballeros, and everybody who dwells at San’ Felisa. It is in thee the
‘good luck’ lives; and thou wilt never be allowed to go away from us,
so I tell thee! There will be mutiny, uprising; what Connecticut Jim
calls ‘strike.’ But go from Santa Felisa, thou? No!--a thousand times
_no_!”
Unperceived by them, Lord Plunkett had forsaken the other table and
the business talk, which he found tiresome, for that of the pair in
the cozy corner, which appeared to be interesting; and he had thrown
himself upon a lounge which the back of Steenie’s big chair hid from
view, to play the part of eavesdropper; only in this case it seemed
not ignoble, for the two animated disputants spoke quite loudly enough
to be heard by anybody in the room who had chosen to listen. He had,
therefore, enjoyed the whole dialogue, and he now leaned forward to
watch Steenie’s bright face and to catch her reply.
“But I answer you and Jim and everybody--yes! Where my father goes I
will go, and all this silly talk won’t stop me! Next Saturday morning,
Sutro Vives, the noisy black engine will stop at San’ Felisa station,
and Papa Calthorp and I will get into one of those big cars, and will
go whizz, away, away!--where you nor Bob nor Jim nor nobody can do
wicked, hateful things to the Little Un, never again!”
Wrought up by the pathos of her own picture, Steenie’s self-control
gave way at this juncture, and bounding toward her father, who seemed
at that moment to be a cruel enemy, and yet her only friend, she
astonished him by a torrent of tears and embraces which effectually
stopped all further conversation.
“Sutro!” called Mr. Calthorp, sternly.
“_Si_, señor; how can I serve thee?”
“Here, go with Miss Steenie and find Suzan´. Daughter, let me see no
more of this childishness. Such rebellion is unworthy of you and most
distressing to me. Good-night.”
Poor Steenie! her tears ceased instantly, and her grief turned to
anger. At that moment she felt that she had not a friend in the world,
and her proud little heart resented the apparent want of sympathy
she met with everywhere. With a very decided stamp of her little
boot-heels, she marched out of the room,--“eyes front, right face,” as
Bob would have commanded, though not in a spirit to be commended.
“_Lastima es_ [it is a pity], my Little Un!” cried old Sutro, hurrying
after his darling, only to have her turn fiercely upon him, and
order him to “keep his pity to himself. And I want no Suzan´! I want
nobody,--nobody at all!”
Ten minutes later a very wet and heated little face was buried in
the white pillows, and Steenie Calthorp had settled herself in bed,
convinced that she was the most ill-treated child in the world, and
resolved to enjoy her misery to the utmost. Only unfortunately for her
doleful plans, she was by nature very sunny and hopeful, and she was
also perfectly healthy. In about two winks she happened to think of
the next day’s “circus,” and before she knew it she was asleep, with a
smile upon her lips.
Suzan´ entered softly and stood by the bed for a moment, shading her
lamp with her hand and lovingly regarding the little maid. “Bless her
dear heart! she’s shed more tears this day than in all her little life
before. But she’s happy now,--happier ’n anybody else at San’ Felisa.
My, my! what’ll ever we do without the Little Un? But master, he’s
worried about her crying; though, sure, if he’d bothered less about
books and business, and more about his own pretty flesh and blood,
maybe his eyes’d a been better the now, poor man!”
Then she went away as gently as she had come; and when next Steenie
awoke, the brilliant California sunshine streaming in at her window was
not brighter than that within her own heart.
“Such a day, such a day! Will it ever come noon!”
“True. And all too soon, Miss Steenie, for that I’ve to do. Because,
what has his lordship done but give orders for a big feed for all the
people who are coming to see you show off?”
“To see--me, Suzan´? Why, not me, but all the boys. I’m not to do a
thing till the very last, Bob says; and then only just ride and drive
a little. Maybe they will get tired, and won’t stay till the end, so
I won’t get a chance to do anything; ’cause Bob says he’s ’ranged a
dreadful long program. I think that’s what he called it.”
“In verity, _querida_ [my darling]! I believe you are the only one
worth seeing, Lord Plunkett says. I heard one of the fellows giving
him some talk about you, and he kept rubbing his fat little hands,
and saying things so odd. Sounds like water coming out of a bottle.
‘Wonderful!’ ‘Strange!’ ‘Hm-m!’ ‘What?’ till I had to laugh. Think
of--him--for a lord! Much I care to read stories about ’ristocratics
any more! He hasn’t any ‘raving locks,’ nor ‘coal black eyes,’ nor
nothing. Isn’t half as handsome as a’most any of the boys.”
“Well, well! Never mind him! Hurry up with my hair, won’t you, please?
My! how you do pull! I wish my father’d let me wear it short, like his;
don’t you?”
“_Caramba!_ No. Your hair is the prettiest thing about you, except your
eyes, and maybe--”
“Stuff! who cares for pretty? If I had to twist my hair up in rags
every night, like you do, dear Suzan´, I’d be mis’able. But I s’pose
you can’t help it. You’re grown up. It must be dreadful to get grown
up, and as old as you are, poor, nice Suzan´!”
“_Si?_ Humph! And me only twenty-five my last birthday. If it was
Ellen, now--”
“Never mind Ellen. And I love you, dear Suzan´, if you are old; and
I’m sorry ever’ time I’m fidgety ’bout my hair. You won’t ’member it
against me, will you, after I’m gone? ’Cause I don’t mean any badness;
it’s only this quick temper and can’t-keep-stillness of mine. I just
want to run, run, or something, all the time. And keeping tidy, like my
father says, is a bother. There! you’ve done, haven’t you? Can I go?
Kiss me, Suzan´!”
Away danced Steenie, leaving her kind attendant feeling already
heavy-hearted in anticipation of the time when there would be no
restless little creature for her fond fingers to attire, and no little
outbursts of impatience to correct.
But presently, all other thoughts save those connected with the
immediate affairs of the day were banished by the tasks which Suzan´
found to do. There were chickens to roast, cakes to bake, biscuits by
the hundred to be made, and pies--such rows of pies! that the arms of
cook Ellen and her assistants, Win Sing and Lun Hoy, ached with the
rolling of pastry.
But they were not dismayed. Not they! Didn’t they always cook just as
much when the sheep were sheared, or the feast after the “roundup” was
held? A pity if Santa Felisa couldn’t respond to any demand made upon
her larder,--especially by order of her owner, a real live British lord!
So the great ovens were fired, both in the house-kitchen and in
the old adobe cooking-sheds outside; and a corps of white-aproned
helpers attended the roasting and stewing and baking of all the good
things which Mistress Ellen and her aids prepared. While under the
eucalyptus-trees bordering the arroyo, Suzan´ gayly directed the
spreading of the long tables that would seat, if need be, full two
hundred guests.
“Oh, isn’t it fun!” cried Steenie, darting about from one point to
another of the gay and busy scene; and always having in tow the
perspiring Lord Plunkett, who found no breath left for even his short
sentences, but contented himself by beaming graciously upon each and
every one he met.
“Tug an’ a canawl-boat!” said Bob, regarding the pair somewhat
jealously. “Don’t see why the Little Un need stick to him so closet,
even if he is a bloated lord!”
“Never you mind, Bob! Let the Little Un alone. Ain’t she happy? Ain’t
she a purty sight? Brim full o’ smiles an’ chipper as a wren? What more
do ye want?”
“Nothin’. But ’pears ter me she needn’t be so powerful glad ’bout
leavin’ us. I--don’t feel much like laughin’. And she’d oughter be
practisin’.”
“Don’t worrit. It’ll be all right. Little Un’s square. She won’t
ferget us, you bet! An’ she’ll do the ‘great act’ all the better fer
bein’ light-hearted. Land! I only hope them cold-blooded Easterners’ll
make her half as glad as she’s always be’n at San’ Felis’! But--ain’t
it gittin’ nigh dinner-time? Folks air beginnin’ ter come a’ready.
Understan’ the spread, general, ain’t ter be till afterwards?”
“No. An’ the one ’t carries off first prize is ter perside. Well. I
hope it’ll be our ‘Mascot.’ Do me prouder ’n if it was myself.”
“Me, too,” echoed his comrade, and departed to snatch a hasty luncheon.
At the same moment, Lord Plunkett announced, breathlessly: “I--I
can’t. Stop. Wait. Hungry. As--a--grizzly. Ever since--I came. Beats
everything. Appetite. Come. Eat.”
“Oh, you dear, funny man! However can you think about eating--now? Why,
I just want one o’clock to come so much I can’t wait!”
“Eh? What? Not afraid? Ride--same’s nobody here?”
“Why--yes,” answered Steenie, slowly, as this new idea presented
itself. “Why shouldn’t I? Indeed, I ought to do a great, great deal
better; ’cause I wouldn’t like to dis’point dear old Bob. Nor you,” she
added politely.
“Hm-m. Bob first. Then--me. Hm-m. You’re no--Anglomaniac. See that.
Plain.”
“Wh-a-t, sir?” asked the little girl, astonished by the long, strange
word he had used.
“No matter. Nice child. Spunky--but good. The way I like them. See
here?” He held up a small purse in which were displayed six glittering
double eagles. “Prizes. Eh? Win ’em? Highest--three; next--two;
last--one.”
But Steenie was a little California girl, and her eyes were not dazzled
by the sight of gold. Of its intrinsic value she had no idea; for in
the course of her short life she had had no occasion to use any money.
The prizes, therefore, represented nothing to her beyond themselves;
and as playthings she did not care for them.
“Are they? Then I hope the boys will get them all. ’Specially Jim. He’s
got a mother, an’ she’s got a consumption, or something. And he’s going
to bring her out to live in California, sometime. It’s ter’ble cold
where she stays now, my father says; and he ’vises Jim to fetch her.
They’re money; and they would help, wouldn’t they?”
“Hm-m. Yes. And you--don’t want them?”
“If he can’t win them I do. I’d rather he’d get them himself, ’cause
he’s so pleased when he beats anybody; but if he can’t--why, I will--I
hope. Now I know ’bout them, he must have them.”
“Hm-m,” said Lord Plunkett again, grimly. “Oddest child. Like her.
Immensely.”
“Steenie!” called Mr. Calthorp; and she darted toward him. “Are you
sure that you wish to ride in this exhibition, darling? Are you timid?
Because there are a great many here, it seems; and you need not if you
do not like. It will be different from an ordinary occasion.”
“But I do wish, Papa dear, if you don’t mind; because Bob would break
his heart if I didn’t. He told me so. And I’m going to win, too. Then
I’ll get a lot of money to give poor old Jim, for his mother. Yes, yes!
I want to ride! And I will--win!”