Transcriber's Note: Italic text is denoted by _underscores_ and bold
text by =equal signs=.
TRIF and TRIXY
BY
JOHN HABBERTON
AUTHOR OF "HELEN'S BABIES."
A STORY OF A
DREADFULLY DELIGHTFUL
LITTLE
GIRL AND HER
ADORING AND
TORMENTED PARENTS,
RELATIONS,
AND FRIENDS
Philadelphia
HENRY ALTEMUS
1897
COPYRIGHT, 1897, BY HENRY ALTEMUS
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
CHAPTER I. A BABE IN THE HOUSE IS A WELL-SPRING OF PLEASURE. 3
CHAPTER II. A TRANSACTION IN COTTON. 12
CHAPTER III. UNAPPRECIATED. 21
CHAPTER IV. IN CHARGE OF EACH OTHER. 29
CHAPTER V. A SURPRISE. 39
CHAPTER VI. ALL BY CHANCE. 49
CHAPTER VII. MORE REVELATIONS. 58
CHAPTER VIII. A SNATCH AT TIME'S FORELOCK. 68
CHAPTER IX. MISPLACED CONFIDENCE. 77
CHAPTER X. A SCRAP OF PAPER. 86
CHAPTER XI. OFF THE SCENT. 94
CHAPTER XII. THE SEARCH PARTY. 104
CHAPTER XIII. A PLAN OF CAMPAIGN. 112
CHAPTER XIV. THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE. 120
CHAPTER XV. THE UNEXPECTED. 128
CHAPTER XVI. COWARDS BOTH. 137
CHAPTER XVII. THE COURAGE OF JOY. 145
CHAPTER XVIII. THE WOOING O' IT. 154
CHAPTER XIX. THE MISSING GUEST. 163
CHAPTER XX. A BLISSFUL WEEK. 171
CHAPTER XXI. APRIL SHOWERS. 179
CHAPTER XXII. "THEY TAKE NO NOTE OF TIME." 187
CHAPTER XXIII. "BEYOND THE DREAM OF AVARICE." 195
CHAPTER XXIV. TRICKS UPON TRIXY. 203
CHAPTER XXV. THREE BLIND MICE. 211
CHAPTER XXVI. THE OTHER COUPLE. 219
CHAPTER XXVII. THREE DAYS GRACE. 227
CHAPTER XXVIII. THAT SURPRISE. 235
HENRY ALTEMUS' PUBLICATIONS. 243
CHAPTER I.
A BABE IN THE HOUSE IS A WELL-SPRING OF PLEASURE.
Trixy was not a babe, for she had passed her seventh birthday and was
as wise and irrepressible as the only child of a loving father and
mother usually becomes. Her parents and relations continued to allude
to her as "the baby," and they might still be doing so had not certain
of her deeds checked them, and compelled them to restrict themselves to
her rightful name, which was Beatrice, and to her nickname, which was
Trixy.
Trif was Trixy's mother, and did not entirely approve of the name by
which she was oftenest addressed, for "Trif" seemed to imply something
trifling, while the real Trif was a young matron as handsome and proud
as Diana, and as good and earnest as the saintly Roman woman Tryphosa,
for whom she was named. (All this must be true, because Trif's husband,
Phil Highwood, said so and continues to say it.)
Whether she laughed or wept, dressed or dusted, joked or prayed, Trif
did it with all her might; so it was not strange that her little
daughter was a very active and earnest creature from the instant at
which she first opened her baby lips to announce her appearance upon
the earthly stage.
Besides, Trixy's father was one of the conscientious and nervous
fellows who are always wondering what to do next, always anxious to do
exactly what is right, always trying to do friendly services to other
people, and frequently blundering horribly in the attempt; so there was
double reason for what Trif called "dear Trixy's peculiarities" and
other people alluded to as "that child's awful doings."
Trif and Trixy lived far up town on the west side of New York. The
husband of the one and the father of the other lived there too,
although he is of minor consequence in this veracious narrative, for
the neighbors and tradesmen knew him best as "that little terror's
father," or "Mrs. Highwood's husband," and he was modest enough and
proud enough to be satisfied to be known in this way.
With the family lived Trif's sister, Tryphena Wardlow, known best to
her friends as Fenie--a charming and exuberant girl who thought her
sister Trif the most perfect woman alive, was sure that Trixy was the
embodiment of all the baby angels in heaven, and declared that she
never, never, never would think of marrying until some man as simply
perfect as her brother-in-law, Phil Highwood, should ask her, and
as that seemed impossible she had determined, at the mature age of
twenty years, to remain single forever, yet never become that dreadful
creature called "an old maid."
Fenie had no lack of suitors, old and young, for all men like handsome
girls who are also good, merry and accomplished; besides common report
had it that Fenie and her sister drew between them five thousand
dollars a year from the estate of their New England parents. Common
report had set the figure about ten times too high, but never took the
trouble to correct the mistake, so Fenie was the most attractive young
woman of the vicinity, and many were the times when a merry evening
which had been planned by Phil, Trif, Fenie, and Trixy, was spoiled by
the appearance of some male visitor who had to be treated civilly, and
who couldn't tear himself away from the witchery of Fenie's face and
voice.
There was one young man, Harry Trewman, whom Fenie seemed rather
to like, and whom Trif and Phil, with their larger knowledge of
human nature, wished their sister could like still more, for he was
intelligent, modest, and seemed to have many virtues and no vices. They
talked much about him when they were alone--alone except for Trixy,
who was always so competent to amuse herself and to be absorbed by her
books and dolls and her own thoughts that she seemed deaf to anything
that was being said, for it generally took half a dozen separate and
distinct remarks to make her change her dress, or wash her hands, or go
to bed.
The doorbell rang one evening while the family still lingered at the
supper table, and the servant brought a card to Fenie.
"Oh, dear!" exclaimed the girl with a pout. "Here comes Harry Trewman,
just as we were going to have a jolly game of parchesi with the baby.
I do think that callers might remain at home on stormy nights, when a
girl hasn't taken the pains to dress for company. That young man needs
a lesson. He has sisters and they ought to teach him that ladies don't
expect calls on stormy nights."
"It won't take you long to change your dress, dear," suggested Trif.
"No, but--"
"'Be not unmindful to entertain strangers, for thereby some have
entertained angels unawares,'" quoted Phil, as he quartered a second
orange for Trixy.
"Angels--umph!" exclaimed Fenie. "Harry Trewman doesn't resemble
any angel of whom I ever saw a picture. He's no stranger either,
goodness knows; he's been here at least once a week for a long time.
You shouldn't ever quote Scripture, Phil, unless the application is
entirely correct."
"Very well, then; 'Flee from the wrath to come.' Nothing makes Trif so
provoked as delay in greeting a visitor."
"Poor little Trixy. Her game will have to be put off," murmured Fenie
as she rose from the table and kissed her niece.
"Never mind me," said Trixy, from behind a kiss and a mouthful of
orange. "The game will keep, but Mr. Trewman won't, if you don't be
more careful."
"Won't keep?" exclaimed Fenie, with a frown at the child and a
suspicious glance at the remainder of the family.
"Trixy!" exclaimed Trif in her most severe tone, while Phil put another
section of orange into the child's mouth and his hand over her lips,
while Trif continued:
"Go along, Fenie. Change your dress quickly; I'll run up stairs and
help you."
"And I," said Trixy, after a struggle with the orange and her father's
hand, "I'll entertain Mr. Trewman till you come down."
Three adult smiles were slyly exchanged as the child assumed an air
of importance, tumbled out of her high-chair and started toward the
parlor, while her mother and aunt slipped up the back stairway and Phil
buried his face in the evening paper.
"Good evenin', Harry," said the little maid, as she bounced into the
parlor.
"Oh, Trixy!" exclaimed the young man rising in haste. "How do you do,
little girl? I'm very much obliged to you for calling me Harry. It
sounds as if you rather liked me."
"So I do," replied Trixy. "I s'pose I ought to have said 'Mr. Trewman,'
but papa and mamma and Aunt Fee always calls you 'Harry' when they talk
about you, so I said it without thinkin'."
"Oh, they do, eh?" Mr. Trewman's clear complexion flushed pleasurably
and his moustache was twirled thoughtfully. If the family talked of him
familiarly, there seemed special reason for him to hope.
"Yes, they do it lots. I get sick of it sometimes, 'cause I want to ask
'em somethin', and mamma says I mustn't ever interrupt grown people
when they're talkin', so I can't ask it, and afterward maybe I forget
what I was going to ask, and that bothers me like ev'rythin'."
"You poor little sufferer!" exclaimed the young man. "I ought to do
something very nice for you, to make amends for causing you so much
trouble. What kind of candy do you most like?--or mayn't I bring you a
new doll?"
"Papa and mamma don't like me to eat candy," said Trixy with a sigh.
"They say it's bad for my 'gestion. Have you got a 'gestion?"
The young man admitted that he had, but he hastily reverted to dolls
as a more appropriate topic of conversation. Trixy looked troubled and
finally said:
"Oh, dear! Something always goes wrong. I need a new baby doll awfully,
for the kitten bit the head off of my littlest one, but, you see, papa
and mamma says it isn't proper for young ladies to accept presents from
gentlemen."
"Oh, I see--I beg a thousand pardons," Trewman gravely replied. "But
would you object to my asking your parents' permission to give you a
new doll--the finest one that I can find?"
"Do it--quick!" exclaimed Trixy, her eyes dancing and her hands
clapping gleefully. "I don't think, though," she continued, after a
moment or two of thought, "that I ought to take somethin' for nothin',
for papa says that folks who do that are real mean."
"Something for nothing? Why, you dear little bundle of conscience, I'm
to give you the doll in part payment for the trouble I have given you.
Don't you remember?"
"Oh, yes! To--be--sure. Well, I forget my troubles as soon as I tell
'm, so--so you don't owe me anything."
Trixy looked sad as the promised doll began to disappear from her
mental vision, so the young man said quickly:
"You must have the doll, now that we've talked about it, and so that I
mayn't lose the pleasure of giving it to you. You can give me something
for it, if you like--for instance, give me a penny, to wear on my
watch-chain."
"I'll tell you what," exclaimed Trixy, her face suddenly brightening.
"I'll give you a lesson for it. You like lessons, don't you--I like
'em--like all I can get, and I've got one for you that Aunt Fee says
you need, so I'm sure you'll like it, 'cause ev'rybody likes what they
need, don't they?"
The young men admitted that they ought, if they didn't, but his face
quickly became grave, and he looked furtively toward the door through
which Fenie would appear, as he whispered:
"Tell it to me--quickly."
"Well, it ain't a very big lesson, but you needn't give me a very
big doll. Let me see--what was that lesson she said you needed? Oh,
I remember: she said that young men ought to know better than to go
calling on stormy nights, when ladies don't dress up and be ready
to see company. She said you needed a lesson about it, and you had
sisters, and they ought to teach it to you. Mebbe, though, your sisters
don't like to give lessons?"
"They're not as active at it as they might be," replied the man
as he arose hastily and took from his coat pocket a small package.
"But--er--perhaps I am not as much to blame as I seem. I dropped in to
leave a book which your Aunt Fee wished to read but couldn't find, and
I promised to get it for her. I might have left it at the door, but I
was thinking very hard at the time about--about a person in whom I am
greatly interested, so I managed to----"
"Oh, do you do that?" asked Trixy, following the young man, who was
moving rapidly toward the front door.
"Do what?"
"Why, think of one thing while you ought to be doing some other thing?
'Cause if you do, you're just like me."
"Bless you, my child," said Trewman, as he opened the outer door, "I do
it all the while. Indeed, no matter what I am doing nowadays, my mind
is full of another subject."
"Dear me. What a nice subject it must be!"
"So it is;--the very nicest subject in the world."
"Oh! What is it?"
"I can't tell you now. Good-night!"
"Will you tell me some other time?"
"Yes, yes--that is, I hope I may."
Five minutes later, when Miss Tryphena Wardlow descended to the parlor
she found only Trixy, who was rocking ecstatically in her own little
chair and thinking of the doll to come.
"Where's Mr. Trewman?" asked the young woman.
"He's gone. He left this book for you, but he took his lesson with
him."
"Lesson? What lesson?"
"Why, the one you said he needed. I gave it to him, and he's goin' to
give me a doll for it."
Fenie looked puzzled for a moment; then her face became very red and
she exclaimed:
"You dreadful child! Do you really mean that you have repeated to Harry
Trewman the----"
Fenie stopped abruptly, darted to the foot of the stairs, shouted
"Trif!" dashed through the hall to the dining room, and exclaimed,
"Phil, come into the parlor--this instant." In a moment a mystified
couple was staring at a young woman whose beauty was enhanced by a
great flush of indignation; they also saw a tearful little girl who
seemed to be trying to shrink into nothingness.
It took an hour of scolding, and petting, and warning, and kissing to
prepare Trixy for bed, but when the child was finally disposed of Phil
drawled:
"If you girls don't want things repeated by that child you mustn't say
them in her hearing."
"But she never seems to notice what is said," explained Fenie.
"Umph! Neither does a phonograph cylinder, but it gets them all the
same."
"All this talk about Trixy doesn't make our position toward Harry
Trewman any the less awkward," said Trif gravely.
"Oh, bother Harry Trewman," exclaimed Fenie; but there was a look in
her face which compelled Phil to glance slyly at his wife, and Trif to
respond with a merry twinkle of her eyes.