THE FUNNIES
Nathalie, with a limpid brightness in her eyes, and a deep pink in her
cheeks, was whirling about—doing a one-step—with her soldier friend,
Van Darrell, who she had discovered was “a love of a dancer.” It was the
night of the second Liberty Tea, this time held at the Sunset Hill
House. The affair had not only proved a glorious success, each one of
the performers doing his or her part even better than at the Tea-House,
but it had also netted quite a pile of silver coins, to the delight of
the children, and added several new pupils to Philip’s French class at
the hotel, besides giving him a few private ones.
The informal little hop at the end of the performance contributed to the
pleasure of the evening, proving a real joy-time to Nathalie, who loved
dancing. The girl had laughingly asserted to Nita that she had fairly
worn her slippers to a thread.
Compelled from sheer fatigue to rest, the young couple, in order to
escape from the heat of the ballroom, had sought refuge in one of the
little card-rooms opening from the long corridor. It was here, as they
happily chatted, that Van suddenly made the announcement, somewhat
regretfully, “Do you know, Miss Blue Robin, that this is my last evening
with you and the mountains, for I leave for Camp Mills to-morrow
morning?”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” exclaimed the girl with a note of disappointment in
her voice, for she was _disappointed_ as well as surprised, for,
somehow, she had taken a liking to this soldier-boy, with the frank,
open gaze, who could be very merry at times, and then again unusually
silent and grave. “We shall miss you at our Liberty Cheers, and Mr. de
Brie, I know, will be lonely without his soldier ‘matey.’”
“I shall miss you all,” rejoined Van slowly, “for you girls have given
me the joy-time of the summer, and I shall be sorry to say good-by to
you all, especially you.” Van looked appealingly into the girl’s brown
eyes, as if he wanted her to assure him that she would miss him.
Nathalie flushed a little, as she replied, “Well, it has been a great
pleasure to meet you. I can assure you, however, that I never thought of
meeting one of Uncle Sam’s soldiers when I came up here to these White
Hills.”
“I would like to tell you,” continued Van,—he gave his companion an odd
look as he spoke,—“that I know a girl by the name of Blue Robin. She’s
an awfully good sort,—” again that funny little gleam in his eyes. “I
had a letter from her a short time ago. It was the kind of a letter to
set a fellow thinking. I would like to show it to you sometime,” he
added hesitatingly.
“Why, isn’t that funny! Are you sure her name is like mine?” questioned
Nathalie in a whirl of amazement. Van nodded and smiled with some
amusement, as he assured Nathalie that he was quite positive her name
was Blue Robin. But, as the girl continued to ply him with questions
about this girl who, he insisted, bore her name, his answers grew
evasive, until finally Nathalie desisted from her questions, in a maze
of mystery.
Presently they were in the ballroom again, and while taking another turn
Van asked his partner if she would answer his letter if he wrote to her.
Nathalie grew red with embarrassment at this direct question, for, as
she had been whirling about, it had suddenly occurred to her what a
queer thing it was for Van to say he would show her another girl’s
letter.
Somehow the thought jarred her serenity, and, not knowing what reply to
make, she finally settled the doubt in her mind by saying that if he
wrote to her she would answer him if her mother thought best. For,
happily, Nathalie was a real mother-girl, and, when in doubt about
anything, always went to her for advice.
On the way home—Mrs. Van Vorst had sent them in her car—she had a
disappointed feeling. She wished Van had not asked her to write to him,
or told her about that other Blue Robin, for—O dear! she had heard of
boys who would coax a girl to write to them, and then show their letters
and make a boast of them. Ah, well, she sighed regretfully, she had not
supposed he was that kind.
A few days later Nathalie was sitting under the trees before a small
sewing-table, writing a letter to Helen. Presently she laid down her
pen, and glanced over at her mother, who, while resting in the hammock
near, had fallen asleep. Then, so as not to awaken her, almost in a
whisper, she read:
“Dear Helen:
“I am going to call this letter ‘The Funnies,’ for I have some
awfully funny things I want you to know, but first, I must tell
you about my liberty kids, as I have promised to do many times.
Danny is fourteen, a regular street-gamin, steeped and
double-dyed in the ways of the slums and the habits of a newsie.
There is an alert sharpness about him at times that baffles me,
and yet his freckled, peanut face, with its twinkling blue eyes,
has an open, merry expression that assures me he has the makings
of a splendid man in him. I call him my handy man, for he not
only does all the laundering for the children, but can cook, and
wait on the table in fine style.
“He is a loyal little chap, so watchful of Sheila, and always
tells the truth. He used to belong to the Junior Police
Force,—he’s awfully proud of that,—and I think that has kept
him on the square. I have an idea that his parents must have
been refined people, for, when cleaning his room one day, his
bag flew open—it was standing in a corner—and a little blue
book fell out, scattering a lot of letters about, and a picture.
The picture was a miniature of a young woman. She had a lovely
face, it reminded me of Sheila, and her eyes had the same
laughing glints in them that Danny has in his. The blue book
seemed to be a diary, for on it in gilt letters was the name,
Sheila Gloom.
“I have told you how quaint and interesting Sheila is, and lots
about Jean, so I am going to tell you about Tony. He reminds me
of one of Raphael’s cherubs, with his soft, liquid brown eyes,
his red lips and ivory-tinted skin, and his wavy black hair that
is always in a frowse. He adores me, and has an odd, sweet
little trick of taking my hand, and then bending down and
kissing it, in such a gallant way that he makes me think of the
knights of mediæval days, who knelt to their ladies fair. And I
love to hear him say, ‘I lova you, Mees Natta,’ for his voice is
so soft and musical. But alas, he is not as open as Danny, and
will tell _teeny, teeny_ white lies, while looking right up into
your face with such a cherubic, innocent expression, that you
have the feeling that you are the guilty one, and not he.
“Did I tell you in my last letter what good friends the little
old lady in the red house and I have become? I run in there
quite often. Sometimes I read to her, or hold her yarn, and for
two days I nursed her when she was ill. I am a great chatterbox,
for, O dear! I just talk about everything to her, but she says
my chats cheer her up. But, you see, she keeps asking me
questions, first about one person of our household, and then
another. She loves to have me tell her about Janet, but she
doesn’t seem to like Cynthia very much.
“I am getting used to her queer ways now, and can tell, by the
gleam in her gray eyes,—sometimes they snap with humor,—the
mood she is in, for, frankly speaking, at times she is most
cantankerous. I feel sorry for her then, for I imagine that some
great sorrow has come into her life and soured the sweetness of
it. She is always greatly interested in Mr. de Brie, and I have
promised to take him in sometime to see her.
“Oh, I must not forget to tell you that Dick is with us for a
few days—on a furlough. And mother,—well, she goes about like
a glorified saint. Now come the funnies. Cynthia Loretto’s young
man is here. His name is Buddie, but he looks anything but a
bud, although Cyn always speaks of him as if he had just gone
into long trousers.
“He is queerly interesting, for he sits and looks at Cynthia in
a meek, adoring way, while his big solemn blue eyes keep up a
blinking that have made the kiddies—you know boys always
feature peculiarities—dub him, ‘The Blink.’ As to other
details, he’s insignificant-looking, with a shock of yellow hair
that gives him an unkempt, Hunnish appearance, and a sharp,
ferret-like nose with an inquisitive tip on it that is sunburned
to a bright red. Imagine!
“Now for funny number one. The Blink—we all unconsciously call
him that—and the make-believe lady—that’s the boys’ name for
Cynthia—have monopolized the hammock on the veranda ever since
the gentleman’s arrival. It has been annoying, for they—Well,
they spoon, and it gets on one’s nerves, and after a while these
lovers are the star performers on the stage.
“The other morning I caught Danny and Tony fooling with the
hammock. They said they were fixing it so it wouldn’t slip down.
That evening every one had disappeared but your lonesome and the
lovers, who were in the hammock with arms intertwined, with the
usual turtle-dove cooing.
“All at once I heard a queer sound, and looked in the direction
from which it proceeded, to see two pairs of legs sweeping
through the air with a wild, frantic clawing, while shrill cries
and a swear-word informed me that the hammock had turned over,
and that the pair of love-makers were standing on their heads. I
tried not to laugh, but a wee little giggle slipped out, and
then I flew to the rescue and turned down, or turned up,
Cynthia’s skirts, and then gave a helping hand to The Blink, who
rose to his feet with a wild, bewildered stare in his blinking
eyes. Then I flew, for if I hadn’t, I should have collapsed with
merriment, for, as it was, I was stuffing my handkerchief in my
mouth to keep in my laughter.
“As I flew through the hall queer sounds arrested my flight, and
there, on the floor, were those two kids, Danny and Tony,
rolling about in exultant joy, while emitting squeals of
delighted glee. And then I knew _why_ they had been fooling with
the hammock that morning. I was smothering with laughter, but
grabbed each one by an ear and marched them to mother, with
appropriate explanations, leaving her to administer the
punishment they deserved. Naturally Cynthia blamed me, insisting
that I had encouraged the boys in their mischief, and hasn’t
spoken to me since.
“Funny number two. I have told you of Cynthia’s obsession for
searching for the valuable thing. Well, evidently she has
imparted her obsession to her lover, for we find him poking
around into all sorts of out-of-the-way places, that annoys
mother extremely. The other morning Mrs. Van Vorst sent me to
the studio with a message for Cynthia. The door was open, and,
to my amazement, I saw the lady in question hoisted up on a
ladder,—The Blink was holding it,—poking about among the
rafters of the attic.
“As I stood wondering what she was doing, I saw her suddenly
duck her head, and then, to my stupefaction, the Make-believe
Lady was perched up there on that ladder like a poll-parrot, for
her head was as bare as a billiard-ball, while her hair that
was, was swaying gracefully on a nail some distance above.
“Suddenly discovering her nudity, she made a frenzied grab, not
at the suspended wig, but at her skirts, hurriedly throwing them
over her head, as if to hide its bareness, and then made frantic
attempts to unhitch the black hairy thing that wiggled and
wobbled just out of reach of her arm. At this moment Mr.
Buddie—patience was written in his drooping pose, as he clung
to that ladder—raised his head. His face immediately became the
hue of his nose, for, alas, Cynthia, in her hurried endeavor to
cover her denuded poll, had raised not only her dress-skirt but
her under-skirts, and two black-hosed legs, lean and lank, stood
forth from beneath her short, beruffled skirt. I waited to see
no more, but hastily made my exit, to explode my mirth in the
depths of my pillow on the bed in my room.
“Funny number three. My bedroom was next to the mystery-room,
and then comes Cynthia’s,—she and Janet room together. There is
a door between, which is generally closed, unless it is very
warm. The other evening we were just getting ready for bed, when
I suddenly remembered something I wanted to tell Janet, so
stepped to the door, which was open. The room was dimly lighted
by a single candle, and Cynthia, who likes to undress in the
dark, was on her knees by the bed, saying her prayers, while
Janet sat near, taking off her shoes.
“As I turned away so as not to disturb Cynthia at her devotions,
I suddenly spied a man’s face peering in the transom over the
door. Before I could cry out, Cynthia arose, and, carelessly
glancing up, saw the face. With a wild scream she seized one of
Janet’s shoes lying on the floor, and sent it flying at the head
peeping over the door.
“I gasped, for it struck the man square on the nose. Then I
heard a suppressed expletive, followed by a jarring crash, a
general smashing sound, and then a dead silence. I gave one
prolonged scream and rushed to the door. You can guess the rest,
for Dick, mother, and even the boys had heard the racket, and a
moment later, when they appeared on the scene, it was to find me
trying to extricate the figure of a man, in a bath-robe, with a
somewhat dazed expression on his meek, bewildered face,—that
would have been pitiful if it had not been so ludicrous—from
the débris of broken chairs and a turned-over table.
“And his eye, well, it was already beginning to swell; for
Cynthia had been game, Dick said, and had not only given her
lover a swelled nose, but a swelled eye as well. O dear! it was
comical to see the way she glared at the poor creature, meekly
trying to explain that he was only trying to peer into the
mystery-room, for he seems to think that the valuable thing is
hidden in that room, and had gotten as far as he could get—into
the wrong room. Mother says she is glad it happened and hopes he
will now stop his prowling.
“Now for funny number four. After the excitement caused by Mr.
Buddie’s efforts to peep into the mystery-room quietness reigned
for a while, until the other night. I was terribly tired, for I
had been doing the kids’ ironing, and my feet ached so that I
carried a pail of hot water to my room to soak them. I am on the
upper floor now, near the boys, for Cynthia insisted that they
made such a noise at night that they kept her awake. But
everything that goes wrong she lays on their little shoulders,
so I have mounted guard, to avoid any future unpleasantness. As
I sat there, trying to make up my mind to plunge my feet in that
hot water, I heard a queer sound.
“There has been a report lately that burglars are in the
neighborhood, for several of the ladies at the Sunset Hill House
have missed articles of jewelry. Somehow that noise brought it
to my mind, and I jumped up,—I was in my bare feet,—quickly
turned off the light, stepped to the window, and poked my head
out, and—if there wasn’t a man on the roof of the veranda,
creeping stealthily towards the mystery-room, directly under
mine. O dear! and its two windows were both unlatched,—one of
the boys had discovered that,—but no one had dared to break the
rule and go in to fasten them. In a moment he had begun to work
at the shutters, very cautiously,—he had a flashlight in his
hand,—stopping every moment or so to listen, to see if any one
had heard him.
“My heart bounded into my throat, but while I was making up my
mind what to do, there came a wrench, and I knew that in a
moment or so that man would be in the room! Desperate with
fright, I flung about, and then my glance fell on that pail of
water. Without further ado I seized it, pushed it softly out of
the window, hurriedly turned it upside down, and then hurled the
pail after the water. There came a smothered sound, a half-cry
and groan, and then a funny, swishy noise.
“As I peered down through the darkness I saw a black object
slipping down the roof, and heard a sudden imprecation, as it
rolled over the edge. There came a splashy sound, a deep groan,
and then I knew that the thief had fallen off the roof, and
landed in a hogshead of water that always stood under the
veranda by the kitchen porch.
“Now came a fierce barking, mingled with growls, and I realized
that Jean’s little dog, Tige, was chewing up the thief. The next
instant I made a mad rush for the door, to see Dick flying down
the stairs in his bath-robe, followed by mother and the boys!
“I plunged blindly forward, managed to grab him by the arm, and,
between hysterical gasps, explained what I had seen, and begged
him not to go out for fear the man would shoot him. But Dick
shook me off like a feather, and, although mother tearfully
seconded my plea, he was about to dash into the darkness when
Cynthia rushed up and handed him her revolver,—Janet says she
always sleeps with one under her pillow. The boys—each little
chap, even Jean, was armed to the teeth, Danny with his
policeman’s club, Tony with an iron bar, and Jean with a
mountain-staff—lost no time in following him, with mother close
behind.
“I grabbed a chair—it could fell a man, at least—and followed
mother, while Janet, Cynthia, and Sheila alternately yelled and
wept as they sat huddled on the stairs, each one expecting to be
shot. But by the time I reached the veranda Dick appeared,
dragging a miserable-looking little object by the collar of his
pajamas,—for his trousers had been about chewed off by
Tige,—with rivulets of water oozing over his face, who was
abjectly pleading and howling that he was no thief.
“But Dick was obdurate, and as we all stared with bulging eyes,
he marched him up to Cynthia. As he shook him fiercely by the
collar, as one would shake a dog, he cried, ‘Here, Miss Cynthia,
here’s the thief, your estimable friend and lover, Mr. Buddie!’
I leave the rest for you to imagine. Mr. Buddie left the next
morning.
“Now good-by. Be sure and tell me more about yourself and your
work when you write again, for I am anxious to know everything
that happens to you, girl of my heart, for you are a brave dear,
and I miss you more than I can express.
“Again with love,
“Nathalie Page.”