A GAME OF GROMETS.
"Who wants to pitch gromets?" cried Dwight. (He pronounced it as if
spelled "gruments," as most sea-going men do spell it, we believe, but
let us follow the dictionary!) "Mr. Malcolm's offered a prize for the
one that lands it square in the bucket the most times, and Uncle Dwight
says he'll give a consolation prize to the poor wretch who doesn't hit
it once."
"What's gromets?" asked young Donelson, springing up.
"Oh, don't you know?" said Hope. "Father used to play it with us when
we were little--you know what the gromets themselves are, don't you?"
"Haven't an idea?"
"Why, rope rings--Dwight, Dwight! Isn't that one sticking out of your
pocket? See how firm and neat it is!"
"Well, it's just pitching those into a bucket, set a long way off. If
you can make it go into the bucket plump, it counts you 10; lodging
anywhere on the edge or bail is 2, and inside the chalk ring drawn
around the bucket is 1--at least, that's our game."
"And outside?"
"Of the ring? Oh, nothing at all; and five throws outside will put out
till next innings. Each side has a certain number of trials, you see."
"Why, that's something like quoits."
"Well, so it is--sea quoits."
"That's easy, I'm sure."
"Oh is it? Wait till you try it!"
"You, see there's a special twist"--began Faith, but her sister stopped
her.
"No, no, don't tell. Let him try it first; it's easy, you know!" and,
laughing mischievously, she ran after Dwight.
Pretty soon two tawny boys appeared, one with an ordinary fire-bucket,
such as are seen hung everywhere on shipboard, and the other with a
cluster of rope rings hung on one arm. Behind them came Hope, with Mr.
Malcolm and Dwight in tow, the former carrying a small blackboard; all
in great good-humor over something.
"I am requested to announce," called out the steward in a high
"lecture-hall voice," as Dwight named it, "that all those present who
wish to pitch gromets are invited to join the game. Each side will
select a captain; Huri and Tegeloo, here, will pick up the rings that
go astray; I will chalk up the tally on this blackboard, and after the
game is over the persons showing the biggest and smallest scores shall
be given prizes by the captains of the winning and losing teams. Speak
up for your captains, please!"
"Why not have the twin sisters?" called out Mr. Lawrence, and at the
same instant a voice proposed, "Mrs. Campbell for one!"
But this suggestion was drowned in a shout of applause.
"Yes, yes, let it be the twins--the captain's daughters!" and so it was
decided.
Blushing and beautiful, the girls stood up opposite each other, and
began calling up their teams.
"Mrs. Vanderhoff," cried Hope.
"Lady Moreham," said Faith.
"Mrs. Poinsett."
"Mrs. Windemere."
"Miss Vanderhoff.
"Miss Windemere."
"Oh but see--see here!" laughingly protested Mr. Lawrence. "Is this
fair play to us men? I want to join this game somehow, if--"
"Mr. Lawrence!" shouted Hope archly, showing her pretty teeth and
dimples.
"Mr. Traveler!" quickly added Faith, only of course she gave the man's
own distinguished name.
And so they proceeded, while, quite without intention but with no less
offense, Mrs. Campbell and the young attaché were not called until the
very last.
He sprang up eagerly enough, but she barely glanced around.
"Thanks," she drawled, "but it is too warm to play; don't you think so,
Mr. Allyne?"
Now, the young fellow did not think so, by any means, but he felt it
would be rude to leave the lady alone, and besides he would make an odd
one on Faith's side. So he sank back into his chair again with a
reluctant, "Much obliged, but I'll look on a while," and the game
proceeded without them.
It was rather warm work, but luckily a breeze had arisen which somewhat
cooled their flushed cheeks. Presently the captain strolled along and
stood near, to watch the players, laughing silently as he noted the
awkward work they made of it.
"Why don't you join us, Captain?" cried Mrs. Vanderhoff. "Come, Hope,
call up your father," but Faith returned quickly,
"No, indeed! Papa can bucket it every time. It wouldn't be fair to
our side at all."
"No, Captain," called Mr. Lawrence, who could not get the twist of the
wrist that makes the square toss, and was in convulsions over his own
awkwardness, "don't you come and show us up to ignominy by contrast.
Your daughters are proficient enough to prove what their teacher may
be, and I hate to be so outdone."
"I'm catching on, though, uncle Dwight--don't you see?" cried his
nephew, and amid a shout of laughter Mr. Malcolm released the boy's
gromet from the bucket-bail, remarking, "Catching on's the word, sir!"
as he marked up a large 2 opposite the lad's name.
It was funny to watch the different ones, and Huri's eyes danced with
enjoyment as he ran after the wilder tosses with swift feet. Timid
Mrs. Windemere would advance to position, look all about in dazed
fashion, gather her skirts closely as if about to breast a hurricane,
then with a long breath would shut her eyes tightly, and surge
forward--when the gromet would either drop ignobly at her feet, or go
madly flying off to right or left, perhaps hitting poor little Tegeloo
on the nose. Mr. Donelson assumed an airy indifference and a careless
toss, and lo! the contrary thing went whirling between his feet, aft.
Lady Moreham actually burst into laughter as, after careful aim in a
judicial manner Mrs. Poinsett set hers spinning--and knocked Captain
Hosmer's cap off, while all were convulsed as she, herself, after slow
and accurate aiming, sent the ring square against poor Texas, chained
to his perch, knocking him down and causing his hoarse and naughty
comment, "You old fool!" in quick return.
So it went merrily on, the girls, Dwight, and the traveler making
several half-scores, and the rest occasionally tallying. Mrs.
Windemere had never succeeded in getting even the direction, when,
after several throws, she took her position once more, protesting it
was of no use, she did her side more harm than good.
"And remember, if you fail this time you'll be put out!" shouted Laura,
somewhat cruelly.
The little lady looked distressed, but Faith leaned over and whispered
quickly,
"Did you ever make tatting, Mrs. Windemere?"
"Why, yes, of course I have," surprisedly, wondering what tatting could
have to do with the present game.
"Make believe you're throwing your shuttle and then let the gromet fly.
Be quick and firm!" she added, pretending to fix a loose pin at the
lady's throat. "Remember!"
Mrs. Windemere turned towards the goal with a helpless air, but obeyed,
and heard a sort of gasp, then a shout that rent the air. She opened
her eyes and looked around dazedly. Her gromet was in the bucket, and
amid the wild cheering Mr. Malcolm was chalking up a 10 nearly a foot
long. This gave the score to Faith's side and Mrs. Windemere was
declared the prize winner.
Mr. Allyne could not resist the excitement and hurried up with his
congratulations, while even Mrs. Campbell smiled and grew better
natured as she, too, came forward and with graceful tact, of which she
was a mistress, caught a ribbon from her waist, wound it about one of
the gromets, and setting it lightly upon the victor's head led her to a
chair.
"Behold our queen!" she shouted merrily, and all joined in the huzzas
that followed, while little Mrs. Windemere, who had never received so
much notice in her whole life, actually had to wipe the springing tears
from her eyes.
Then Mr. Malcolm appeared with the prize, and what do you suppose it
was? A lively young porker, nestled down in a lidded basket streaming
with gay ribbons!
Amid shouts of laughter Faith gravely presented the prize, always
referring to it delicately as "our hampered friend," in supposed
reference to the basket, or perhaps, as Mr. Lawrence slyly remarked,
"to the other quarters of the beast." She solemnly informed the winner
that from time immemorial live prisoners had been considered specially
acceptable gifts along the Mediterranean shores, and suggested that, if
she should not know what to do with hers, she might be magnanimous,
make a feast, and call her neighbors in, at which there was great
cheering and clapping.
"Dear me!" said Mrs. Windemere, taking the piggy-wiggy, who really
behaved quite well, only squealing occasionally by way of emphasis, "I
never made a speech in my life, but I'm ever so much obliged, and I
should be delighted to give you all a feast of roast pig, if our
captain will furnish the cook and the extras."
"The ship, with all its men and stores, is at your disposal, madam,"
said Captain Hosmer, doffing his cap with a low bow.
"Then," cried the little lady, rising to the occasion, and looking
really pretty with her pink cheeks and brightening eyes, "I invite you
all, victors and vanquished, players and non-combatants, to dine on
roast pig with Captain Hosmer and myself, to-night at seven o'clock."
"We accept!" came in a tremendous shout from deck-house to bow.
"And may Heaven have mercy on our digestions!" added Mrs. Campbell,
rolling up her eyes in horror. "Roast pig in this weather!"
But Laura turned to her younger sister with enthusiasm.
"Do look at ma! Did you ever see her so bright and jolly? She looks
downright pretty. She can hold her own better than I thought she
could."
"You are seeing her under altogether new conditions, you know," said
Mrs. Campbell sweetly, as she stepped off with light tread and
non-committal face towards a merrily-laughing group, further on.
"Now, what did she mean by that?" asked Janet in a puzzled tone. "I do
wish Zaidee wouldn't be so mysterious!"
"Mysterious?" snapped Laura, who was quicker than her sister. "Why not
wish she needn't be so hateful?"
Yet she followed the woman, who could always lead in spite of her
peculiar disposition, because of innate charm and tact.
They found the merriment to be over the fact that Mr. Lawrence had the
smallest score, and must accept his own prize, already in the hands of
Mr. Malcolm.
"Oh, that's too bad!" he cried, weary from his exertions and merriment.
"Why rub it in so hard? Is it not enough to be beaten by these
youngsters--must I also be made the laughing-stock of passengers and
crew? Ah! 'tis indeed a cruelty to load a falling man!"
"Well, uncle, if you're going to quote Wolsey, keep on," laughed his
niece mischievously. "'I charge thee fling away ambition!' You see
you have soared too high, my lord."
"_Et tu Brute_?" He turned upon her quickly. "Well, well, 'complete
my shame.' Where is the prize orator, anyhow?"
"Here, here!" called Hope, coming rapidly forward from a conference
with Mr. Malcolm; and amidst a sudden hush she said in a gentle,
serious tone, as if reluctantly discharging an imperative duty,
"The prize we have to offer you needs no explanation. As it is
familiar to you I will only say it appropriately illustrates one word
you have amply understood to-day, and that word is--_whipped_!"
She held aloft one of those clock-work toys one may pick up in Germany,
or Switzerland--a severe dame in a flapping cap, with a youngster
across her knee whom she vigorously belabors with a neat little bundle
of switches. Mr. Lawrence took it with meek 'Thank you,' and amidst
the laughter, explained,
"I bought the thing as an object-lesson for a friend at home who, does
not believe in corporal punishment for her spoiled child, and to-day
thought I would divert it to the purpose of a consolation prize for
some of you fellows who couldn't pitch gromets. Like most people who
dig a pit for others I have fallen into it myself! And now--may I give
this to one of the babies? I never want to see it again."
"I think you may," laughed Hope, and a little curly-pate close by was
made happy with the toy, which seemed destined to manifold uses.