A THANKSGIVING SKATING PARTY
The rehearsal of _The Carnation Countess_ that afternoon went most
dreadfully.
"It really is a shame!" chuckled Neale to Agnes, as he sat beside her
for a few minutes after the boys acquitted themselves very well in their
part. "It really is a shame," he went on, "what some of you girls can do
to a part when it comes to acting. Talk about Hamlet's father being
murdered to make a Roman holiday!"
"Hush, you ridiculous boy! That isn't the quotation at all," admonished
Agnes.
"No? Well, Hamlet's father was murdered, wasn't he?"
"I prefer to believe him a mythical character," said Agnes, primly.
"At any rate, something as bad will happen to you, Neale O'Neil, if you
revile the girls of Milton High," declared Eva Larry, who was near
enough to hear the boy's comment. "Oh, dear me! I believe I could make
something of that part of Cheerful Grigg, myself. Rose Carey is a
regular stick!"
"Hear! hear!" breathed Neale, soulfully. "I'm sorry for Professor
Ware."
"Well! he gave them the parts," snapped Eva. "I'm not sorry for him!"
The musical director was a patient man; but he saw the play threatened
with ruin by the stupidity of a few. If his voice grew sharp and his
manner impatient before the rehearsal was over, there was little wonder.
The choruses, and even the little folks' parts, went splendidly--with
snap and vigor. Some of the bigger girls walked through their roles as
though they were in a trance.
"I declare I should expect more animation and a generally better
performance from marionettes," cried the despairing professor.
Mr. Marks came in, saw how things were going, and whispered a few words
to Professor Ware. The latter fairly threw up his hands.
"I give it up for to-day," he cried. "You all act like a set of puppets.
Pray, pray, young ladies! try to get into the spirit of your parts by
next Friday. Otherwise, I shall be tempted to recommend that the whole
play be given up. We do not want to go before the Milton public and make
ourselves ridiculous."
Neale said to Agnes as he walked home with her: "Why don't you learn the
part of Innocent Delight? I bet you couldn't do it so much better than
Trix, after all."
She looked at him with scorn. "Learn it?" she repeated. "I know it by
heart--and all the other girl's parts, too. I've acted them all out in
my room before the mirror." She laughed a little ruefully. "Lots of good
it does me, too! And Ruth says I will have to sleep in another room, all
by myself, if I don't stop it.
"If I couldn't do the part of Innocent Delight better than Trix
Severn----"
She left the remainder of the observation to his imagination.
The Thanksgiving recess was to last only from Wednesday afternoon till
the following Monday morning. Friday and Saturday would be taken up with
rehearsals--mostly because of the atrociously bad acting of some of the
girls.
The holiday itself, however, was free. Dinner was to be a joyous affair
at the old Corner House. There were but two guests expected: Mr.
Howbridge and Neale. Mr. Howbridge, their uncle's executor, and the
Kenway sisters' guardian, was a bachelor, and he felt a deep interest in
the Corner House girls. Of course, Agnes begged to have Neale come.
In the Stower tenements in Meadow Street there was great rejoicing, too.
Mr. Howbridge's own automobile had taken around the Thanksgiving baskets
and the lawyer's clerk delivered them and made a brief speech at each
presentation. The Corner House girls could not attend, for they were too
busy in school and (at least, three of them) with their parts in the
play. But Sadie Goronofsky reported the affair to Tess in these
expressive words:
"Say! you'd oughter seen my papa's wife and the kids. You'd think they'd
never seen anything to eat before--an' we always has a goose Passover
week. My! it was fierce! But there was so much in that basket that it
made 'em all fair nutty. You'd oughter seen 'em!"
Mrs. Kranz, the "delicatessen lady," as Dot called her, and Joe Maroni,
helped fill the baskets. They were the two "rich tenants" on the Stower
estate, and the example of the Corner House girls in generosity had its
good effect upon the lonely German woman and the voluble Italian
fruiterer.
There were other needy people whom the Corner House girls remembered at
this season with substantial gifts. Petunia Blossom, and her shiftless
husband and growing family, looked to "gran'pap's missus" for their
Thanksgiving fowl. And this year Seneca Sprague came in for a share of
the Corner House bounty.
Since the fatal day when Billy Bumps had secured a share of the
prophet's generous thatch, Ruth had felt she owed Seneca something. The
boys plagued him as he walked the streets in his flapping linen duster
and broken straw hat; and older people were unkind enough to make fun of
him.
Seneca followed the scriptural command to the Jews regarding swine--and
more, for he ate no meat of any kind. But the plump and luscious pig was
indeed an abomination to Seneca.
One day when Ruth went to market she saw a crowd of the market
loiterers teasing Seneca Sprague, the man having ventured among them to
peddle his tracts.
The girl saw a smeary-aproned young butcher slip up behind the old man
and drop a pig's tail into one of the pockets of his flapping duster.
To the bystanders it was a harmless joke; to Seneca, Ruth knew, it would
mean infamy and contamination. He would be months purging his conscience
of the stain of "touching the unclean thing," as he expressed it.
The girl went up to Seneca and spoke to him. She had a heavy basket of
provisions and she asked the prophet to carry it home for her, which he
did with good grace.
When they arrived at the old Corner House Ruth told him if he would
remove the linen coat she would sew up a tear in the back for him; and
in this way she smuggled the "porker's appendage," as Neale O'Neil
called it, out of the prophet's pocket.
"And you ought to see the inside of that shack of his down on Bimberg's
wharf," Neale O'Neil said. "I got a peep at it one day. You know it's an
old office Bimberg used to use before he moved up town, and it's
attached to his store-shed, and at the far end.
"Seneca's got a little stove, and a cupboard, a cot to sleep on, a chair
to sit in, and the walls are lined with bookshelves filled with old
musty books."
"Books!" exclaimed Agnes. "Does he read?"
"Why, in his way, he's quite erudite," declared Neale, smiling. "He
reads Josephus and the Apocrypha, and believes them quite as much
inspired as the rabbinical books of the Old Testament, I believe. Most
of his other books relate to the prophetical writings of the old
patriarchs.
"He believes that the Pilgrims were descended from the lost tribes of
Israel and that God allowed them to people this country and raise up a
nation which should be a refuge and example to all the peoples of the
earth."
"Why! I think that is really a wonderful thought," Ruth said.
"He's strong on patriotism; and his belief in regard to the divine
direction of George Washington does nobody any harm. If everybody
believed as Seneca does, we would all have a greater love of country,
that's sure."
Ruth sent down to the little hut on the river dock a basket of such good
things as she knew Seneca Sprague would appreciate.
"I'd love to send him warm underwear," she sighed.
"And a cap and mittens," Agnes put in. "He gives me the shivers when I
see him pass along this cold weather, with his duster flapping."
"Thank goodness he has put on socks and wears carpet slippers," said
Ruth. "He believes it is unhealthy to wear many clothes. And he is
healthy enough--goodness knows!"
"But clothes are _awfully_ comfortable," said the luxury-loving Dot.
"Right you are, Dottums," agreed Agnes. "And I'd rather be comfortable
than so terribly healthy."
The weather had become intensely cold during the past fortnight. Steady
frost had chained the river and ponds. There had been no snow, but there
was fine skating by Thanksgiving.
On the morning of the holiday the two older Corner House girls and Neale
O'Neil set off to meet a party of their school friends for a skating
frolic on the canal and river. They met at the Park Lock, and skated
down the solidly frozen canal to where it debouched into the river.
Milton young folks were out in full force on this Thanksgiving morning,
despite the keen wind blowing from the northwest. Jack Frost nipped
fingers and toes; but there were huge bonfires burning here and there
along the bank, and at these the skaters could go ashore to warm
themselves when they felt too cold.
River traffic, of course, was over for the season. The docks were for
the most part deserted. Some reckless small boys built a fire of
shavings and old barrels right on Bimberg's dock.
When the first tar-barrel began to crackle, the sparks flew. Older
skaters saw the danger; but when they rushed to put the fire out, it was
beyond control. The Corner House girls and Neale O'Neil were among the
first to see the danger. Seneca Sprague's shack was then afire.
"Never mind. The old man's up town," cried one boy. "If it burns up it
won't be much loss."
"And it _will_ burn before the fire department gets here," said one of
the girls.
"Poor Seneca! I expect his poor possessions are treasures to him," said
Ruth.
"Cracky!" ejaculated Neale, suddenly, as the flames mounted higher.
"What about the poor old duffer's books?"
"Oh, Neale!" gasped Ruth. "And they mean so much to him."
"Pshaw!" observed one of the other boys. "They're not really worth
anything, are they?"
"Whether they are or not, they are valuable to Seneca," Ruth repeated.
"Well, goodness!" was the ejaculation of a third boy. "I wouldn't risk
going into that shack if they were worth a million. See! the whole end
of it is ablaze!"