"I WANT THEM TO GET USED TO PARLOURS."
"THOSE two people can think and talk of nothing but those dreadful
boys," said Gracie to herself, half annoyed and wholly interested.
She found herself that very evening turning over the music, with the
wonderment in her mind as to what she could sing that they would be
likely to care for—provided one of them appeared, which thing she did
not expect.
But I have not told you of all the discussions had that day. The boys
went their various ways, their minds also busy with the events of the
afternoon. Dirk Colson and Stephen Crowley went off together; not that
they were special friends, but their homes lay near together. For the
distance of half a block they walked in silence; then Stephen Crowley
spoke his mind:—
"Nimble Dick wasn't near as smart to-day as he thinks he was, accordin'
to my way of thinkin'."
"He was meaner than dirt!" burst forth Dirk fiercely. "To go back on
her like that, after she had saved us from a row with the police, ain't
what I believe in. Why couldn't he have picked up the rag, seeing she
wanted him to? That's what I say. I'd 'a done it myself if she had give
me the chance."
"That there Dick Bolton can be too mean for anything when he sets out,"
said Stephen, with a grave air of superiority. "I don't go in for
anything of that kind myself. We wasn't none of us much to boast of;
but Dick, he went too fur. I say, Dirk, what do you s'pose all that
yarn means about to-morrow night? And what be we goin' to do about
it? Dick, he said it was all a game to get hold of us somehow, and he
wasn't goin' to have nothin' to do with it."
Had Stephen Crowley desired exceedingly to secure Dirk's vote in
favour of the proposed entertainment, he could not, at that moment,
have chosen a better way. Dirk tossed his thick mat of black hair in a
defiant fashion, and answered:—
"He needn't have a thing to do with it, so far as I care. I don't know
who'll miss him; but if he thinks he's got all the fellows under his
thumb, and they're goin' to do as he says, I'll show him a thing or
two. I'm a-goin' to-morrow night. I don't care what it is, nor what
it is for. She was nice and friendly to us to-day, and I'm willin' to
trust her to-morrow. I shall go up there and see what she does want. It
can't kill a fellow to do that much."
"Then I'm a-goin', too," declared Stephen with decision. "Dick, he
thinks there won't none of us go if he don't; and I'd just like to show
him that he must get up early in the mornin' if he wants to keep track
of us."
If Dirk Colson needed anything to strengthen his resolution, there
was material in that last sentence which supplied it. He had long
chafed under the control of Dick Bolton; here was a chance to assert
superiority. He even, just at that moment, conceived the brilliant idea
of supplanting Dick—running an opposition party, as it were.
What if he should get every fellow in the class to promise to go, and
Dick, the acknowledged leader, should find himself left out alone in
the cold? The thought actually made his grim face break into a smile.
Thus it came to pass that the most efficient worker for the success
of the Monday evening entertainment, so far at least as securing the
presence of the guests, was Dirk Colson.
In Mr. Roberts's mansion preparations for receiving and entertaining
the hoped-for guests went briskly forward—preparations which astonished
the young guest already arrived.
"Are you really going to let them come in here?" she asked, as she
followed Mrs. Roberts through the elegant parlours, and watched her
putting delicate touches here and there.
"Certainly; why not? Don't you open your parlours when you receive your
friends?"
"I don't think we have such peculiar friends on our list," Gracie said
with a little laugh; and then, "Flossy, they will spoil your furniture."
"If one evening in the Master's service will spoil anything, it surely
ought to be spoiled," Mrs. Roberts answered serenely.
"But, Flossy,—" with a touch of impatience in her voice,—"what is the
use? Wouldn't the dining-room answer every purpose—be to them the most
elegant room they ever beheld, and be less likely to suffer from their
contact?"
The busy little mistress of all the beauty around her turned to her
guest with a peculiar smile on her face, half mischievous and wholly
sweet, as she said:—
"I want them to get used to parlours, my dear; they may have much to do
with them, as well as with dining-rooms."
"They are more likely to have to do with penitentiaries and prisons,"
Gracie said. But she abandoned discussion, and gave herself to the
pleasure of arranging lovely flowers in their lovely vases.
There was a divided house as to the probability of the guests
appearing,—Mr. Roberts inclining to the belief that some of them would
come, while Gracie was entirely sceptical. Mrs. Roberts kept her own
counsel, neither expressing wish nor fear, but steadily pushing her
preparations.
As a matter of fact, the entire seven appeared together promptly as the
clock struck eight.
At the last moment Dick Bolton, the usual leader, finding himself
in a minority of one, not to be outwitted, protested that he had
not the least notion of staying away; of course he was going, and
good-naturedly joined the group.
I wonder if you have the least conception of how those boys looked? The
ideas of some people cannot get below nicely-patched clothes, carefully
brushed boots, clean collars, and neatly arranged hair.
Clean collars! Not a boy of them owned a collar. No thought of brushing
their worn-out, unmended boots ever entered their minds. Their clothes
were much patched, but in many places needed it still.
Stephen Crowley had made a somewhat unsuccessful attempt to put his
mass of hair in order. Most of the others had not thought even of that.
Why should they? Poor Dirk, you will remember, if he had thought of it,
had no comb with which to experiment. It is doubtful if many of the
others were any better off in this respect.
Imagine the seven standing, a confused, grinning heap, in the centre of
Mrs. Roberts's large and brilliantly-lighted hall!
She came forward to welcome them, shaking hands, though they made no
attempt to offer a hand in greeting. She had to grasp after each. She
essayed to introduce Gracie; not one of them attempted a bow.
"Come this way," Mrs. Roberts said, "and take seats."
Then she led the way into the long, bright, elegantly-furnished,
flower-decked room.
They followed her in a row. Midway in the room they made a halt.
They caught a view of themselves—full length at that—revealed by the
great mirrors. They had never seen themselves set in contrast before.
They could not sit in a row, for the easy-chairs and sofas, though
plentiful, had the air of having been just vacated by people who had
left them carelessly where they had chanced to sit.
It required diplomacy to seat those boys. When at last Stephen Crowley
dropped into one of the great pillowy chairs, he Instantly sprang up
again, and looked at it doubtfully. Was the thing a trap? How far down
would it sink with him? This was too much for Nimble Dick, even under
the present overpowering circumstances—he laughed. His hostess blessed
him for that laugh. The horrible stiffness was somewhat broken, and all
were seated.
Just at that moment came Alfred Reid, hurriedly, like one who had
intended promptness and missed it.
"All here ahead of me!" he exclaimed. "Mrs. Roberts, I beg your pardon.
At the last moment I went in search of Dr. Everett; there was serious
illness in a house next door, and I happened to know just where he was."
During this address he was shaking hands with his hostess, his manner
easy and graceful, as one used to it all. Then he crossed the room,
that wonderful room, treading down those flowers on the carpet as
though he had no fears of breaking their stems.
"Good-evening, Miss Dennis," he said, and he was bowing in a manner
that Dirk Colson was confident he could imitate. Then he turned to the
boys, shaking hands:—
"How are you, Haskell?—By the way, Crowley, I called on you to-day at
the office; sorry not to find you in."
"Mrs. Roberts, allow me!" And he wheeled one of the easy-chairs to the
spot where that lady was standing.
"How well he enters into the thing," said Gracie Dennis to herself,
looking on in admiration at this young man, who, still so young, was
adapting himself to circumstances that might well have embarrassed
older heads than his.
He plunged into talk with the boys, making them answer questions. He
had come but a few moments before from Mark Calkins's, stopped there
with a message from Dr. Everett; and these boys knew Mark and Sallie
and the worthless father, and all the more or less worthless neighbours
who ran in and out, and young Reid had a dozen questions to ask.
His quick-wittedness, and the ease with which he made talk to these
young men who lived in such an utterly different world from himself,
surprised his hostess very much.
Even she did not know to what an exalted pitch his enthusiasm and
excitement reached, though he had flashed a pair of most appreciative
eyes on her when she gave him her invitation for the evening. Here was
actually his sister Esther's darling scheme being worked out before his
eyes!
Not only that, but he was being called upon to help. Esther had wanted
him to grow up to undertake just such efforts as these; and only
last week they had seemed to him so altogether good and noble and so
impossible to try. Yet here he was helping to try them! No wonder
Alfred Reid could talk.
It had been determined in family council that Mr. Roberts must absent
himself. He was in the house, indeed—no further away than the library,
ready for call in event of an emergency; but it was judged that another
stranger, and such a formidable one as the head of the house, must be
avoided for this one evening.
As for Mr. Reid, would they remember that he was not much older than
some of them, and that he was not a rich young man living on his
income, but was earning his living by daily work? And would they note
the contrast between themselves and him? This was what their hostess
wondered. A few moments and then came a summons to the dining-room.
Seated at last, though one of the poor fellows stumbled over a chair,
and barely saved himself from falling.
If you could have seen that dining-table, the picture of it would
have lingered long in your memory. The whitest and finest of damask
table linen; napkins so large that they almost justified Dick Bolton's
whisper, "What be you goin' to do with your sheet?" China so delicate
that Gracie Dennis could not restrain an inward shiver when any of the
clumsy fingers touched a bit of it; and such a glitter of silver as
even Gracie had never seen before.
One thing was different from the conventional tea-party—every servant
was banished; none but tender eyes, interested in her experiment,
and ready to help it on, should witness the blunders of the boys. So
the hostess had decreed, and so instructed Alfred and Gracie. The
consequence was that Alfred himself served the steaming oysters with
liberal hand, and Gracie presided over jellies and sauces, while
Mrs. Roberts sugared and creamed and poured cups of such coffee as
those fellows had never even smelled before. If you think they were
embarrassed to the degree that they could not eat, you are mistaken.
They were street boys; their lives had been spent in a hardening
atmosphere. Directly the first sense of novelty passed away, and their
poorly-fed stomachs craved the unusual fare served up for them, the
fellows grinned at one another, seized their silver spoons, and dived
into the stews in a fashion that would have horrified every servant in
the house.
How they ate! Oysters and coffee and pickles and cakes and jellies!
There seemed no limit to their capacities; neither did they make the
slightest attempt to correct their table manners. None of them paid any
outward attention to their "sheets," although Alfred and Gracie spread
theirs with elaborate care; they leaned their elbows on the table; they
made loud, swooping sounds with their lips; and, in short, transgressed
every law known to civilized life. Why not? What did they know about
civilized life?
Nevertheless, not one movement of young Reid's escaped the notice of
some of them.
He tried still to carry on a conversation, though the business of
eating was being too closely attended to on all sides to let him be
very successful.
Gracie studied him, and was not only interested in his efforts, but
roused to make some attempts herself. What could she talk about with
such people? School? The literary club? The last concert? The course
of lectures? The last new book that everybody was reading? No, not
everybody; assuredly not these seven.
On what ground was she to meet them?
Yet talk she must and would. Mr. Reid should see that she at least
wanted to help.