JAMES CUTS CORNERS
"VERY creditable, very creditable indeed," repeated Doctor Hancock as he
and James stepped into their car to return to Glen Point after packing
the old ladies into the wagonette.
Mrs. Hancock and Margaret had gone home by trolley because the doctor
had to make a professional call on the way. The moon lighted the road
brilliantly and the machine flew along smoothly over the even surface.
"This is about as near flying as a fellow can get and still be only two
feet from the earth," said James.
James was quiet and almost too serious for a boy of his age but he had
one passion that sometimes got the better of the prudence which he
inherited from the Scottish ancestor about whom Roger was always joking
him.
That passion was for speed. When he was a very small child he had made
it his habit to descend the stairs by way of the rail at the infinite
risk of his neck. Once he had run his head through the slats of a
chicken coop into which an over-swift hopmobile had thrown him. On
roller skates his accidents had been beyond counting because his
calculations of distance often seemed not to work out harmoniously with
his velocity. It was because Doctor Hancock thought that if the boy had
the responsibility for his father's machine and for other people's
bones he would learn to exercise proper care, that he had consented to
let him become his chauffeur. The plan had seemed to work well, but once
in a while the desire to fly got the better of James's discretion.
"Here's where the car gets ahead of the aeroplane," said the doctor. "An
aviator would find it dangerous work to skim along only two feet above
ground."
"I did want to go up with that airman at Chautauqua last summer!" cried
James.
"Why didn't you?"
"Cost too much. Twenty-five plunks."
The doctor whistled.
"Flying high always costs," he said meditatively.
"The Ethels went up. They haven't done talking about it yet. They named
the man's machine, so he gave them a ride."
"Good work! Look out for these corners, now. When you've studied physics
a bit longer you'll learn why it is that a speeding body can't change
its direction at an angle of ninety degrees and maintain its equilibrium
unless it decreases its speed."
James thought this over for a while.
"In other words, slow up going round corners," he translated, "and later
I'll learn why."
"Words to that effect," replied the doctor mildly.
"Here's a good straight bit," exclaimed James. "You don't care if I let
her out, do you? There's nothing in sight."
"Watch that cross road."
"Yes, sir. Isn't this moon great!" murmured James under his breath,
excited by the brilliant light and the cool air and the swift motion.
"Always keep your eyes open for these heavy shadows that the moon
casts," directed Doctor Hancock. "Sometimes they're deceptive."
"I'll keep in the middle of the road and then the bugaboo in the shadow
can see us even if I can't see him," laughed James, the moonlight in his
eyes and the rush of wind in his ears.
"There's something moving there! LOOK OUT!" shouted the doctor as a cow
strolled slowly out from behind a tree and chewed a meditative cud right
across their path. James made a swift, abrupt curve, and did not touch
her.
"That was a close one," he whispered, his hands shaking on the wheel.
"It hasn't worried her any," reported his father, looking back. "She
hasn't budged and she's still chewing. You did that very well, son. It
was a difficult situation."
James flushed warmly. His father was not a man to give praise often so
that every word of commendation from him was doubly valued by his
children.
"Thank you. I shouldn't like to have it happen every day," James
confessed.
They sped on in silence after the cow episode, the boy glad of the
chance to steady his nerves in the quiet, the doctor thinking of the
case he was to visit in a few minutes.
The patient's house stood on the edge of Glen Point, and James sat in
the car resting and watching the machines of the townspeople passing by
with gay parties out to enjoy the moonlight. Some, like themselves, had
been to Rosemont, and some of his schoolmates waved to him as they
passed.
"It was a great show, old man," more than one boy shouted to him.
It had been a good show. He knew it and he was glad that he belonged to
a club that really amounted to something. They did things well and they
didn't do them well just to show off or to get praise--they had a good
purpose behind. He was still thinking about it when his father came out.
Doctor Hancock did not talk about his cases, but James had learned that
silence meant that there was need for serious thought and that the
doctor was in no mood to enter into conversation. When he came out
laughing, however, and jumped into the car with a care-free jest, as
happened now, James knew that all was going well.
"Now, home, boy," he directed. "Stop at the drug store an instant."
He gave some directions to a clerk who hurried out to them and then they
drove on. The moonlight sifted through the trees and flickered on the
road. A cool breeze stimulated James's skin to a shiver. On they went,
faster and faster. He'd had a mighty good time all the evening, James
thought, and Father was a crackerjack.
"LOOK OUT, boy," his father's voice rang through his thoughts. The car
struck the curb with a shock that loosened his grasp on the wheel and
tossed him into the air. As he flew up he tried to say, "I cut the
corner too close that time," but he never knew whether he said it or
not, for his voice seemed to fail him and his father could not recall
hearing such a remark.
It was quite an hour later when he came to himself. To his amazement he
found himself in his own room. The light was shaded, his mother with
tears still filling her eyes was beside him, and his father and a young
man whom he recognized as the new doctor who had just come to Glen
Point, were putting away instruments. He tried to move in the bed and
found that his leg was extraordinarily heavy.
"Did I bust my leg?" he inquired briefly.
"You did," returned his father with equal brevity.
"Weren't you hurt?"
"A scratch on the forehead, that's all. Doctor Hanson is going to patch
me up now."
The two physicians left the room and James did not know until long after
that the scratch required several stitches to mend.
His illness was a severe trial to James. His Scottish blood taught him
that his punishment fitted his crime--that he was hurt as a direct
result of doing what he knew was likely to bring that result. He said to
himself that he was going to take his punishment like a man. But oh, the
days were long! The Glen Point boys came in when they thought of
it--there was some one almost every day--but the Indian Summer was
unusually prolonged and wonderfully beautiful this year, and it was more
than any one could ask in reason that the boys should give up outdoors
to stay with him. Roger and Helen and the Ethels and Dorothy came over
from Rosemont when they could, but their daily work had to be done and
they had only a few minutes to stay after the long trolley trip.
"We must think up something for James to do," Mrs. Hancock told
Margaret. "He's tired of reading. He can use his hands. Hasn't your
Service Club something that he can work on here?" Margaret thought it
had, and the result of the conversation was that Mrs. Hancock went to
Rosemont on an afternoon car. The Ethels took her to Mrs. Smith's and
Dorothy showed her the accumulation for the Christmas Ship that already
was making a good showing in the attic devoted to the work.
"These bundles in the packing cases are all finished and ready for their
final wrappings," Dorothy explained. "There are dresses and wrappers and
sacques and sweaters and all sorts of warm clothing like that."
"And you girls did almost all of it!" exclaimed Mrs. Hancock.
"Helen and Margaret made most of those," said Ethel Brown. "In this box
are the knitted articles that are coming in every day now. Most of them
are from the Old Ladies' Home so far, but every once in a while somebody
else stops and leaves something. We girls don't knit much; it seems to
go so slowly."
"I brought one pair of wristers with me and I have another pair almost
done," said Mrs. Hancock. "What are these?"
"Those are the boxes the boys have been pasting," said Ethel Blue,
picking up one of them. "They began with the large plain ones first--the
real packing boxes."
"Here are some that are large enough for a dress."
"We've gathered all the old boxes we could find in our house or in our
friends' houses--Margaret must have hunted in your attic for she brought
over some a fortnight ago. None of the things we are making will require
a box as large as the tailors send out, so we took those boxes and the
broken ones that we found and made them over."
"That must have taken a great deal of time."
"The boys paste pretty fast now. Some of them they made to lock
together. They didn't need anything but cutting. They got that idea from
a tailor's box that Roger found."
Mrs. Hancock examined the flat pasteboard cut so that the corners would
interlock.
"The old boxes they cut down. That saves buying new pasteboard. And
they've covered some of the battered looking old ones with fresh paper
so they look as good as new--"
"And a great deal prettier," said Dorothy.
"We get wall paper at ten cents a roll for the covering," said Ethel
Blue. "They have an old-fashioned air that's attractive, Aunt Marion
says," and she held up a box covered with wild roses.
"They're lovely! And they must have cost you almost nothing."
"We did these when our treasury was very low. Now we've got almost fifty
dollars that we cleared from our entertainment after we paid all our
bills and repaid Mother what we owed her," explained Ethel Brown, "so
now the boys can get some fresh cardboard and some chintz and cretonne
and make some real beauties."
"Is this what James has been doing on Saturdays?"
"James is the best paster of all, he's so careful. He always makes his
corners as neat as pins. Sometimes the other boys are careless."
"Then I don't see why James couldn't do some of this at home now. He has
altogether too much time on his hands."
"Can't he study yet?"
"He learns his lessons but his father doesn't want him to go to school
for at least a fortnight and perhaps not then, so he has long hours with
nothing to do except read and it isn't good for him to do that all the
time."
"We've got a lot of ideas for pasting that we've been waiting for time
and cash to put into operation," said Helen who had come in in time to
hear Mrs. Hancock's complaint. "If James could have an old table that
you didn't mind his getting sticky, next to his wheel chair he could do
a quantity of things that we want very much, and it would help, oh,
tremendously."
"Tell me about them," and Mrs. Hancock sat down at once to receive her
instructions. Helen brought a sheet of paper and made a list of
materials to be bought and drew some of the articles over which she
thought that James might be puzzled.
"Some of these ideas we got from magazines," she said, "and some people
told us and some we invented ourselves. They aren't any of them very
large."
"James will like that. It is more fun to turn off a number of articles.
When he has an array standing on his table you must all go over to Glen
Point and see them."
"We thought that perhaps you'd let us have a meeting of the U. S. C. at
your house one Saturday afternoon, and we could take over some of our
work to show James and we could see his, and we could work while we were
there," suggested Helen diffidently.
"You're as good as gold to think of it! It will be the greatest pleasure
to James. Shall we say this next Saturday?"
The girls agreed that that would be a good time, and Mrs. Hancock went
home laden with materials for James's pasting operations and bearing the
pleasant news of the coming of the Club to meet with him.
Long before the hour at which they were expected James rolled himself to
the window to wait for their coming. Now that the leaves were off the
trees he could just see the car stop at the end of the street and he
watched eagerly for the flock of young people to run toward the house.
It seemed an interminable wait, yet the car on which they had promised
to come was not a minute late when at last it halted and its eager
passengers stepped off. James could see the Ethels leading the
procession, waving their hands toward the window at which they knew he
must be, although they could not see him until they came much nearer.
Dorothy followed them not far behind, and Roger and Helen brought up the
rear. Every one of them was laden with parcels of the strangest shapes.
"I know the conductor thought we were Santa Claus's own children,"
laughed Ethel Blue as they all shook hands with the invalid and inquired
after his leg.
"We've come up to have a pasting bee," said Helen, "and we all have
ideas for you to carry out."
"So have we," cried a new voice at the door, and Della and Tom came in,
also laden with parcels and also bubbling with pleasure at seeing James
so well again.
"We shall need quantities of smallish presents that you can manage here
at your table just splendidly," explained Ethel Brown.
"And dozens of wrappings of various kinds that you can make, too."
"Great and glorious," beamed James. "'Lay on, Macduff.' I'll absorb
every piece of information you give me, like a wet sponge."
"Let's do things in shipshape fashion," directed Roger. "What do you say
to boxes first? We'll lay out here our patterns, and materials."
"Let's make one apiece of everything," cried Dorothy, "and leave them
all for James to copy."
"And we can open the other bundles afterwards," said Della, "then those
materials won't get mixed up with the box materials."
"Save the papers and strings," advised Ethel Brown. "We're going to need
a fearful amount of both when wrapping time comes."
"The secretary has had a letter from Mademoiselle," Helen informed the
invalid.
"Where from?" James was aflame with interest.
"She's in Belgium; you know she said she was going to try to be sent
there. She doesn't mention the name of the town, but she's near enough
to the front for wounded to be brought in from the field."
"And she can hear the artillery booming all the time," contributed Ethel
Blue.
"And one day she went out right on to the firing line to give first
aid."
"Think of that! Our little teacher!"
"She wasn't given those black eyes for nothing! She's game right
through!" laughed Helen.