We like our Aunt Esta very much because she doesn't like us.
That is--she doesn't like us specially. _Toys_ are what our Aunt Esta
likes specially. Our Aunt Esta invents toys. She invents them for a
store in New York. Our Aunt Esta is thirty years old with very serious
hair. I don't know how old our other relatives are--except Rosalee! And
Carol! And myself!
My sister Rosalee is seventeen years old. And a Betrothess. Her
Betrother lives in Cuba. He eats bananas. My brother Carol is eleven. He
has no voice in his throat. But he eats anything. I myself am only nine.
But with very long legs. Our Father and Mother have no age. They are
just tall.
There was a man. He was very rich. He had a little girl with sick
bones. She had to sit in a wheel chair all day long and be pushed around
by a Black Woman. He asked our Aunt Esta to invent a Game for her. The
little girl's name was Posie.
Our Aunt Esta invented a Game. She called it the Game of the
Be-Witchments. It cost two hundred dollars and forty-three cents. The
Rich Man didn't seem to mind the two hundred dollars. But he couldn't
bear the forty-three cents. He'd bear even that, though, he said, if it
would only be sure to work!
"_Work?_" said our Aunt Esta. "Why _of course_ it will work!" So just
the first minute she got it invented she jammed it into her trunk and
dashed up to our house to see if it would!
It worked very well. Our Aunt Esta never wastes any time. Not even
kissing. Either coming or going. We went right up to her room with her.
It was a big trunk. The Expressman swore a little. My Father tore his
trouser-knee. My Mother began right away to re-varnish the scratches on
the bureau.
It took us most all the morning to carry the Game down-stairs. We
carried it to the Dining Room. It covered the table. It covered the
chairs. It strewed the sideboard. It spilled over on the floor. There
was a pair of white muslin angel wings all spangled over with silver and
gold! There was a fairy wand! There was a shining crown! There was a
blue satin clock! There was a yellow plush suit and swishy-tail all
painted sideways in stripes like a tiger! There was a most furious tiger
head with whisk-broom whiskers! There was a green frog's head! And a
green frog's suit! There was a witch's hat and cape! And a hump on the
back! There were bows and arrows! There were boxes and boxes of
milliner's flowers! There were strings of beads! And yards and yards of
dungeon chains made out of silver paper! And a real bugle! And red
Chinese lanterns! And--and everything!
The Rich Man came in a gold-colored car to see it work. When he saw the
Dining Room he sickened. He bit his cigar.
"My daughter Posie is ten years old," he said. "What I ordered for her
was a Game!--not a Trousseau!"
Our Aunt Esta shivered her hands. She shrugged her shoulders.
"You don't understand," she said. "This is no paltry Toy to be exhausted
and sickened of in a single hour! This is a real Game! Eth-ical!
Psycho-psycho--logical! Unendingly diverting! Hour after hour! Day after
day!--Once begun, you understand, it's never over!"
The Rich Man looked at his watch.
"I have to be in Chicago a week from tomorrow!" he said.
Somebody giggled. It couldn't have been Rosalee, of course. Because
Rosalee is seventeen. And, of course, it wasn't Carol. So it must have
been me.
The Rich Man gave an awful glare.
"Who are these children?" he demanded.
Our Aunt Esta swallowed.
"They are my--my Demonstrators," she said.
"'Demonstrators?'" sniffed the Rich Man. He glared at Carol. "Why don't
you speak?" he demanded.
My mother made a rustle to the door-way.
"He can't," she said. "Our son Carol is dumb."
The Rich Man looked very queer.
"Oh, I say," he fumbled and stuttered. "Oh, I say--! After all there's
no such great harm in a giggle. My little girl Posie cries all the time.
_All_ the time, I mean! _Cries_ and _cries_ and _cries_!--It's a
fright!"
"She wouldn't," said our Aunt Esta, "if she had a game like this to play
with."
"Eh?" said the Rich Man.
"She could wear the Witch's hideous cape!" said our Aunt Esta. "And the
queer pointed black hat! And the scraggly gray wig! And the great
horn-rimmed spectacles! And the hump on her back! And----"
"My daughter Posie has Ti--Titian red curls," said the Rich Man coldly.
"And the most beautiful brown eyes that mortal man has ever seen! And a
skin so fair that----"
"That's why I think it would rest her so," said our Aunt Esta, "to be
ugly outside--instead of inside for a while."
"_Eh?_" said the Rich Man.
He glared at our Aunt Esta.
Our Aunt Esta glared at him.
Out in the kitchen suddenly the most beautiful smell happened. The smell
was soup! Spiced Tomato Soup! It was as though the whole stove had
bloomed! My Father came to the door. "What's it all about?" he said. He
saw the Rich Man. The Rich Man saw him. "Why, how do you do?" said my
Father. "Why, how do you do?" said the Rich Man. They bowed. There was
no room on the Dining Room table to put the dishes. There was no room
anywhere for anything. We had to eat in the kitchen. My Mother made
griddle cakes. The Rich Man stirred the batter. He seemed to think it
was funny. Carol had to sit on a soap-box. Our Aunt Esta sat on the edge
of a barrel with her stockings swinging. It made her look not so strict.
"All the same," worried the Rich Man, "I don't see just why you fixed
the price at two hundred dollars and forty-three cents?--Why not two
hundred dollars and forty-five cents? Or even the round sum two hundred
and one dollars?"
Our Aunt Esta looked pretty mad. "I will be very glad--I'm sure," she
said, "to submit an itemized bill."
"Oh, nonsense!" said the Rich Man. "It was just your mental processes I
was wondering about.--The thing, of course, is worth any money--if it
works!"
"If it works?" cried our Aunt Esta.
The Rich Man jumped up and strode fiercely to the Dining Room door.
Our Aunt Esta strode fiercely after him, only littler. Our Aunt Esta is
_very_ little.
The Rich Man waved his arms at everything,--the boxes,--the
bundles,--the angel-wings,--the cloaks,--the suits,--the Chinese
Lanterns.
"All the same, the thing is perfectly outrageous!--The size of it!--The
extent! No house would hold it!"
"It isn't meant," said our Aunt Esta, "to be played just in the
house.--It's meant to be played on a sunny porch opening out on a green
lawn--so that there's plenty of room for all Posie's little playmates to
go swarming in and out."
The Rich Man looked queer. He gave a little shiver.
"My little daughter Posie hasn't got any playmates," he said. "She's too
cross."
Our Aunt Esta stood up very straight. Two red spots flamed in her
cheeks.
"You won't be able to keep the children away from her," she said, "after
they once begin to play this game!"
"You really think so?" cried the Rich Man.
Out in the kitchen my Father looked at my Mother. My Mother looked at my
Father. They both looked at us. My Father made a little chuckle.
"It would seem," said my Father, "as though it was the honor of the
whole family that was involved!" He made a whisper in Carol's ear. "Go
to it, Son!" he whispered.
Rosalee jumped to her feet. Carol jumped to his feet. I jumped to my
feet. We snatched hands. We ran right into the Dining Room. Carol's face
was shining.
"Who's going to be Posie-with-the-Sick-Bones?" I cried.
"S--s--h!" said everybody except our Aunt Esta.
Our Aunt Esta suddenly seemed very much encouraged. She didn't wait a
minute. She snatched a little book from her pocket. It was a little book
that she had made herself all full of typewriter directions about the
Game.
"_Someone_, of course," she said, "will have to be the Witch,--someone
who knows the Game, I mean, so perhaps I--?"
We rushed to help her drag the old battered tricycle to the Porch! We
helped her open up every porch door till all the green lawn and gay
petunia blossoms came right up and fringed with the old porch rug! We
helped her tie on the Witch's funny hat! And the scraggly gray wig! And
the great horn-rimmed spectacles! We helped her climb into the tricycle
seat! We were too excited to stay on the porch! We wheeled her right
out on the green lawn itself! The green lilac hedge reared all up around
her like a magic wall!
We screamed with joy! The Rich Man jumped when we screamed. The Rich
Man's name was Mr. Trent.
"And Mr. Trent shall be the Black Woman who pushes you all about!" we
screamed.
"I will not!" said Mr. Trent.
But Carol had already tied a black velvet ribbon on the Rich Man's leg
to _show_ that he was!
Our Aunt Esta seemed more encouraged every minute. She stood us all up
in front of her. Even Father. She read from her book. It was a poem. The
poem said:
Now come ye all to the Witch's Ball,
Ye Great, ye Small,
Ye Short, ye Tall,
Come one, Come all!
"I will not!" said the Rich Man.
He sweated.
"Oh Shucks! Be a Sport!" said my Father.
"I will _not_!" said the Rich Man.
He glared.
Our Aunt Esta tried to read from her book and wave her wand at the same
time. It waved the Rich Man in the nose.
"Foul Menial!" waved our Aunt Esta. "Bring in the Captives!"
"Who?" demanded the Rich Man.
_"You_!" said our Aunt Esta.
The Rich Man brought us in! Especially Father! He bound us all up in
silver paper chains! He put a silver paper ring through my Father's
beautiful nose!
"Oh, I say," protested my Father. "It was 'guests' that I understood we
were to be! Not captives!"
"Ha!" sniffed the Rich Man. "Be a Sport!"
They both glared.
Our Aunt Esta had cakes in a box. They seemed to be very good cakes.
"Now in about ten minutes," read our Aunt Esta from her book, "you will
all begin to feel very queer."
"Oh--Lordy!" said my Father.
"I knew it!" said the Rich Man. "I knew it all the time! From the very
first mouthful--my stomach----"
"Is there no antidote?" cried my Mother.
Our Aunt Esta took off her horn-rimmed spectacles. She sniffed.
"Sillies!" she said. "This is just a Game, you know!"
"Nevertheless," said the Rich Man, "I certainly feel very queer."
"When you all feel equally queer," said our Aunt Esta coldly, "we will
proceed with the Game."
We all felt equally queer just as soon as we could.
Our Aunt Esta made a speech. She made it from her little book.
"Poor helpless Captives (said the Speech). You are now entirely in my
power! Yet fear not! If everybody does just exactly as I say, all may
yet be well!"
"Hear! Hear!" said my Father.
The Rich Man suddenly seemed to like my Father very much. He reached
over and nudged him in the ribs.
"Shut up!" he whispered. "The less you say the sooner it will be over!"
My Father said less at once. He seemed very glad to know about it.
Our Aunt Esta pointed to a boxful of little envelopes.
"Foul Menial," she said. "Bring the little envelopes!"
The Rich Man brought them. But not very cheerfully.
"Oh, of course, it's all right to call _me_ that," he said. "But I tell
you quite frankly that my daughter Posie's maid will never stand for
it! _Her_ name is Elizabeth Lou!--Mrs. Jane--Frank--Elizabeth
Lou--even!"
Our Aunt Esta looked at the Rich Man. Her look was scornfuller and
scornfuller.
"_All_ Witch's servants," she said, "are called 'Foul Menial!'--From the
earliest classical records of fairy tale and legend down to----"
"Not in our times," insisted the Rich Man. "I defy you in any
Intelligence Office in New York to find a--a----"
Our Aunt Esta brushed the contradiction aside. She frowned. Not just at
the Rich Man. But at everybody. "We will proceed with the Rehearsal--as
written!" she said. She gruffed her voice. She thumped her wand on the
floor. "Each captive," she said, "will now step forward and draw a
little envelope from the box."
Each captive stepped forward and drew a little envelope from the box.
Inside each envelope was a little card. Very black ink words were
written on each card.
"Captives, stand up very straight!" ordered our Aunt Esta.
Every captive stood very straight.
"Knock your knees together with fear!" ordered our Aunt Esta.
Every captive knocked his knees together with fear.
"Strain at your chains!" ordered our Aunt Esta. "But not too hard!
Remembering they are paper!"
Every captive strained at his chains but not too hard! Remembering they
were paper!
Our Aunt Esta seemed very much pleased. She read another poem from her
book. The poem said:
Imprisoned thus in my Witchy Wiles,
Robbed of all hope, all food, all smiles,
A Fearful Doom o'er-hangs thy Rest,
Unless thou meet my Dread Behest!
"Oh, dear--oh, dear--oh, dear--oh, dear!" cried our Mother. "Can nothing
save us?"
My Father burst his nose-ring!
Rosalee giggled!
Carol and I jumped up and down! We clapped our hands!
The Rich Man cocked his head on one side. He looked at our Aunt Esta. At
her funny black pointed hat. At her scraggly gray wig. At her great
horn-rimmed spectacles. At the hump on her back. "U-m-m," he said. "What
do you mean,--'witch-y wiles?'"
"_Silence!_" said our Aunt Esta. "Read your cards!"
We read our cards.