"It's--it's Miss Hadlow. She has it worse than Aunt Kezia thought. She
doesn't think she'll be able to be home for some days yet."
"How many days, Nell?" queried the Atom, anxiously.
"She doesn't know, but she says Miss Hadlow won't take proper
nourishment unless she's there to make her; and it is essential that
while the influenza runs its course, she should take sufficient
nourishment to keep up her strength. Denis, you're _not_ to laugh!"
"How long does it take running its course?" asked Molly.
"I don't know. A week--"
"Oh, more than that," said Denis, cheerfully.
"Poor Miss Hadlow!" said Molly, dutifully.
They all began to laugh and laugh.
"Aren't we h-h-horrid?" gasped Nell.
"I don't see _why_," argued the Atom; "if she were _really_ ill, we'd be
sorry--I suppose."
Denis shouted with laughter at her tone.
"She isn't ill, you see," pursued Sheila Pat. "She's just like a baby
and won't take this and won't take that! So I don't see why we should
be sorry yet awhile--we will be when she gets worse, perhaps."
"Denis," said Nell, "I'm going to give Sarah a holiday!"
"To celebrate the joy--melancholy occasion?"
Nell had been waving Aunt Kezia's letter with its reams of counsel and
advice over her head. She laid it down demurely.
"Don't be silly, Denis. I consider Sarah deserves a holiday."
"Prunes and prisms! So she does!"
"And it's Saturday, so you can help after lunch."
"I'm at your service, fair Eileen."
When Sarah came to clear the table Nell waved her away.
"Sarah, go and put on your outdoor apparel! You are to have a holiday.
We--the O'Briens--have decreed it so."
"Yes, miss--_what_? A 'oliday? What for, miss?"
"For general good conduct, Sarah."
"But--"
"Away! We stand no 'buts' in our family. Once a ram was slain for
butting, you know, Sarah," observed Denis, absurdly.
"You're just wasting your time and you might be with your _sweetheart_,
Sarah!" put in the Atom, practically.
Scarlet-faced, Sarah fled.
Nell pursued her.
"Sarah, you are not to return before ten o'clock to-night."
"Oh, if you'll hexcuse me, miss, I must--there's 'Err Smitt's dinner!"
"What were you going to give him, Sarah?"
"A steak with boiled potaters and a cauliflower, and a jam tart," said
Sarah, dejectedly.
"All of which I can manage," said Nell. "He has coffee after it,
doesn't he?"
"And who'll answer the door, miss?"
"Any of us. Now go and get ready, Sarah."
After clearing away Herr Schmidt's breakfast Sarah took her departure
with many injunctions: "Leave the dirty plates and things for me, miss,
and would you please tell the baker to shut the gate after 'im, as
mistress do object so to it being left open, and 'e always forgets--"
She went at last, joyful but full of anxiety.
Denis had gone off to the bank.
"Now," said Nell, "I'm going to concoct a dream of a lunch!
Chicken--oysters--jellies--such sweets! And we'll get hold of Ted,
somehow--he must be here!"
He was there. They had the luncheon in the kitchen. "It saves carrying
things into the dining room," said Nell, but it was more for the fun of
it than anything else. It was a very successful lunch, and the cook
received quite an ovation. When the meal was over, she observed:--
"I do hate to give a person a holiday and then make her do her work when
she comes home."
Ted looked at her inquiringly.
Denis gazed at the ceiling.
"I do," reiterated Nell, severely.
"Of course," said Ted, vaguely.
"Careful, old man! Any statement you make now will be used against you.
Nell's pathetic observation, translated into cold English, means that
we've got to wash up."
"I will!" cried Sheila Pat.
Denis looked at her enviously.
"What it is to be young and energetic!"
"I'll do it," said Ted.
"Leave it to us," sighed Denis.
"Oh, indeed," she laughed. "I wonder how many plates Aunt Kezia would
have left by the time you'd done?"
Denis looked at Ted with an injured expression.
"That's how I'm thrated in the bosom of me family, Lancaster! But we'll
heap coals of fire upon her ungrateful pate, and won't let her soil her
nasty little hands."
"We will--we won't."
The Atom carried the last plate into the scullery.
Nell tilted her chin, and held out her hands.
"Indeed, then, I _will_ wash up. These hands were made for work, and
not for play! Edward, what are you doing?"
"Trying to see them," peering close. "I see them! So they were made for
work?"
"That grin does not become your naturally saturnine countenance, Edward.
I wouldn't think of intrusting Aunt Kezia's china to two great clumsy
boys."
Denis looked at Ted, then strolled towards the scullery.
"I say, O.B.," said Ted, and followed him in a casual sort of way. The
next minute the door between scullery and kitchen was banged to, Denis
turned the key in the lock, and he and Ted stood grinning through the
upper part of the door, which was made of glass. Nell sprang forward,
but was too late. Then suddenly a twinkle crept into her eyes.
"You watch!" she adjured Molly. "I wish the Atom would finish giving
her Pearl his dinner!"
The two boys took off their coats, rolled up their sleeves. Denis hauled
down a big sauce-pan from a shelf.
"_Dirty_ boy!" cried Nell, through the door. "Things are _cooked_ in
that!"
Ted proudly brought forward a bowl for mixing the ingredients of cakes
and puddings.
"It's for _cakes_! Put it away!"
They found the right bowl at last.
Nell's dimples deepened.
Denis took the pan to the sink, stopped short, and looked at Ted.
"No hot water!" they heard him say. "Tap's gone wrong!"
"Won't cold do?" queried Ted, innocently.
"Suppose so."
"Oh," cried Nell, clutching Molly ecstatically, "you wait and _see_ the
grease!"
They filled the bowl, then seized plates, big, little indiscriminately,
and plunged them into the water.
"Oh, they'll make the pudding plates as greasy as the others. And they
haven't thought of the dish-cloth."
Denis took a meat plate and bobbed it up and down in the water. The
grease refused to come off. He bobbed energetically, and whistled
"Widow Malone" airily.
Then Ted bent forward and heroically put forth a finger and rubbed. He
made a long smear, and that was all.
We studied his finger disgustedly. Nell tripped across to he fireplace,
lifted the steaming kettle, and carried it to the scullery door.
Ted was valiantly rubbing now with two fingers.
"Denis! Ted!"
They saw a pompous, steaming kettle, hot, inviting.
"Hand it over!" said Denis, advancing. "But promise not to come in!"
"I suppose you don't think you need me?"
"Most assuredly we don't. Do we, Ted?"
"N-no."
"I won't promise."
He shrugged his shoulders.
"As you will, my dear. Cold water's a lot fresher, anyway," and he
seized a plate with a savage shake. Ted put up his hand and ruefully
rubbed his head. Nell nearly dropped the kettle in her glee. He had
used his greasy hand, and his smooth hair stuck up in front in three
jaunty wisps. Denis turned and seized a tray-cloth, lying neatly folded
on the table, and dabbed it into the water.
"Oh, you _dirty_ boy!" She pommelled excitedly on the door, but was
presented with two dignified backs, the dignity of Ted marred a good
deal by his airy locks, of which he was blissfully unconscious. She
watched the horrid smears they were chasing round the plates with the
poor little tray-cloth, and succumbed suddenly.
"You may have the hot water! Oh, yes, unconditionally!"
Truth to tell, she hated the idea of washing the greasy plates, and was
glad to get out of it so easily.
"Mayn't I just come in to show you how to set about it?" she queried
sweetly.
"We don't need showing, once we've got the hot water, do we, Ted?"
"N-n-no," said Ted.
Of course Denis burnt himself, but nothing was broken. Nell called
directions through the door, and the washing up was finished at last.
When Ted emerged into the kitchen, carrying some plates, she accosted
him demurely:--
"Have you _really_ finished? I want Denis to go down into the cellar
and fill the coal-box."
"I will," he said, seizing on the scuttle.
"No, really, Ted--it's horrid to let you do things--"
"It's ripping, Nell!" he declared with an earnestness that somehow sent
her thoughts longingly to Kilbrannan--to have him there!
He paused in the doorway, coal-box in hand.
"What's wrong, Nell?" he asked uneasily.
"Wrong? Nothing. Why?"
"You--you looked--sort of--" he stammered, and fled.
She stood a minute looking thoughtfully into the fire. A loud and
prolonged rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-_tat_ on the front door sent her
flying into the scullery.
Denis was putting on his coat.
"Royalty at the front door, Denis! You so! Hurry up!"
Denis went to the door. No one was on the doorstep, but a tall footman
stood at the gate, holding it back for two white cloth and fur visions
to enter.
"By Jove! Ted's relations!"
His hospitable instinct prompted him to greet them as genially as he
could. He cast a whimsical glance at their hats pondering on the
relative size of them and the hall.
"How-do-you-do? Is our cousin Ted here?"
The hats sailed successfully into the hall, and then stopped abruptly
with a little jerk and flutter of chiffon, feathers, and velvet. For
before them stood an Object--a dirty Object in smeared shirt-sleeves,
with a black smudge across one brazen cheek, and hair sticking up in
three jaunty wisps over a coal-dust speckled brow. Moreover, the
Object--the Dirty Object--was carrying a very full coal scuttle,
swinging it gently to and fro, rather as if he were enjoying the
situation and found it funny. And it was their cousin! It was Edward
Lancaster!
"Sorry I can't shake hands." He held forth his free hand, unabashed,
and it was very black.
"Come in here, will you?" Denis flung open the door of the
drawing-room.
Ted deposited the coal scuttle in the hall and followed them. Then
coldly came Miss Lancaster's voice:--
"Are you acting charades or what?"
"Neither," said Ted, "work--real, honest work, you know. Have you come
to fetch me?"
"Yes. Your father wants you. He's starting for South Africa to-night."
"All right. I'll put on my coat."
Nell came in, very pink, very demure. The response to her greeting was
very cold. She turned to Ted.
"I see you've filled the coal-box. Thanks so much."
"Governor wants me." Ted's face had grown grim, frowning.
"We suggested he might be with his Irish friends," pursued Alicia, with
a nasty little emphasis on the two last words, "and as we were just
starting for a drive, we offered to--er--"
"Look for Ted?" finished Nell.
"Er--Ted?" Alicia said.
"That's me," explained Ted, gravely.
"If," said Alicia, "you can spare our cousin now, we should like to
drive him back."
Nell turned to him.
"Hurry up, _Teddie_!"
"Let me see," observed Denis, thoughtfully, "can we spare him yet? He's
washed up--and filled the coal-box. There're the boots to clean, old
man, but if your pater wants you, you'll have to go!"
"How kind of you!" sneered Alicia, angrily.
"I shall have to go, Nell," Ted said; "my father's off to-night to South
Africa."
"Oh, hurry, then! Denis, take him to your room."
"There's the scullery sink. I saw a bit of saffron-hued soap there, and
a beautiful brush in a pail. Come on, old chap."
Ted glanced frowningly at Nell and then at Denis.
"Don't you come. I can find it."
Denis nodded.
"All right."
Ted left the room.
"What a good thing you thought of coming here for him," observed Nell,
politely.
"Yes."
"Mrs. Lancaster's well, I hope?" said Denis, cheerfully.
"Yes, thank you."
Nell dared not meet his eye. She bit her lip in terror she would begin
to laugh.
"Is it the custom in Ireland to use one's friends as one's servants?"
inquired Alicia.
"Oh, yes, invariable custom," he responded. "It's a good idea--does
away with the servant problem, you see. When you invite people to
dinner, the husbands go off to shoot pheasants, and the wives come in to
help cook 'em. When dinner's over they all help wash up; Ted's new to it
yet, but he's getting on!"
"We'll soon be able to give Sarah a week's holiday, and have him in
every day," annotated Nell.
"Oh, _have_ you a servant?" said Alicia, and Nell's eyes lit with
contempt of her petty ill-breeding.
"Well, I wouldn't like to call her that," pondered Denis, thoughtfully,
"servantette would be better."
"Will you have some tea?" Nell asked. "I won't be a minute getting it."
"No, thank you."
Ted came in, immaculate in long fawn coat.
"Coming?" he said curtly.
They rose, bowed coldly to Nell, and rustled from the room, accompanied
by Denis. Ted stood a moment, hesitating. Nell held out her hand.
"Good-bye, Ted."
"Good-bye."
He turned and strode from the room.
"Come early to-morrow!" she called, following him.
"Say, Lancaster, you might have given these steps a rub if you'd been
able to stay," came Denis's musical voice.
And Nell ran back into the drawing-room, subsided into a chair, and
laughed.
Denis came back fairly shouting.
"Oh, aren't they rich? Their faces!--I feel quite exhausted--have I
swelled with compressed laughter, Nell? Let's open the windows! I can't
stand that scent."
She sat up, wiping her eyes.
"I think it's horrid to laugh! Poor Ted!"
"Hard lines for him. Sarah's more refined than they are."
"I'm afraid he felt awfully bad, Denis. He looked so horribly grim.
I'm worried about him."
"That's why you're weeping!"
She began to smile again.
"I can't help it. They were so horribly, rudely funny! Poor old Ted."
*CHAPTER XXIII*
"I was thinking, miss," said Sarah, "as 'ow the bit of beef would 'ash
nicely."
"Beef bone, you mean, Sarah?"
Sarah looked uncomfortable; she picked up a corner of her apron and
pleated it uneasily.
"Well, you see, miss, we've been using up a lot of things lately--"
Nell laughed lightly.
"Sarah, are you telling me I eat too much?"
"No, miss." Sarah sighed, hesitated. "But it do run away with things
'aving folks to meals!" she blurted out. "Oh, miss, I beg your parding!"
she gasped, aghast at the change in Nell's face.
"We will have the beef bone for lunch, with potatoes and bread!" said
Nell, tragically, and marched upstairs to the Stronghold, where Denis
was mending a shelf before rushing off to the bank.
"Denis,"--her soft voice rushed it all out in wild indignation,--"we
have been insulted! We're not to invite Ted here to meals any more!
Nor anyone else! We're to bundle them off without letting them eat or
drink beneath this hateful, mean, petty little roof! That's what it has
come to now!"
"By Jove, Nell! what's it all mean?"
"It means that we've been using up too much of Aunt Kezia's money! The
accounts were to run till she came back, whatever that means! But this
morning Sarah warned me--_me!_--that having folks to meals do run away
with things so!" She ended with a shaky little laugh.
"That all? What on earth does it matter what a well-meaning but silly
little hap'orth says?"
"But--Denis--it isn't our money, you see!"
He banged a nail into the shelf. "I may be a thief, but I'll never turn
my friends away, Nell O'Brien!"
She laughed gaily. "I know! I'll make Sarah tell me the exact amount
Aunt Kezia spends in a week, and we'll keep horrible accounts, and never
go beyond it! At least, with her money. When we get to the end of
that, we'll pay for the things with our own money, and live on bread and
water and all that sort of thing!"
"We will, my twin, we will! You're a genius."
He took out his watch, then frowned. "Good-bye, Nell. Hustle me out, or
I shall never go!"
"Poor old Denis!"
"That's not hustling. If you sympathise, I shall begin to cry, and
refuse to budge."
She went down into the hall to help him into his coat.
"It's poor old Tellbridge, too," he observed comically. "I don't fancy
I'm much of a bargain. Oh, Nell, aren't letters immeasurably more
interesting, more human, than hard and dry figures? That Pennington,"
he added, "can tot up--subtract--fly around with figures, till he makes
my head spin. He's helped me out lots of times."
"I'm going to figure, too, this morning--with Sarah! So you can think of
me drowning in a sea of curly threes and twos and fives, and
noughts--heaps of noughts."
Ted did not appear that day. But the next morning Nell was standing in
the dining-room window, snipping off the dead jonquils from a bunch in a
bowl, when, glancing up, she saw Ted coming in at the gate. She nodded
and smiled, and he raised his hat. She dropped two or three dead
jonquils and ran out into the hall to open the door.
"Well--" she began; she stopped abruptly--no one was there. She looked
to the right; she looked to the left; she gazed up at the sky as if she
thought Ted might have become possessed of wings and had flown away.
Then suddenly she gave a quick little nod, and off she started in
pursuit, clad in blue painting pinafore, and clasping the large pair of
old scissors. A good way in front of her there was a broad-shouldered
figure striding along at a terrific pace. Up the road went Nell, and
after her came an open-mouthed butcher's boy. Nell was a splendid
runner, but Ted's pace was swift and his strides long. He turned the
corner and disappeared.
"Ted! _Ted!_" But he was too far off to hear. She rounded the corner
in her turn, and collided with a respectable old gentleman going
citywards.
"So--sorry!" she gasped, not stopping. "Did I hurt you?" she called
back.
"A--pleasure!" ejaculated the respectable old gentleman, who was little
and very rotund. He gazed dazedly after her and the butcher's boy.
Then--for he was a chivalrous old gentleman--he trotted after them.
"If I--can help--" he observed breathlessly to a lamp-post as he passed
it.
"_Ted!_"
He heard at last, and turned and stood staring. Then he approached
stiffly, hat in hand. The butcher's boy and the little old gentleman
drew nearer.
"Ted--" Nell clutched hold of his coat-sleeve.
"If I--can help--" The little old gentleman had reached her side now.
The butcher's boy stood listening, mouth agape.
"Oh!" Nell gave a breathless little gurgle. "Thanks, but--"
"There's no necessity for anyone's help, thanks," said Ted, coldly.
"It was very kind of you," she interposed charmingly, "especially after
I butted into you like that. But I've caught him, you see. That was
all I wanted."
The old gentleman raised his hat, and retreated.
"You'll catch cold," said Ted. "You must have my coat."
"I'm not made of sugar! I _won't_!"
He shrugged his shoulders.
"You're to come back with me at once," she said imperiously.
Dr. Hildersley, from the corner house, looked forth admiringly: "What
eyes! What a colour! I wouldn't mind betting the aunt isn't at home!"
Mrs. Denbigh at No. 41 looked out and shrugged her shoulders and smiled:
"One of those mad Irish people! But _what_ a pretty girl she is!"
Once back in the dining room Nell faced him.
"Now!" she said.
"What is it you wanted me for?" he asked.
She leant, half-sitting, against the back of a chair; she swung herself
gently to and fro, and looked at him thoughtfully.
"Ted, you've got a horrible temper, I believe!"
"If that's all, I may as well go!"
She made a dart toward him. "Oh, don't make me run after you again!
And Aunt Kezia has expressly forbidden me to leave the house in my
pinny. I've just remembered it."
"Ted," suddenly, "what did you do yesterday?"
"Rode."
"What did you ride?"
"Rowena--then Peter."
"How long did you ride?"
"All day."
She nodded.
"Sit down."
"I don't want to, thanks."
"Ted, tell me why you began to come in, and changed your mind."
"Remembered something. Is O'Brien at the bank?"
"Oh, no, he's reading in bed!"
There was a little pause.
She began suddenly: "You may go if you want to! If any little stupid
thing can make you never want to come near us any more, go! I shan't
run after you again, anyway. We don't understand that kind of thing,
but then we're not cold-blooded Englishmen!"
"I say, Nell!"
He had grown very red, but he looked rather amused.
"Why don't you go? I'll tell Denis not to come round worrying you--"
Quite suddenly she stopped. The pink colour leapt to her cheeks; she
gave a little, shamefaced laugh, "Oh, Ted, it's just like--that--that
first night!"
"Just what I was thinking."
There was a little silence.
"Nell, why _did_ you come after me?"
"Because I wanted to ask you something."
"Well?"
"I wanted to know where you got that waistcoat," demurely.
He glanced down at it.
"Well, I was afraid it was rather gorgeous," he said slowly, "but I
didn't think it would shine through my overcoat!"
"Oh, yes,"--she was quite unabashed,--"I saw the glow of it on thy manly
bosom."
"I--I want to apologise for--"
"Oh, no, you don't! _Please_ don't, Ted!"
"They were so beastly rude," he said.
She searched for excuses. "It really was rather--rather startling for
them! You see, they're different from us--I mean," catching sight of
his expression, "we're always having fun and that kind of thing--"
He smiled at her.
"Give it up, Nell," he said gently; "it's awfully good of you, but it's
no go, anyway."
"Well, but--why _did_ you come to the gate, and then turn away?"
He flushed.
"I don't know. I was coming in. I saw you, and--I funked it suddenly!
I was so beastly ashamed. It was awfully good of you to come after me
like that, Nell," earnestly.
"Oh, now he's a nice, sweet Teddie again, and he'll let me tell him to
come and sit up in the Stronghold while I paint, won't he? There's that
'Adventures of an Irish R.M.' you're halfway through. You can read
that."
He opened the door for her.
"I can hear my acushlum," he said.
*CHAPTER XXIV*
"Aunt Kezia says she hopes to be home in a few days, and that she trusts
we are all behaving ourselves, and she hopes I'm looking after Sarah,
and seeing that she uses up all the crusts and bits of bread for
bread-puddings and bread-crumbs, and that she doesn't go up into Aunt
Kezia's bedroom to look out of the window at her young man--"
"By Jove, I _never_ knew Aunt Kezia had a young man!"
"And she hopes--"
"And she might let poor Sarah just look at him--he must be a curiosity.
Fancy Aunt Kezia being so jealous!"
Nell put down her letter.
"She gives a great deal of advice, and is very anxious, but since Denis
is so frivolous I won't tell you any more."
"_I've_ got a letter from Tommy, and he sends his love to my
snowy-breasted Pearl," observed the Atom, "and he thinks they're comin'
home in about a week."
"Oh, missansir," exclaimed Sarah, coming in to clear away the breakfast
things, "let me shut the winders! You'll catch your deaths of colds!"
"Oh, it's a lovely morning," said Nell, leaning out.
"When I die, plant a shamrock o'er my corpse, Sarah," begged Denis.
Sarah sighed heavily.
"It's a great responsibility me having to look after you all!"
Nell put her head down on the window-sill and laughed.
"Sheila Pat," said Molly, "what are you doing?"
The Atom was standing, with absorbed countenance, one foot extended,
balancing a pin-cushion. On her head was the slop basin.
"Don't--speak--to me!"
The whisper was earnest and intense, but at that moment Kate Kearney
crept up, picked off the pin-cushion, and frisked away with it. The
slop basin fell with a crash.
"Oh, we shall catch it," said Nell, eying the pieces.
"I was tryin' to do the balancin' clown."
On the previous Saturday Ted had appeared very casually with a box at a
circus going begging.
"Pity to waste it," he had observed uncomfortably.
He had not explained that he had booked for that box three weeks before,
and had never summoned up courage to mention it till the very day
itself.
They had enjoyed every moment of that circus; and Sheila Pat had striven
to do many things since that she had witnessed that day.
"Next time," advised Denis, from the hall, "you practise the clown, do
it with sofa-cushions, Atom. It will come more economical in the end."
That evening Herr Schmidt went into his bedroom, and found a small
burglar walking off with the two tall candles from his toilet table.
"Good evenin'," the burglar said calmly. "I'm glad you've come in,
because now I can ask if you've any injection to lendin' us your
candles, Herr Schmidt."
"Not at all, my dear; it is a bleasure."
He followed her into the hall. Suddenly she turned, looking gnomish.
"I invite you to join our little party, Herr Schmidt!" she said with a
good deal of effect.
"A barty? But I am old--"
"Please come! I do so _want_ you to come!"
He smiled delightedly.
"You are a nice little girl! Ach, yes, I will come if ze rest wish it
also."
"Oh, yes, they will! You see, it's to jump over candles!"
"To joomp? Candles?"
She nodded.
"Nell," entering the dining room, which was cleared for action, "isn't
it lovely--Herr Schmidt's goin' to jump them, too!" Her wicked little
voice trembled with glee.
"Oh!" said Nell, "oh, it's very good of him!"
Herr Schmidt looked on with benign interest as they arranged twelve
candles, big, little, thin, fat, in a row on the floor, some in
candlesticks and a few stuck on pieces of wood. He listened earnestly
to Nell's explanation.
"Yes, yes, I understand. Every candle represents a month. Yes. I
joomp--so!" He gave an elephantine leap in the air that sent Molly
flying from the room. "And if I blow out any, I shall be onhappy zat
month--ach, yes!"
"And all you jump over without blowing out will be happy and prosperous
months."
"So! I understant. Shall I begin?"
He did begin. He stood before the first candle drew his feet together,
and--thud!--he was over and beaming round, breathless but triumphant.
"Ach--he not out!"
He smiled seraphically upon his rude, convulsed audience, which was
strewn around helplessly on chairs and sofa.
Then he prepared to manipulate the second candle. With a thud that shook
the whole house, he cleared it triumphantly.
"January, February! Ach, it is so easy!"
"You're a fairy, Herr Schmidt!" declared Denis. "I believe you've got
gossamer wings hidden in your toes!"
"You're a bit muddled, O.B., aren't you?" observed Ted.
But the hackneyed and stale old saying that pride goes before a fall
held good now. Herr Schmidt, overconfident, leapt buoyantly at his
third candle and came down with a horrible squelch straight on it.
"Ach, I've put--him out!" he ejaculated dismally.
"No, have you?" said Ted.
"Yes, I haf," he responded in all good faith, eying the flattened mass
of wax. "It is March; I shall be unlucky."
Then warily he started once more. He surmounted successfully April,
May, June, and July. By that time his beaming smiles had given place to
a deep and solemn earnestness infinitely more ludicrous. His face was
very red, and his breath was very short. But on he went; came to grief
over August; on again, over September, October, successfully, put
November out, and leapt December with a bang that Denis declared made
his teeth rattle in his head.
"Zere!" He looked round on his audience much as a conqueror might have
looked on the worlds he had conquered--with pride tempered by sadness
for losses. "I shall be unlucky in March and August and November, but I
joomp zem well, eh? Zo many not out, hein?"
"Oh, beautifully," said Nell, wiping her eyes, "only three out!"
They replaced flattened March, then Sheila Pat went earnestly at the
candles; bright and airy as a sprite, she skipped over them without
putting out one. Molly was not so lucky. Her skirts were longer than
the Atom's, her giggles more helpless. Her jumps were wild, hopelessly
crooked. She put out February and March, then stood on one leg, her
skirts all bunched up in front, shaking with laughter.
"_Don't_ look at me! Oh, _mayn't_ I begin again? _Denis_--don't make
me laugh!"
She gathered her skirts together--thud, thud, thud, thud! In a wild rush
April, May, June, July, were jumped triumphantly.
"O dear!" She stopped again, breathless with giggles and frantic little
squeals at each candle. Denis was shouting aloud at her desperate hops.
"You're like a one-legged frog, Mol! Go on! You mustn't stop!"
"I'll _never_ do the rest! _Oh_!" She stumbled--kicked August over,
trod on September, and fell headlong on October, November, and December.
A horrible smell of burning arose. Herr Schmidt, with a torrent of
guttural exclamations, rushed to her assistance. Ted also helped her to
rise. The others simply collapsed and laughed.
Two burnt holes in her skirt, and grease--grease--grease--were the
extent of the damages. Molly lay on the lounge and groaned out:--
"Oh, I _ache_! _Stop_ me laughing!"
They cut a long candle in two and procured two fresh ones; then Nell
went forward, light as Sheila Pat but not able to control her laughter
so well, and jumped all successfully except February.
A friend called to see Herr Schmidt and he went regretfully away. Denis
skipped airily over the whole twelve candles, without a pause, and
without putting out one.
"Come on, Ted! It's as easy as sleeping with your eyes shut!"
"Wait a moment--I've an idea!" exclaimed Nell.
"_No!_"
"It's not fair for you boys. How do you think I put out February? Why,
with the whiff of my skirt! _You shall wear skirts_!"
They draped them artistically with rugs and shawls, pinning them up till
Ted declared ruefully that he moved in terror of his life.
"Come on!" shouted Denis. "What's a rug when you've got a good pair of
legs! Houp la!"
And he was staggering and stumbling helplessly, with January and
February both out.
"Where are your good pair of legs now?"
"_I_ can do better than that. It requires a calm dignity and caution,"
observed Ted. "You were too rash, O.B., too Oirish altogether."
He dragged his rugs and shawls together.
"You've lit them again? Thanks. Now!"
He jumped slowly, heavily, without any spring, cleared January
successfully, and put out February with a fliff of his draperies.
"Hang it all! That's not fair. Why, it's out before I've jumped the
thing!"
"Of course!" cried Nell, gleefully. "You're too English altogether,
Ted! You should be more careful with your skirt!"
"Um." He eyed the candle reflectively, then cautiously stepped round
it.
"I'm not going to jump it for nothing," he declared; "it's out and it
can't be outer. Now for March."
He rolled his draperies into a ball in front, jumped blindly, the ball
projecting too far for him to be able to see the candle, and peered
round complacently.
"He's all right!"
But a storm of expostulations arose.
"You jumped right on one side!"
"You didn't jump over it at all!"
"You must do it again!"
He sighed.
"I do call that jolly hard!"
He looked appealingly at Nell, but got no sympathy.
At that moment Denis gave a war-whoop behind him.
"Go on! Let's rush 'em! I'm coming! Hurry _up_!"
"Oh, I say!" He clutched wildly at his draperies, heard Denis clear the
candle behind him, and leapt forward desperately, his rugs held up
anyhow.
Over March, April, May, June, July, August, September, October, November
they careered without a pause to view what success they had achieved,
stumbling, kicking, making the most awful noise; then Ted did not take
December quickly enough--Denis, unable to stop himself, with a yell
collided into him, and over they went, squashing December as flat as the
proverbial pancake. They lay, kicking, struggling, all muddled up.
"Give us a hand!" shouted Denis. "Here, you idiot, you're hanging on to
_my_ rug!"
"I'm not! A pin's digging into my calf!"
"I tell you, you _have_ got hold of my rug!"
"I haven't! It's my shawl you're pulling at."
"Nell, I'll disown you as my twin forever if you don't come and separate
this fool from me!"