JACK’S AFTER-SUPPER SPEECH
After the swim, Jane had had a long conversation with Mr. Wing, with
the result that a place was set for Breck at the table in the saloon.
Purple wildflowers, picked on the island and thrust into a low bowl,
stood in the center of the table and gave a gala air to the saloon.
Ellen had arranged them and said to Mabel that she had not realized
how much she missed flowers till she saw these.
Jane and Breck watched for Frederick Gray on deck, both of them
feeling shy and self-conscious. Finally, his dory slid up alongside
the “Boojum” and the boy, in immaculate white ducks, was soon standing
beside his new friends.
“Everybody is down in the saloon. Let’s go down and get the
introductions over,” Jane said, leading the way.
Frederick Gray had been looking forward all day to the little supper
party. Breck and Jane had delighted him with their warm friendliness
in the morning and he was anxious to see if their friends were as
charming as they were. It was a rare treat to the boy to mix with his
own kind. His father could find little time to spare to his son, so
engrossed was he in his inventions, and the younger children, of
course, kept his mother very busy. She did all the work, as the
isolation of Hurricane Island made the servant question impossible.
Since his sister’s departure for Columbia, he had been far lonelier
than he cared to admit. In fact, he had not realized how alone he was
till he saw this group of natural, kindly people.
“Reading from the left to the right, first row standing are my
brother, Jack Pellew, Ellen Birch, and Mr. Wing. Seated, are Frances
Bliss, Charlie Preston and Mabel Wing. The gentleman lying down is Tim
Reynolds and it is his boat that we want you to take back to
Nantucket,” Jane said in oratorical tones, “and all you
aforementioned, this is my friend Frederick Gray.”
“Mr. Wing,” Fred said, going forward to shake hands with him, “it is
very kind indeed of you to let me be with you tonight. I haven’t seen
so many new people at one time for years.”
“It is great for us to have you with us,” Mr. Wing said. “We were
beginning to need a little new blood, and your coming and Tim’s coming
just started things nicely rolling again.”
Fred could not but feel at home at once with the cordial welcome he
had received and he soon found himself seated by Tim talking of the
trip he was to make with the “Sabrina.” He told Tim that Virg Bradford
had consented to go with him and then he was so eloquent in his praise
of the little “Sabrina” that Tim immediately decided his pet would be
perfectly safe in such appreciative hands. So the few minutes before
supper passed very quickly for Fred and Tim. But they rather dragged
for Jane and Breck, for they felt, as Jane put it, “on pins and
needles,” till they knew how everybody would take it.
The little Dutch steward came in with delicious pea puree and the
little party fell to with a right good will. The lobsters that Breck
and Jane brought back from Hurricane Island formed the special dish of
the meal and were prepared with an interesting sauce of vinegar and
butter that the steward claimed as his own receipt. With the coffee,
Jack rose and announced that he had something to say.
“But we don’t want any after-dinner speeches,” objected Mabel,
“besides this is a supper and who ever heard of after-supper speeches?
Fred is the guest of honor, and he ought to be the one to speak if
anybody has to.”
“You have but to hear me and I know you will think I was justified in
speaking. I’ll make it short and snappy,” Jack promised Mabel, “for I
know you want to talk yourself.”
“Jack, you’re horrid. Shut up and begin,” Mabel commanded.
“Don’t give such confusing orders, daughter,” Mr. Wing said. “Go on,
Jack, I am awfully interested and will keep my daughter quiet if I
have to gag her.”
“Well, it’s this,” Jack began. “In the first place, I haven’t the
faintest idea how a thing like this ought to be done--”
“And we know, of course, that you didn’t expect to be called on at
this meeting,” Charlie interrupted him.
“But the fact is,” Jack ignored him, “that I want to announce the
engagement of my sister, Jane Pellew, to Allen Breckenridge,” and,
quite overcome, Jack sat down.
Everybody was perfectly silent until Frances threw herself into the
breach and saved the situation by saying, “Sloan’s liniment--‘Don’t
rub, let it penetrate’--Jack, you did it so suddenly you simply took
our breaths away. I bid to be first to congratulate both the
contracting parties,” and she jumped up and ran around to Jane and
hugged her and gave Breck’s hand a cordial squeeze.
Frances’ quickness galvanized the little party into life and all the
girls kissed Jane repeatedly and the men wrung Breck’s hand again and
again. Then the questions began, “When did it happen?” “Isn’t it
awfully sudden?” “Wasn’t Jack funny?” “You didn’t know he was going to
do it, did you, Jane dear?”
And Jane was infinitely grateful to Jack for the part he played
because he couldn’t have acknowledged Breck in a more sincere and
gracious manner.
“Why, Breck,” teased Mr. Wing, “I believe you are quite used to having
announcements of this kind made about you. You are behaving like a
professional fiancé.”
“I am scared to death, really,” Breck admitted with a grin, “but I
have been under fire enough to have learned not to let my knees shake
visibly.”
“And I want to tell you right now, that I think that plan of yours and
Jane’s to run Hurricane Island as a summer colony is good and I hope
and believe that you will make a good thing of it. You can count on me
to talk it up because I want my stock in the company to bring in big
returns,” Mr. Wing said, shaking Breck’s hand once more.
Afterwards, Breck told Jane that he felt like the President of the
United States at his inauguration, his hand had been pumped up and
down so much. Jane had laughed and said that she herself felt like
Joffre must have after nearly all the school children in the country
had proudly kissed him.
“Why not have some of these husky males carry Tim up on deck?”
suggested Frances, “I don’t believe it will be too cold. Anyway, there
is a wonderful moon and Jack can take his banjo up and sing to us.”
Her plan was approved and Tim was carefully carried up and deposited
on the deck mattress, while the rest sat around on pillows. Jack came
up with his banjo and started thrumming.
“What shall it be?” he asked. “It is no use you saying, though,
because I don’t know anything but the darky songs I have picked up at
home.”
“As if they weren’t the most tuneful songs in the world!” Ellen added.
“Why not sing that Revival Hymn, Jack dear?” asked Jane.
And Jack began:
“Oh, whar shill we go w’en de great day comes,
Wid de blowin’ or de trumpets en de bangin’ er de drums?
How many po’ sinners’ll be kotched out late
En fine no latch ter de golden gate?
No use fer ter wait twel termorrer!
De sun mus’n’t set on yo’ sorrer,
Sin’s es sharp ez a bamboo-brier--
Oh, Lord! fetch the mo’ners up higher!
W’en de nashuns er de earf is a-stan’in’ all aroun’,
Who’s a gwine ter be choosen fer ter w’ar de glory-crown?
Who’s gwine fer ter stan’ stiff-kneed en bol’,
En answer to der name at de callin’ er de roll?
You better come now ef you comin’--
Ole Satun is loose en a bummin’--
De wheels er distruckshun is a hummin’--
Oh, come ’long, sinner, ef yon comin’!
De song er salvashun is a mighty sweet song,
En de Pairidise win’ blow fur en blow strong,
En Aberham’s bosom, hit’s saft en hit’s wide,
En right dar’s de place whar de sinners oughter hide!
Oh, you nee’nter be a stoppin’ en a lookin’;
Ef you fool wid ole Satun you’ll get took in,
You’ll hang on de aidge en get shook in,
Ef you keep on a stoppin’ en a lookin’.
De time is right now, en dish yer’s de place--
Let de sun er salvashun shine squar’ in yo’ face;
Fight de battles er de Lord, fight soon en fight late,
En you’ll allers fine a latch ter de golden gate.
No use fer ter wait twel ter-morrer,
De sun mustn’t set on yo’ sorrer--
Sin’s es sharp ez a bamboo-brier--
Ax de Lord fer ter fetch you up higher!”
Jack had sung the old song delightfully, with the colorful wails of
the darky and deserved the thanks and applause he got for singing it.
He refused to sing any more, saying he wanted to smoke.
“I’ll sing you one,” volunteered Charlie immodestly.
“Oh, Charlie, haven’t you any shame?” giggled Mabel. “I never in all
my life heard of any one suggesting singing or playing himself. It
just isn’t the thing. You are supposed to blush furiously and shake
your head the first time you are asked. Of course, you are asked
again, then you say that you haven’t got your music or you aren’t in
voice or your hands are chapped. On the third request, you allow
yourself to be dragged unwillingly to the piano or the center of the
room, according to your talent. And here you blatantly nominate
yourself. I blush for you, I blush for you.”
“Don’t pay any attention to her, Charlie,” urged Frances. “I didn’t
know singing was among your accomplishments. While I tremble at the
result, we are all brave souls and most humbly I beseech you sing.”
“I may not be a Caruso or a Martinelli, but I do know some plantation
songs, just as everybody below the Mason-Dixon line does, and coupled
with the three cords I know on the banjo I can give a very creditable
performance. Am I among friends?”
With a flourish of the banjo and a reckless expenditure of his three
cords, Charlie began in an effectively low voice:
“De gray owl sing fum de chimbly top:
‘Who-who-is-you-oo?’
En I say: ‘Good Lawd, hit’s des po’ me,
En I ain’t quite ready fer de Jasper Sea;
I’m po’ en sinful, en you ’lowed I’d be;
Oh, wait, good Lawd, ’twell termorrer!’
De gray owl sing fum de cypress tree:
‘Who-who-is-you-oo?’
En I say: ‘Good Lawd, ef you look you’ll see
Hit ain’t nobody but des po’ me,
En I like ter stay ’twell my time is free;
Oh, wait, good Lawd, ’twell termorrer!’”
“I take it all back, Charlie,” offered Mabel, “I liked that a lot.”
Fred said a regretful good-bye and, with a promise that he and Virg
would weigh the anchor of the “Sabrina” the minute the “Boojum”
signaled, he dropped over the side into his dory and rowed slowly over
the moon-lit water to the silent Hurricane Island.