A PRACTICAL JOKE
Polly approved of Fred’s plan the moment she heard it; and the
Riddle Club members fell upon the riddle books--well-worn by this
time--old scrap books, and clippings and even went about among their
acquaintances, collecting difficult riddles.
“For we must make them as hard as we can,” said Polly, earnestly. “Then
no one will be able to guess them and we’ll have heaps of money to take
to school for the collection.”
But, of course, they couldn’t think of riddles every hour in the day,
no matter how interested they were in the coming meeting. There was, as
Artie observed, “a good deal of weather going on,” and it alternately
rained and snowed for three days. This added to the beauty of the
snowman, for he grew a little icicle beard, and he wore earrings, too,
formed of the melted and frozen snow.
“I think we ought to break those off,” said Ward, much scandalized. “I
never saw a man wear earrings.”
“Don’t touch that snowman,” ordered Fred. “If he wants to wear
earrings, let him! Every one says he is the biggest snow statue we ever
had in River Bend, and we’re not going to spoil him picking on him.”
The pictures Harry Worden had taken turned out beautifully, and he
had had an enlargement made for the Riddle Club clubroom. Mrs. Marley
cleverly framed it in an old frame that fitted exactly, and the snowman
hung on the wall of the pretty clubroom and was much admired.
Though Fred had searched diligently for his bank and never ceased to
mourn it, he could not find it, nor even a trace of where it might have
been. Jess sympathized with him deeply--as indeed they all did, for
Fred had been so very proud of the money saved.
“I’d give anything, if I could find that bank,” said Fred, twenty times
a day. “I don’t see what I could have done with it. And why can’t I
remember where I put it down or where I had it last?”
“I don’t know,” Jess would sigh. “I don’t see, myself, how you could
lose a whole bank. But then, I lost my lovely glove, and the one that’s
left isn’t a bit of good. And they cost six dollars--they were real
brushed wool. Oh, dear, it’s awful to lose things, isn’t it?”
“I wouldn’t care if I’d lost a glove,” said Fred. “I wouldn’t mind
losing anything of mine, even my new stickpin Aunt Katherine sent me.
Because that would be mine and it wouldn’t affect any one else. But
here I’ve gone and lost all the money that belongs to the Riddle Club!
I’m saving my allowance, but it will be a million years before I get
enough saved to make up for what I lost. What’s a glove, compared to a
bank?”
Along about this time of year school began to be what Jess called
“exciting.” The classes stayed after school several afternoons to make
decorations for the auditorium, where a Christmas party was always
held. This year Polly had learned how to make pretty red flowers, and
Miss Elliott, her teacher, suggested that if long wreaths were braided
of crêpe paper strands and these flowers placed at intervals, the
effect would be very pretty.
“It’s a good deal of work,” Miss Elliott said; “but the festoons will
stay up till we come back to school after the holidays. There’ll be a
good many visitors at the school, just before Christmas, and we’d like
the auditorium to look its best. If you’ll make the flowers, Polly,
we’ll all help braid.”
Polly was glad to make the flowers, and she stayed after school for an
hour or two every afternoon, cutting and pasting.
“I’m so sick of braiding this silly old paper,” Carrie Pepper
complained to Mattie Helms. “I think it’s mean we never have any of
the fun. All Polly Marley has to do is to sit there and make flowers.
Any one can make flowers, and it’s interesting. Not like braiding this
stuff.”
“I don’t think her flowers are much,” commented Mattie. “Do you?”
“No, nothing extra,” said Carrie. “There goes Fred Williamson. He looks
at me so funny, every time he sees me.”
Carrie did not know it, but Fred was almost sure she had taken his
bank. He could not see her without wondering if she really would do a
thing like that. He did not believe, for an instant, that she would
take the bank and use the money, for that would be stealing; but he
thought she might keep it, as she had Polly’s pin, to torment him. He
tried to imagine what she would say if he should walk up to her some
day and ask her to hand back the bank. But he never did ask her, for
his common sense told him he had nothing to uphold his suspicions and
that it would be rather foolish to accuse Carrie of taking anything
when he had no proof.
Polly worked on the flowers one afternoon till she had two dozen ready,
all but the long green stems.
“I think I’ll take these home,” she said to Miss Elliott. “I can wrap
the wire there and finish them easily.”
“That’s a good plan,” Miss Elliott replied. “Here’s a pasteboard box to
carry them in. But don’t try to do them all to-night, Polly--you ought
to play outdoors an hour before you have supper. It’s a shame to miss
all this good coasting.”
Polly put her flowers and the things she would need to finish them into
the box her teacher gave her. She had just reached the steps when some
one hailed her.
“Hey, Polly!” her brother shouted. “Come on over here! We’re firing at
targets!”
Polly looked. The boys had tacked up an empty tin can on one of the
trees in the school yard and they were firing snowballs into it--that
is, if a snowball went into it, it counted a bull’s-eye.
“You watch me, Polly!” cried Artie, as Polly put her box down on the
step and came running across the yard. “Bet you I hit it this time!”
He packed a firm, damp snowball, took careful aim, and fired.
“Did it!” he shrieked. “Told you so!”
Fred laughed and handed a ready-made ball to Polly.
“You try,” he said.
Polly stepped back a few feet, shut her eyes, and threw the ball. It
struck the tree a few feet above the tin can.
“Don’t shut your eyes,” instructed Fred. “You want to aim. Here, try
again,” and he gave her a second ball.
This time Polly hit the tree below the can. But her third trial was
more successful, and the snowball went neatly into the can, scoring
what Artie enthusiastically informed her was “a peach of a bull’s-eye.”
“I can’t stay another minute,” said Polly, when they asked her to try
again. “Where’s Jess and Margy? I have to go on home and finish some
more flowers.”
“Jess had to go to the dentist and Margy went to take a music lesson,”
Fred recited.
“Oh, of course--yes, I remember,” said Polly. “Margy is coming over
to-night to practice our duet.”
Polly and Margy were to play a duet at the Christmas party in school.
Picking up the box she had left on the steps, Polly hurried off home,
while the boys continued to hurl snowballs at the tomato can with
varying success but unwaning enthusiasm.
“I wouldn’t work on those flowers now, Polly,” said Mrs. Marley, when
she saw her daughter. “You’ve been indoors all day, and you’ll feel
much better if you take your sled and have a coast or two before it’s
dark. I’ll help you with the flowers after supper and we’ll get them
done in less than an hour.”
So Polly went out again and met Margy, now through with her lesson, and
they had four trips down the hill and back with their sleds before the
five o’clock whistle sounded.
When Polly came in, she went upstairs to brush her hair. She had left
the box of flowers on the bed in her room, and she was surprised to
find a dark stain spreading over the counterpane.
“What in the world is that?” she said, in astonishment.
She lifted the box hastily. It was heavy with water, and it was water
that had seeped through the pasteboard and made the stain.
Polly tore off the lid--melted snow!
“Some one put it there!” she cried. “But where are my flowers? I had
them in the box--I never took them out--I don’t see----”
She called her mother, and together they puzzled over it as they
changed the bed clothes, for even the blankets were soaked through
from the water.
“Some one has played a trick on you,” said Mrs. Marley, spreading clean
sheets. “The paper flowers were light, so they could substitute snow
without making a difference in weight. Where did you leave the box?”
“I didn’t leave it----” Polly began.
Then she remembered.
“I put it down on the school steps while I tried to throw a snowball
into the tomato can,” she said. “But there was no one in the school
yard, except the boys, Mother.”
“Nevertheless, that is when the trick was done,” declared Mrs. Marley.
“Some one took out the flowers and the paper and wires and filled the
box with snow. It’s a mean thing to do, I’ll admit; but I don’t suppose
they thought you’d put the box on the bed. They must have counted on
your opening the box as soon as you reached home.”
“But I promised Miss Elliott to bring her the flowers in the morning,”
said poor Polly, looking very much as though she might cry. “She wants
them to put in the new rope that’s already braided.”
“Don’t cry, Polly,” said her mother. “You’ll have the flowers. I have
always said that the best way to pay a practical joker back, is not
to let him know his joke has been a success. We’ll get Artie and Jess
and Ward and Fred and Margy to come and help, and, working together,
we can make and finish two dozen flowers this evening. Then, when you
take them to school, don’t say a word about the missing ones. Whoever
played the trick will be waiting to hear you complain, and if you act
as though nothing had happened they’ll be more surprised than you were
when you opened this box.”
When the others heard what had happened, they were eager to help.
Fortunately, Polly had the materials for making the flowers on hand,
and as soon as supper was over the six chums set busily to work. Polly
and her mother cut the flower patterns and helped start them, but the
others soon learned how to fold and paste, and they refused to stop and
rest until the full two dozen flowers were finished and neatly packed
in another box.
“And here’s a little ice-cream,” said Mr. Marley, coming in as the
scissors were being put away. “I thought the least I could do for such
an industrious circle was to get them a little refreshment, since I
have no talent for making paper flowers.”
The next morning Carrie Pepper and Mattie Helms watched to see what
Polly would say when Miss Elliott came. To their intense surprise,
Polly marched up to the desk and put down a pasteboard box.
“I finished the flowers, Miss Elliott,” she said clearly.
Carrie looked at Mattie. They both felt a little foolish. And though
neither would admit it, they admired Polly, who, instead of complaining
and “fussing,” had evidently managed in some mysterious way to get her
flowers finished on time.
“Thank goodness, that’s done,” said Polly, with a sigh of relief, as
she went back to her seat. “Now we can have the Riddle Club meeting
to-night and enjoy ourselves.”