GIRLS AS AN EPIDEMIC
AS he turned up the walk, sister No. 2, aged fourteen and a half, came
romping off the porch and the following conversation took place.
"Hello, Jack."
"Hello, Tootsie."
"You idiotic boy, why didn't you telegraph?"
"What's the use? I'm here," said Skippy to whom a quarter of a dollar
was an object of reverence.
"Aren't you going to kiss me?"
Skippy glanced around.
"Oh, I suppose so."
"Good gracious, he's got a cane!"
"Say, who let you put your hair up anyhow!"
"I'm fifteen."
"Come off."
"I say, Jack, awful glad to see you, honest, and let's stop fighting
this summer. You help me and I'll help you."
Skippy looked at her suspiciously.
"Getting on society airs," he thought, but out loud he announced: "All
right, Tootsie, but see you don't begin. And if you want to help out,
tell the Governor to make my birthday present in cash. I'm awfully
strapped."
"Now for old Clara," he said to himself and remembering the last
encounter when he had upset the gold fish over her, he braced himself
for the shock. But to his profound amazement Miss Bedelle was honey
itself.
"Good gracious, Jack, how big you've grown," she said after he had
submitted to the second sisterly embrace, "and such style, too! What a
fascinating tie! Dad and mother are out but Sam's just home. Come on up
and see how nicely I've arranged your room. How are you anyhow?"
"Hard up," said Skippy instantly.
"Would this help any?" said Miss Clara extracting a ten dollar bill from
a well-filled purse.
Skippy gulped in astonishment.
"What's the matter?"
"How do you mean?"
"Gee, sis, are you going to be married?"
"The idea, you funny boy!" said his sister, blushing violently. "Run on
now and see Sam."
"What's the matter with everyone anyhow?" said Skippy to himself.
"There's a reason. There certainly is a dark reason."
Still pondering over the motives for this unaccountable reception he
proceeded along the hall, to the room of his heart's idol, his brother
Sam, senior at Yale and star of the nine, Sambones Bedelle, known at
school as Skippy the first, about whose athletic prowesses the tradition
still remained.
"Who's that?" said the great man at the sound of his knock. "Skippy?
Come in and let's look you over."
"Hello, Sambo," said the young idol-worshipper, sidling in.
The older brother caught his hand, slapped him on the back and held him
off for inspection.
"By Jove, you young rascal, you're sprouting up fast. Whew, what a suit!
Pretty strong, bub--pretty strong."
"I say, do you think--"
"Never mind. I've worn worse. Paid for?"
"No-o--not yet."
"Anything left of the allowance?"
"Sure."
"Not possible!"
"Seven cents."
"Could you use a five spot?"
"Gee, Sam!"
"All right, all right. Pick it out over there on the bureau. How's your
conduct?"
"Pretty good."
Skippy, perched on the window-seat, watched with an approving eye the
splendors that a college education had bestowed. Sam's hair parted
without a rebellious ripple and lay down in perfect discipline. There
never were such immaculate white flannel trousers, such faultless
buckskin shoes and tie, while the socks and the touch of handkerchief
which bloomed from the breastpocket were a perfect electric blue.
"Well, Skippy, I'll have to look you over," said Sam carelessly. "Time
you had a few pointers. What did you do at school?"
"Substitute on the eleven and left field on the house nine," said
Skippy, who understood at once the meaning of such an inquiry.
"First rate. Haven't started on the demon cigarette yet?"
Skippy hesitated.
"Let's see your fingers," said the mentor, who perceiving no telltales
traces of nicotine grunted a qualified approval. "Well, how much?"
"Oh, just a few whiffs now and then up the ventilator. You know how it
is, Sambo!"
"Cut it out this summer. Your business is to grow. Savvy? If ever I
catch you, you young whipper-snapper--"
"All right, Sam."
Skippy the first held him a moment with a stern and disciplinary eye and
then relaxing, said as he contemplated the hang of his trousers before
the mirror, "I hear you've started in to be a fusser."
"Who told you that?" said Skippy with the rising inflection.
"I ran in on Turkey Reiter."
"Oh," said Skippy relaxing. "With Miss Lafontaine? That was all a put-up
game!"
Sam considered him and noting the fatuous smile shook his head and said:
"Well, bub, you're at the age when they fall fast and easy. Now listen
to a few pearls of wisdom. Got your ears open?"
"Fire away, Sambo!"
"If you've _got_ to fall and you will--sure you will, don't shake your
head--if you've got to fall, don't trail around on an old woman's skirts
and get treated like a dog--fetch and carry stuff. Look the field over
and pick out something young and grateful. Something easy. Something
that'll look up to you. Let her love you. Be a hero. Savvy?"
"Huh! Girls give me a swift pain," said Skippy with a curl of his upper
lip.
"Wait and count the pains," said Sam with a grin. "You're at a bad age.
Well, I have spoken. What's the use of having an older brother if he
can't do you some good?"
It being only four o'clock, Skippy decided to look up the Gutter Pup,
who with the Egghead, represented the school contingent at Gates Harbor.
Lazelle, more familiarly known as the Gutter Pup, Gazelle, Razzle-dazzle
and the White Mountain Canary according to the fighting weight of the
addressee, lived just across lots.
With three months' respite ahead from the tyranny of the chapel bell,
three months of home cooking, fifteen dollars in his pocket and nothing
to do but to romp like a colt over pastures of his own choosing, Skippy
went hilariously over the lawns, hurdled a hedge and hallooed from below
the well-known window.
"Hi there, old Razzle-Dazzle, stick your head out!"
A second and a third peremptory summons bringing no response, he went
cautiously around the porch.
"Why it's Jack Bedelle," said the Gutter Pup's sister from a hammock.
"Gracious, I never should have known you!"
"Hello yourself," said Skippy, acknowledging with a start the difference
a year had brought to the tomboy he had known. "Say, you've done some
growing up yourself."
He ended in a long drawn out whistle which Miss Lazelle smilingly
accepted as a tribute.
"I say, Bess, where's the old Gazelle?"
"Charlie? Why he's gone out canoeing with Kitty Rogers."
"What!"
Miss Lazelle repeated the information. Skippy was too astounded to
remember his manners. He clapped his hat on his head, sunk his fists in
his pockets and went out the gate. The Gutter Pup spending his time like
that! He made his way to the club where more shocks awaited him. On the
porch was the Egghead feeding ice cream to Mimi Lafontaine. On the
tennis courts Puffy Ellis and Tacks Brooker were playing mixed doubles!
Skippy could not believe his eyes. What sort of an epidemic was this
anyhow? He went inside and immediately a victrola started up a two-step
and lo and behold, there before him whirling ecstatically about the
floor, held in feminine embraces, were Happy Mather and Joe Crocker, the
irreconcilables of the old gang!
"Hello, Skippy, shake a foot," said Happy Mather encouragingly. "Want to
be introduced?"
"Excuse me," said Skippy loftily. "What's happened to the crowd? Can't
you think of anything better than wasting your time like this?"
"Wake up!" said Happy, making a dive for a partner. "You're walking in
your sleep."
Skippy went sadly out and down to the bridge where he perched on a pile
and contemplated the swirling currents with melancholy. What had
happened? After an hour of bitter rumination he rose heavily and
engrossed in his own thoughts passed two ice-cream parlors, utterly
forgetful of the sudden wealth in his pockets. On the way home he
perceived something white and pink moving lightly in airy freedom, while
at her side laden to the shoulder with sweaters, rugs, a camp stool and
a beach umbrella was Sam. He came rebelliously to the home porch and
then hastily ducked around to the side entrance, for the porch was in
full possession of Clara who was entertaining a group of men. He sought
to gain his room noiselessly via the back parlor and came full upon
Tootsie who was showing a book of photographs to a pudgy, red-haired
boy, who blushed violently at his intrusion and stood up, until he had
acknowledged the embarrassed introduction and escaped.
"What in thunder's gotten into everybody anyhow?" he said to himself
disconsolately. "Girls, girls everywhere. The place is full of them and
everybody twosing, twosing! What in Sam Hill is a regular fellow to do!
Gee, but it's going to be a rotten summer!"
So in this melancholy seclusion, gazing out of his window, at the green
landscape vexed by the omnipresent flash of white skirts, uneasily
conscious that a crisis had arrived in his social progress that would
have to be met, Skippy began to commune with himself and likewise to
ruminate. His first contact with female perfidy had destroyed half his
faith in woman; never again could he trust a brunette. Some day he might
permit himself to be appreciated by a blonde, but it would take a lot of
convincing. But it is one thing to have fixed principles and another to
resist the contagions of a whole society. Virtue is one thing but
loneliness is another.
"What the deuce is a regular fellow going to do?" he said. But already
his resentment had given way to a brooding anxiety. All at once, he
remembered that he too had loved. Something that had been dormant awoke,
as the touch of spring awoke the great outdoors.
"For I must love some one,
And it may as well be you."
The refrain haunted him. Had the time come when even he would have to
descend?