THE BLONDE OF THE SPECIES
SUNDAY was a nerve-racking problem in days when the New England
tradition still held. There was no fishing, no tennis, no baseball, and
no golf. Picnics were taboo. There was of course a large amount of
eating to be done, but after fish-balls, griddle cakes, and pork and
beans for breakfast, a heavy sermon, and a heavier roast beef for
dinner, the long afternoon had to be lived through in a sort of
penitential expiation. One dozen fed-to-bursting, painfully primped
young human colts, ranging from fifteen to seventeen years of age,
gathered in the Gutter Pup's barn and mournfully debated the eternal
question of what to do.
"It's too cold to sneak up to the old swimming hole," said Tacks
disconsolately.
"Why not have a few rounds with the mitts?" said the Gutter Pup eagerly.
"In these duds?" said Happy Mather, who preferred to stand because when
he sat down the Sunday collar pinched his throat. "Nothing doing! Thank
you, but my governer's hand is still strong!"
"We might organize a Browning Society," said Puffy Ellis, who came from
Boston.
"Bright boy!"
"Oh, well, since we 're all dressed up and nowhere to go, we might as
well do the society racket and call on the sweet things."
"Girls!" said Skippy, sarcastically. "My aunt's cat's pants! Joe, what's
got into you! You used to be human last summer. Girls! Girls! I vote we
all go out and pick a bunch of dandelions for Joe Crocker to carry
round."
"Hold up," said the Gutter Pup. "You give me an idea."
"If it's got anything to do with skirts," said Skippy, "au revoir and
likewise good-by. I resign."
"Shut up! When Razzle-dazzle starts to think, give him a chance," said
Happy Mather. "Who asked your opinion? You're nothing but a tadpole,
anyhow."
"Well, what's the idea?" said Tacks.
"It's a good one," said the Gutter Pup slowly. "It's a gag we used to
pull off in the old Murray Hill Gang, the winter I put Spider Martin
away in seven rounds. Spider was no great shakes with the mitts but he
had some bright ideas. This is one of them. How many are we?"
"Twelve."
"Just right. Only it's got to be played dead serious, no horseplay,
kiddin', or rough stuff."
Just half an hour later Miss Connie Brown, aged sixteen, who was yawning
over a novel on the chaise-lounge of her bedroom, was electrified into
action by the announcement that two gentlemen callers were waiting for
her in the parlor. Miss Connie was in excellent health, weighing one
hundred and sixty pounds, rather freckled, and quite accustomed to watch
her girl friends enjoying themselves in the ballroom. She bounded down
the stairs and arrived, slightly out of breath, to find the Gutter Pup
and Skippy stiffly erect.
"Allow me to present my friend, Mr. Bedelle!" said the Gutter Pup in the
correct tones of an undertaker.
Miss Connie shook hands vigorously and said, beaming with surprised
delight:
"I think it's just too darling of you to drop in. Every one's out and I
was trying to read a poky old book. We'll have tea and there's some
chocolate cake left. Course I know your sister, Mr. Bedelle. I think
she's just the dandiest girl."
"I hope your father and mother are well," said Skippy gravely.
"What? Oh, yes! They're all right. Let's be cozy and camp down over
here."
"And your sister?" said the Gutter Pup with equal punctiliousness.
"Sis? Oh, she's fine and dandy," said Miss Connie, curling up on the
sofa, after lighting the lamp under the tea kettle.
Skippy and the Gutter Pup after this irreproachable beginning, sat up
stiffly and, retiring into a set silence, stared very hard at their
hostess.
"You'll have a bit of chocolate cake, won't you?" said the young lady,
wondering how to open the conversation.
"Thank you."
"And you, Mr. Bedelle?"
"Thank you."
At this moment the bell rang and the maid announced:
"Mr. Mather and Mr. Crocker callin' on you, Miss Connie."
Miss Brown could not believe her ears. Such a thing had never happened
before, even in her happiest dreams. If her sister could only see her
now! She gave a hurried calculating glance at the chocolate cake and
went joyfully more than halfway to meet the new arrivals. The four
conspirators, after formal greetings, ranged themselves in a semicircle,
stiffly balanced on the edges of their chairs, hands on their knees, and
waited for their hostess to play with the conversation.
"Did you see Maude Adams in her new piece this spring?" said Miss
Connie, who began to fidget with the cups and carefully cut the cake
into five exact divisions.
As this question was addressed to the company in general, the four
visitors maintained a frozen attention.
"I'm just crazy about Maude Adams. I went three times," said Miss
Connie, who found that five teacups choked up the table in the most
disconcerting way. "You like Maude Adams, don't you--er--Mr. Mather?"
"I like Maude Adams."
"And you, Mr. Brooker?"
"I like Maude Adams."
Miss Connie was staring at the teapot desperately, seeking for some new
topic of conversation, when again the bell rang and two more callers
were announced. Miss Connie's Cinderella-like enthusiasm gave way to a
feeling of panic. She whispered hoarsely to the maid to bring two more
cups and surreptitiously made a new allotment of the chocolate cake. The
new arrivals inquired solemnly after the health of Miss Connie's mother,
father and sister, and then joined the expectant silence. When the young
lady in turn had discovered that the new callers liked Maude Adams, all
mental processes came to an end and the sound of the clock from the
mantel fell like the blows of a hammer in the room.
When the fourth relay arrived, her complexion took on a bright red tinge
and her agitation was such that she poured the cream into the cake and
broke two cups.
"Did you see her!" said the Gutter Pup ecstatically, after they had
allowed the pent-up hilarity to die out behind the sheltering hedge.
"Skippy, old top, when that last bunch arrived, I thought she certainly
was going down for the count."
"Her eyes were jumping and she was breathing like a horse."
"Well, how do you like the idea?"
"Best Sunday afternoon I ever spent."
"Where away now?"
"I'd like to work it on Tootsie."
"Hold up--my sister needs it more than yours."
The point was debated and as no decision could be reached it was decided
to keep to the regular program. The afternoon was a huge success from
the point of view of the male phalanx. The destruction was enormous. One
or two young ladies held out until the fifth relay but almost collapsed
at the fourth.
"'Course they'll all get together to-morrow and have it in for us," said
the Gutter Pup, chortling. "But never mind, it was worth it. Did you
ever see anything as idiotically solemn as Tacks Brooker? When he
arrives they certainly throw up the sponge."
"Have we time for another?"
"Sure, it's only a quarter of six. We'll put this one over hard, for she
certainly needs taking down."
"Who?"
"Dolly Travers. Don't know her? You will."
Miss Dolly Travers received them with the manner of a Dresden
shepherdess just stepping from the mantelpiece and Skippy took the
petite hand gingerly, as though afraid that anything so delicate and
brittle would break at the touch. The voice of his brother's worldly
wisdom seemed to sound in his ears:
"Pick out something young and grateful. Be a hero."
Miss Travers was undeniably young, if artful, and moreover she was not
of the dark and deceptive class of brunettes, but a blonde, with eyes as
open and guileless as the blue of the June day. She had solved the
problem of the classification which as naturally marks the feminine
progress as long trousers indicates the man, by bobbing her hair; and,
though the subterfuge seemed to afford much amusement to certain of her
sex, it immediately separated her from the pigtails.
There was something about her that appealed instantly to Skippy and
inspired confidence, something cool and dainty and at ease. She did not
express either surprise or excessive delight at their entrance. There
was something simple and frank about everything she did. He appreciated
it and fell to wishing that Tootsie would be more like her, less
coquettish and more of a good comrade.
"Well, what do you know?" said Dolly, looking at the Gutter Pup.
"Nothing."
"I hope your mother and father are well," said Skippy, true to the
formula.
"Gracious! Are you trying to make conversation?" said Dolly, beginning
to laugh, "Don't sit on the edge of your chairs, boys, like monkeys on a
stick; sit back and be comfortable."
Happy Mather and Tacks appeared with gloomy ceremony.
"Is this the first time you ever paid a call?" said the young lady when
Happy had opened the question of the family health. "What is the matter
with you boys? You look too ridiculous for words; sit back, stick your
hands in your pockets, and look natural."
Again the bell rang and the sounds of the third relay were heard in the
hall. Miss Dolly glanced quickly at the four solemnities and then
suspiciously out of the window where relays four and five were lurking
under the trees, suppressed a smile, and came to a sudden decision.
"My mother and father are in perfect health, my sister is in perfect
health, how are yours?" she said, as Puffy Ellis started to clear his
throat. "No, no, don't sit down. You're much too imposing. Mr. Crocker,
you take one side of the fireplace and Mr. Ellis the other, and please
don't look so gawky. You aren't really afraid of one little girl, are
you? And by the way, Charlie Lazelle, go out on the porch and call in
the others."
"Others?" said the Gutter Pup, trying to save the day by his
cat-and-cream expression.
"The others who are hiding under the willow," said Dolly lightly. "Hurry
up, because it's six o'clock and Daddy will be back any moment. He's
such a bear about the boys I go with. It's a marvelous chance for him to
look you over. Joe Crocker, sit down at the piano."
"On Sunday?" said Joe, startled out of his attitude.
"Don't worry, we're not going to dance. We're going to make a good
impression on father."
When Mr. Travers drew up ten minutes later he beheld eleven sheepish
young gentlemen huddled in a circle in the middle of the parlor intoning
from hymnbooks the measures which Joe Crocker pounded out from the piano
under the solemn inspection of Miss Dolly Travers.
"Great heavens! What's this?" said Mr. Travers, who was the most
unorthodox of men. "What in mischief are you up to now?"
"It's my Sunday School class," said the young lady, with difficult
seriousness. "We're meeting every week. It won't annoy you too much,
will it, father?"