Four hectic days followed. To Laurie, since Ned was held for two hours
each afternoon at the football field, fell most of the duties of the
Committee on Arrangements, and he was a very busy youth. He badgered
shopkeepers into parting with goods to be sold at the booths, helped Bob
Starling trim up the old arbor in the garden of the Coventry place, made
frequent trips to the Or stead caterer’s, engaged eight cakes from Miss
Comfort and twelve dozen cream-puffs from the Widow Deane, spent two
hours Wednesday helping Lew and Hal Pringle distribute posters
throughout the village, and attended to a hundred other matters
between-times. Of course, Ned aided when he could, and was helpful with
advice and unfailing in suggestions; but recitations and football
practice didn’t leave him much time, even though he conscientiously
arose a full hour earlier every morning that week, and skimped studying
so much that he got in trouble with three instructors in one day!
Miss Tabitha had proved as helpful as Dan Whipple had predicted. She had
shaken her head at the idea of entertaining six hundred at the fête.
“You mustn’t count on more than half that many,” she said. “I dare say
all the boys will go, and they’ll make ninety. Then, if you get two
hundred of the townsfolk, you’ll be doing very nicely. Don’t decide how
much salad or how many sandwiches you want until Saturday morning. So
much will depend on the weather. Even if you hold the affair indoors,
lots of folks won’t come if it rains. You say you’ve ordered eight cakes
from Martha Comfort and twelve dozen cream-puffs from Mrs. Deane?”
“Yes’m,” said Ned. “We wanted Mrs. Deane to make more, but she didn’t
think she could.”
“Well, that’s a hundred and fourty-four cream-puffs, and—let me
see—one of Miss Comfort’s cakes will cut into sixteen pieces, and eight
times sixteen—”
“A hundred and twenty-eight, ma’am.”
“Well, and a hundred and twenty-eight and a hundred and forty-four—”
“Two hundred and seventy-two.”
“You’re real quick at figures, aren’t you? Seems as if, though, counting
on three hundred, you’d be a little short. I’ll have Aunt Persis make
one of her marble-cakes. That’ll help out, I guess.”
“Yes’m; thanks awfully,” answered Ned.
“Who is going to serve the refreshments?”
“Why—why—” Ned’s face fell. “I guess we hadn’t thought of that!”
“Well, it makes a heap of difference, because you can make a quart of
ice-cream serve ten people or twenty, just as you’ve a mind to. I
usually count on sixteen. Same way with a loaf of cake, and same way
with salad. It’s awfully easy to waste salad when you’re serving it.
Now, if you’d like me to, Ned, I’ll attend to serving everything for
you. You just have the things set down there and I’ll look after them.”
“Oh, Miss Hillman, if you would! Gee, that would be great! It—it’ll be
a lot of trouble, though, ma’am.”
“Well, I guess it won’t be the first trouble I’ve seen,” replied Miss
Tabitha, dryly; “nor it won’t be the last!”
Thursday afternoon Laurie hurried over to the Coventry place as soon as
a two-o’clock recitation was done. Bob was awaiting him at the gate, and
conducted him around to the back of the big square house. Ned stared in
surprise. The tangle of trees and vines and shrubbery had been trimmed
to orderly neatness, the long, unkempt grass had been shorn to a yellow,
but respectable, turf, and the old arbor showed new strips where Thomas,
the Starlings’ man, had been at work on the decrepit frame. Near at hand
lay piles of cedar and hemlock branches.
“Dad got a couple of the men to cut those down near the tunnel and haul
them up here.” Bob explained. “Thomas is going to help us put them up.
He made a peachy job of the garden, didn’t he?”
“You bet!” responded Laurie, heartily. “I wouldn’t have known the place!
I say, Bob, this arbor’s longer than I thought it was.”
“Forty feet, about. Why?”
“I only ordered six tables and a dozen chairs from the caterer,”
answered Laurie, dubiously. “Guess they aren’t enough; but he’s charging
twenty-five cents apiece for them—”
“Twenty-five cents for a table? Isn’t that dirt-cheap?”
“We’re only renting them, you idiot!”
“Oh, I see. Well, six is enough, I guess; you don’t want to crowd them.
Now let’s get busy with the green stuff. I’ll yell down cellar for
Thomas. There’s a ball of twine, and I’ve got two hammers and a lot of
tacks on the side porch. You take your coat off and I’ll—”
“We’ll have to have a step-ladder, Bob!”
“There’s a short ladder right beside you. Be right back.”
Laurie sat down on a wheelbarrow, after removing his coat and folding
back the sleeves of his shirt, and looked around him. The garden was
fairly large—larger in appearance since the clutter of shrubbery along
the sides had been cleared away. Along the School Park edge ran a tall
hedge of lilac bushes. At the back was the high board fence, painted
dark brown, that separated the garden from the Widow Deane’s humble
property. On the other side was a rusty ornamental iron fence, mostly
hidden by vines. Broad walks, in spite of Thomas’s efforts rather
overrun with weeds, surrounded the central plot of ancient turf, and
another ran straight down the middle of the garden, connecting with the
arbor. Wires were to be strung from the trees and across to the arbor,
and Chinese lanterns hung thereon. Laurie, half closing his eyes, sought
to visualize the place as it would appear on Saturday. He did want the
affair to be a success, both financial and artistic, both on account of
the school and—well, for the honor of the Turners! While he was musing,
two things happened simultaneously: Bob and Thomas appeared from the
house, and a familiar voice came to him from the opposite direction.
“Nod!” called the voice. “Nod, will you please come here a moment?”
Laurie’s eyes sought the board fence. Over the top of it appeared the
head and shoulders of Polly. He left the wheelbarrow and hurried through
the arbor and down the walk beyond. Polly’s face indicated distress,
whether mental or physical Laurie couldn’t determine. But Polly’s first
words explained.
“I can’t stay here l-long,” she said. “I—I’m just hanging by my elbows.
I cl-climbed up on a board, and it’s fallen down!”
“I’ll get you a ladder!” cried Laurie, gallantly.
“N-no, never mind. I’m going to drop in a s-second. I just want to ask
you what Brown’s color is. Nettie Blanchard is going to be Brown and—”
“Why, brown, of course!”
“Oh!” There was the sound of desperate scraping against the farther side
of the fence, and Polly’s countenance became fairly convulsed with the
effort of holding herself in sight. “Oh! She said it was pur-pur—”
Polly disappeared. There was a thud from the next yard.
“Purple!” The word floated across to him, muffled but triumphant.
“Are you hurt, Polly?” he called anxiously.
“Not a bit,” was the rueful response, “but I’m afraid the day-lilies
are!” Then she laughed merrily. “Thanks, Nod! I didn’t think Nettie was
right. She loves purple, you see!”
“Does she? Well, say, maybe she can be Williams. We weren’t going to
have Williams, but its color is purple, I think, and if she is going to
be disappointed—”
“She will look very well indeed in brown,” came from the other side in
judicial tones; “and if we begin making changes, half the girls will
want to be something they aren’t. Why, Pearl Fayles begged to be some
girls’ college neither Mae nor I had ever heard of, just so she could
wear lavender and pale lemon!”
“Well, all right,” laughed Laurie. “She’d better stick to Brown—and
brown! Good-by, Polly. I’ll drop in after a while and find out how
things are getting on.”
He turned to find Bob viewing him quizzically from the end of the arbor,
swinging a hammer in each hand. “Of course it’s all right, I dare say,”
he announced, “but I _thought_ you came here to fix up the arbor.
Instead of that I find you talking to girls over the fence!”
“There’s only one girl,” replied Laurie, with dignity, “and we were
talking business.”
“Oh, of course! Sorry I interrupted.”
“You needn’t be, and you didn’t. Quit grinning like a simpleton and give
me a hammer!”
“Right-o! Come on, Thomas! It’s quite all right now!”
An hour later their task was done, and well done, and they viewed it
with approval. To be honest, the major part of the work had been
performed by the faithful Thomas, although it is not to be denied that
both Laurie and Bob toiled conscientiously. Before they were through
approving the result from various angles, Bob’s father joined them. Mr.
Starling was an older edition of Bob—a tall, straight, lean-visaged man
of forty-two or -three, with the complexion of one who had lived an
outdoor life. He had a deep, pleasant voice and a quiet manner not fully
in accord with a pair of keen eyes and a firm mouth.
“I’d call that a good piece of work, boys,” he said, as he joined them.
“And right up to specifications, too. Those paper lanterns come yet,
Bob?”
“No, sir; I haven’t seen them.”
“Lanterns, Mr. Starling?” asked Laurie. “Do you mean Chinese lanterns?
We’ve ordered a lot from the caterer, sir.”
“Tell him you won’t need them, then. I’ve got a hundred coming up from
the city, Turner. They ought to be here, too. Thomas, call up the
express company and ask about them.”
“That’s very kind, sir,” said Laurie, “but you needn’t have done it.
You—you’re doing _everything_!”
“Nonsense! Bob and I want to do our part, of course. Well, this
wilderness certainly looks different, doesn’t it? That reminds me, Bob;
the agent writes me that we may ‘make such improvements to the property
as we desire.’ So, as I consider the absence of that arbor an
improvement, I guess you can pull it down any time you like. I’m going
to have a cup of tea, Turner. Will you join me? I believe there will be
cakes, too.”
Laurie found Ned in rather a low frame of mind when he got back to
Number 16 a half-hour before supper-time. Ned was hunched over a Latin
book and each hand held a firm grip on his hair. At Laurie’s arrival he
merely grunted.
“Where does it pain you most?” asked Laurie, solicitously, subsiding
into a chair with a weary sigh. Ned’s mood was far from flippant. He
rewarded the other with a scowl, and bent his gaze on the book again.
“Want to hear the latest news from the front?” persisted Laurie.
“No, I don’t!” his brother growled. “I’ve had all the news I can stand.
Smug says that if I don’t get this rotten stuff by nine to-night, and
make a perfect showing to-morrow, he will can me!”
“Mr. Cornish said that?” gasped Laurie. “What do you know about that?
Why, I thought he was a gentleman!”
“He’s a—a brute! I can’t learn the old stuff! And I have a hunch that
Mulford means to give me a try in the Loring game Saturday. And if I
don’t get this, Cornish will fix it so I can’t play. He as good as said
so.”
“Didn’t you tell him you’d been busy with the fête and everything?”
“Of course I did. Much he cared! Just made a rotten pun. Said I’d better
keep my own fate in mind. Puns are fearfully low and vulgar!”
“Aren’t they? How much of that have you got?”
“Six pages. I—I’ve sort of neglected it the last two days. Some fellows
can fake through, but I don’t have any luck. He’s always picking on me.”
Laurie whistled expressively. “Six pages! Well, never say die, partner.
We’ll get down to supper early, and that’ll give us two hours before
nine.”
“Us?” questioned Ned, hopefully.
“Sure. I’ll give you a hand. As the well-known proverb so wisely
remarks, two heads are the shortest way home.”
Ned grinned, and stopped tormenting his hair. “Honest? That’s mighty
decent, Laurie. I’ll do as much for you some day.”
“Hope you won’t have to. Wash your dirty face and let’s beat it!”
At half-past nine a more cheerful and much relieved Ned returned from
the hall master’s study. “All right,” he announced to an anxious Laurie.
“He was rather decent, too. Said he guessed that, in view of the
manifold affairs engaging my attention just now,—you know the crazy way
he talks,—he wouldn’t demand too much from me. Reckon he means to let
me down easy to-morrow, eh?”
“Maybe, partner, and maybe not. Take my advice and, in the words of the
Scouts, be prepared!”
Friday was a hectic day for Laurie and all others concerned with the
fête. Difficulties that had remained in ambush all the week sprang out
and confronted them at the last moment. Half a dozen things had been
forgotten, and every member of the committee sought to exonerate
himself. Tempers were short and the meeting in Dan Whipple’s room at
nine o’clock was far from harmonious. All went to bed that night firmly
convinced that the affair was doomed to be a flat failure. And, to add
to that conviction, the night sky was overcast and an unsympathetic
easterly wind was blowing. Ned, conscious of having imposed too many
duties on Laurie, was grouchy and silent; and Laurie, convinced that he
had been made a “goat” of, and that Ned was secretly blaming him for
mistakes and omissions that were no fault of his, retired in high
dudgeon.
And yet, the morning dawned fair and warm, with an almost cloudless blue
sky over the world, and life looked very different indeed. Ned arose
whistling, and Laurie somehow knew that everything would be all right.
Fortunately, they had but two recitations on Saturday, and in
consequence there remained to them three whole hours before dinner to
devote to the affairs of the entertainment. They were busy hours, you
may be sure. If Ned hurried downtown once, he hurried there half a dozen
times; while Laurie, seated beside the driver of a rickety
express-wagon, rounded up all kinds of things, from the platform at the
field-house to the cakes at Miss Comfort’s. Dinner brought a respite;
but as soon as it was over, Laurie was back on the job, while Ned joined
the football-players.
Of course, what the Hillman’s School football team should have done that
afternoon was to score a decisive victory over the visiting eleven. What
it did do was to get thoroughly worsted. Loring was something of a
surprise, with a heavier line and a faster bunch of backs than Hillman’s
had expected. And Loring knew a lot of football, and proved the fact
early in the game. At half-past two, by which time the second period was
half over, the result was a foregone conclusion. Loring had scored two
touch-downs and as many goals therefrom, and the Blue had never once
threatened the adversary’s last white line. Gains through the opponent
were infrequent and short, even Pope, who could generally be depended on
to tear off a few yards when the worst came to the worst, failing
dismally.
In mid-field, Mason and Slavin made some stirring advances around the
Loring wings, and there were several successful forward passes to the
home team’s credit; but, once past Loring’s thirty-yard line, Hillman’s
seemed powerless. The third quarter went scoreless, and in the fourth,
realizing doubtless that defeat was certain, Coach Mulford used his
substitutes lavishly. Ned made his first appearance on the big team in
that period, taking Mason’s place for some eight of the fifteen minutes.
He did neither better nor worse than the other second- and third-string
fellows, perhaps—although, when Pope was taken out and Deering
substituted at full-back, he did his share of the punting and performed
very creditably. But that fourth period gave Loring an opportunity to
add to her score, and she seized it. Even with several substitutes in
her own line-up, she was still far better than Hillman’s, and a goal
from the field and, in the last few moments of the game, a third
touch-down, resulted.
The Blue fought desperately and gamely with her back to the wall, in an
effort to stave off that last score; but eventually Holmes, who had
taken Kewpie’s place at center, weakened, and the Loring back piled
through. The final score was 23 to 0, and what two hours before had been
looked on as a victory or, at the worst, a tie, had become a cataclysm!
Humiliated, if not disgraced, the home-team players trailed to the
field-house with hanging heads, averting their eyes from the sight of
Loring’s triumphal march around the gridiron.