The week or so succeeding the Farview game seemed like an anticlimax.
The bottom had sort of dropped out of things and there was no immediate
excitement to look forward to. The weather became as miserable as
weather possibly could, the slight snowfall that followed the rain of
Thanksgiving Day lasting only long enough to be seen by the early
risers. Perhaps it was well that lack of events and inclement weather
ruled, for Ned and a good many other boys in school were no worse for an
opportunity to apply themselves undisturbedly to their studies.
Basketball candidates were called the first Monday in December, and the
twins held a serious conference on the question of reporting. Ned, who
felt rather flat since there was no more football, was half inclined to
go in for the game, and would have had Laurie insisted. But Laurie voted
that for the present the Turners had done sufficient in the athletic
line, that the honor of the family demanded no further sacrifices on the
altar of duty. So Ned abandoned the idea and talked of trying for the
crew in the spring.
When December was a week old, the fellows set their gaze on the
Christmas recess, which this year began on Wednesday, three days before
Christmas, and lasted until the 2d of January. Eleven days are not
sufficient to make a trip across the continent and back advisable,
although the twins figured that, with the best of fortune, they would be
able to reach Santa Lucia in time for dinner Christmas night. On the
other hand, the missing of one connection would delay their arrival
until the following afternoon, and, as Laurie pointed out, they were
fairly certain to be held up somewhere on the way, and a sleeping-car
wasn’t exactly an ideal place in which to spend the holiday! Besides,
there was a noticeable lack of encouragement from home. It had been
accepted beforehand that the boys were to remain at the school during
the recess, and nothing in Mr. Turner’s fortnightly letters hinted that
he had changed his mind.
“I’d just as lief stay here, anyway,” declared Ned. “We can have a lot
more fun. Maybe there’ll be a bunch of snow, and I’m dying to try
skiing.”
“You bet! And skating, too! And then there’s that other scheme. Mustn’t
forget that, Neddie.”
“You mean—”
“Yes. Didn’t you say we’d do it during vacation?”
“Sure! It—it’ll take quite a lot of money, though, Laurie. And we’ll
have presents to buy for Dad and Aunt Emmie and the cousins—”
“The cousins get Christmas cards, and that’s all they do get,”
interrupted Laurie, decisively. “That’s all they ever give us, and I’d
rather spend my money on something that’ll really—really benefit some
one. I guess Dad’ll send us some more money, too, for Christmas. We can
do it, all right. I’ve got nearly seven dollars right now. I haven’t
spent hardly any money this month.”
“All right. Some day soon we’ll go downtown and find out how much it’s
going to cost and what we’ll need and everything. I say, we can get Bob
to help us, too!”
“Rather! And three or four other fellows, I guess. Every one likes the
Widow, and George says there will be five or six fellows here during
recess. He was here last year, and he says he had a dandy time.”
“Let’s get George this afternoon and get the thing started. We can find
out the—the area and ask the man how much we’ll need.”
“Sure! And we can buy it and store it at Bob’s. Then all we’ll have to
do will be carry it over the fence. I’ll go down and see if I can find
him. Look here, Neddie. Why don’t we do it before Christmas and make it
a sort of Christmas present? Say we worked hard all day Thursday and
Friday—”
“Great! Only if it snowed—”
Laurie’s face fell. “Gee, that’s so! I suppose we couldn’t do it if it
snowed. Or rained. Or if it was frightfully cold.”
“They say it doesn’t get real cold here until after New Year’s,” said
Ned, reassuringly. “But of course it might snow or rain. Well, we’ll do
it in time for Christmas if we can. If we can’t, we’ll do it for New
Year’s. I’ll bet she’ll be tickled to death. I say, though! We never
found out about the color!”
“I did,” answered Laurie modestly. “I asked Polly. She said white.”
“White! Geewhillikins, Laurie, that makes it harder, doesn’t it? We’d
have to put on two coats!”
“Think so?” Laurie frowned. “I guess we would. That would take twice as
long, eh? Look here; maybe—maybe I can get Polly to change her mind!”
“That’s likely, you chump!” Ned scowled thoughtfully. Finally, “I tell
you what,” he said. “Suppose we went around there sometime, and talked
with Mrs. Deane, and told her how nice we think blue looks and how sort
of—of distinctive! Gee, it wouldn’t be any trick at all to make it
blue; but white—” He shook his head despondently.
“Cheer up!” said Laurie. “I’ve got the dope, partner! Listen. We’ll tell
them that it ought to be blue because blue’s the school color and all
that. Mrs. Deane thinks a heap of Hillman’s, and she’ll fall for it as
sure as shooting. So’ll Polly! Come on! Let’s find George and get the
thing started!”
“Better get Bob to go with us, too. He said something about wanting to
pay his share of it, so we’d better let him in right from the start.
After all, we don’t want to hog it, Laurie!”
A fortnight later the exodus came. Of the four-score lads who lived at
Hillman’s, all but eight took their departure that Wednesday morning,
and Ned and Laurie and George watched the last group drive off for the
station with feelings of genuine satisfaction. Life at school during the
eleven days of recess promised to be busy and enjoyable, and they were
eager to see the decks cleared, so to speak, and to start the new way of
living. Ned and Laurie had had plenty of invitations for Christmas week.
Both Kewpie and Lee Murdock had earnestly desired their society at their
respective homes, and there had been others less insistent but possibly
quite as cordial invitations. But neither one had weakened. George half
promised one of the boys to visit him for a few days after Christmas,
but later he canceled his acceptance.
Besides George and the twins, there remained at school five other
fellows who, because they lived at a distance and railway fares were
high, or for other reasons, found it expedient to accept Doctor
Hillman’s hospitality. None of the five, two juniors, one lower middler,
and two upper middlers, were known to the twins more than casually when
recess began; but eating together three times a day and being thrown in
one another’s society at other times soon made the acquaintance much
closer, and all proved to be decent, likable chaps.
Meals were served at a corner table in West Hall, and during recess
there were seldom fewer than three of the faculty present. That may
sound depressing, but in vacation-time an instructor becomes quite a
human, jovial person, and the scant dozen around the table enjoyed
themselves hugely. In the evening Doctor Hillman held open house, and
Miss Tabitha showed a genius for providing methods of entertainment.
Sometimes they popped corn in the fireplace in the cozy living-room,
sometimes they roasted apples. Once it was chestnuts that jumped on the
hearth. Then, too, Miss Tabitha was a past mistress in the art of making
fudge, and on two occasions Mr. Barrett, the mathematics instructor,
displayed such a sweet tooth that the boys lost the last of their awe
and “ragged” him without mercy. Several times the Doctor read aloud,
choosing, to the boys’ surprise, a corking detective novel that had them
squirming on the edges of their chairs. Toward the last of the vacation,
Laurie confided to Ned and George that he wished recess was just
beginning.
To Ned’s and Laurie’s great disappointment, neither snow nor ice
appeared and the weather remained merely briskly cold, with sometimes a
day like Indian summer. But I am getting ahead of my story, which really
comes to an end on Christmas Day.
More than a week before the closing of school, the four conspirators had
finished their preparations for the task that was to provide the Widow
Deane with a novel Christmas present. In Bob’s cellar were many cans
containing blue paint, white paint, linseed oil, and turpentine. There
were brushes there, too, and a scraper, and a roll of cotton rags
provided by Polly. For, in the end, it had become necessary to acquaint
Polly with the project. Against Bob’s back fence reposed all the
ladders, of varying lengths, that the neighborhood afforded. Wednesday
evening Ned and Laurie and George herded the other boys into George’s
room, and explained the scheme and asked for volunteers. They got five
most enthusiastic ones.
Nine o’clock the next morning was set as the time for the beginning of
the work, and at that hour nine rather disreputably-attired youths
appeared in Mrs. Deane’s yard, arriving by way of the back fence, and
began their assault. The first the Widow knew of what was happening was
when, being then occupied with the task of tidying up the sleeping-room
on the second floor, she was startled to see the head and shoulders of a
boy appear outside her window. Her exclamation of alarm gave place to
murmurs of bewilderment as the supposed burglar contented himself with
lifting the two shutters from their hinges and passing them down the
ladder to some unseen accomplice. Mrs. Deane looked forth. In the garden
was what at first glimpse looked like a convention of tramps. They were
armed with ladders and brushes and pots of paint, and they were already
very busy. Across two trestles set on the grass plot, the stolen
shutters were laid as fast as they were taken down. One boy, flourishing
a broad-bladed implement, scraped the rough surfaces. A second plied a
big round brush, dusting diligently. Numbers three and four, as soon as
the first two operatives retired, attacked with brushes dripping with
white paint. In almost no time at all the first shutter was off the
trestles and leaning, fresh and spotless, against the fence. Every
instant another shutter appeared. Mrs. Deane gazed in fascinated
amazement. One after another, she recognized the miscreants: the two
Turner boys, George Watson, Mr. Starling’s son, Hal Goring, the Stanton
boy, and the rest; but, although recognition brought reassurance,
bewilderment remained, and she hurried downstairs as fast as ever she
could go.
Polly was on the back porch, a very disturbed and somewhat indignant
Towser in her arms, evidently a party to the undertaking, and to her
Mrs. Deane breathlessly appealed.
“Polly! What are they doing?” she gasped.
“You’ll have to ask the boys, Mama.” Polly’s eyes were dancing. “Nid,
here’s Mama, and she wants to know what you’re doing!”
Nid hurried up, a dripping brush in one hand and a smear of white paint
across one cheek, followed by Laurie. The others paused at their various
tasks to watch smilingly.
“Painting the house, Mrs. Deane!”
“Painting the house! My house? Why—why—what—who—”
“Yes’m. There’s the blue paint. It’s as near like the old as we could
find. You don’t think it’s too dark, do you?”
“But I don’t understand, Nid Turner!” said Mrs. Deane helplessly. “Who
told you to? Who’s going to pay for it?”
“It’s all paid for, ma’am. It—it’s a sort of Christmas present from
us—from the school. You—you don’t mind, do you?”
“Well, I never did!” Mrs. Deane looked from Ned to Laurie, her mouth
quivering. “I—I don’t know what to say. I guess I’ll—I’ll go see if
any one’s—in the shop, Polly. Did you think you—heard the bell?” Mrs.
Deane’s eyes were frankly wet as she turned hurriedly away and
disappeared inside. Ned viewed Polly anxiously.
“Do you think she—doesn’t like it?” he half whispered.
Polly shook her head and laughed softly, although her own eyes were not
quite dry. “Of course she likes it, you stupid boy! She just didn’t know
what to say. She’ll be back pretty soon, after she’s had a little cry.”
“Oh!” said Ned and Laurie in chorus, their faces brightening; and Laurie
added apologetically: “Gee, we didn’t want to make her cry, Polly!”
“That sort of a cry doesn’t hurt,” said Polly.
Afterward Mrs. Deane said a great deal, and said it very sweetly, and
the boys got more or less embarrassed, and were heartily glad when she
drew Ned to her and kissed him, much to that youth’s distress, and the
incident ended in laughter. By noon the shutters were done, and nine
industrious amateur painters were swarming over the back of the little
house. I’m not going to tell you that the job was done as perfectly as
Sprague and Currie, Painters and Paper-hangers, would have done it, but
you’re to believe that it was done much quicker and at a far greater
saving of money! And when it was finished no one except a professional
would ever have known the difference. Perhaps there was more blue and
white paint scattered around the landscape than was absolutely
necessary, and it always remained a mystery how Antoinette managed to
get her right ear looking like a bit of Italian sky, for every one
professed ignorance and Antoinette was apparently well protected from
spatters. (It took Polly more than a week to restore the rabbit to her
original appearance.)
When the early winter twilight fell and it became necessary to knock off
work for the day, the blue painting was more than half done and, unless
weather prevented, it was certain that the entire task would be finished
by to-morrow evening. Mrs. Deane served five-o’clock tea,—only it
happened to be four-o’clock tea instead,—and nine very, very hungry
lads did full justice to the repast, and the little room behind the
store held a merry party. Perhaps the prevailing odor of paint detracted
somewhat from Mrs. Deane’s and Polly’s enjoyment of the refreshments,
but you may be certain they made no mention of the fact.
That night the boys viewed the cloudy sky apprehensively. Laurie, who
knew little about it, declared dubiously that it smelt like snow. But
when morning came, although the cloudiness persisted most of the day,
the weather remained kindly, with just enough frost in the air to chill
feet and nip idle fingers and to give an added zest to labor. Very
little time was wasted on luncheon, and at two o’clock the last slap of
blue paint had been applied and the more difficult work of doing the
white trim began. Fortunately, there were only eleven windows and two
doors, and although “drawing” the sashes was slow and finicking work,
with nine willing hands hard at it the end came shortly after dusk,
when, watched by eight impatient companions, young Haskell, one of the
junior class boys, with trembling fingers drew his brush along the last
few inches of a front window, and then, because he was quite keyed up
and because it was much too dark to see well, celebrated the culmination
of his efforts by putting a foot squarely into a can of white paint!
When first-aid methods had been applied, he was allowed, on promise to
put only one foot to the floor, to accompany the rest inside and
announce to a delighted and slightly tremulous Mrs. Deane that the work
was completed. There was a real celebration then, with more piping-hot
tea and lots of perfectly scrumptious cream-puffs,—besides less
enticing bread-and-butter sandwiches,—and Mrs. Deane tried hard to
thank the boys and couldn’t quite do it, and Polly failed almost as
dismally, and Laurie made a wonderful speech that no one understood very
well, except for the general meaning, and nine flushed and very happy
youths cheered long and loudly for Mrs. Deane, and finally departed
merrily into the winter twilight, calling back many a “Merry Christmas”
as they went.