ROUGH-HOUSING.
Jim speedily found himself upon friendly terms with all the "resorters"
at Tamawaca. He worked for Jarrod mornings and in the afternoons and
evenings enjoyed himself thoroughly. When "Regatta Week" arrived--the
week of the Yacht Club boat races, when the four yachtsmen competed for
the prizes that were donated by the liberal merchants of Kochton and
Grand Rapids, and divided the spoils amicably--during that week Jim
helped to get up the annual "Venetian Evening," the one really famous
attraction of the year.
On this occasion the entire bay was enclosed with lines of gorgeous
Japanese lanterns placed in artistic designs along the shore. The Yacht
Club, the hotels at Iroquois Bay and Tamawaca and all the buildings
facing the bay were elaborately decorated with bunting and lanterns,
while the sail-boats anchored upon the mirror-like surface of the water
displayed a like splendor. Bands played on the ferry-boats, bonfires on
the neighboring heights glared and twinkled, many launches brilliant
with colored lights moved slowly over the bay, while rockets and roman
candles sent their spluttering displays into the dim sky overhead. All
the world was there to see the sight and the popcorn and peanut men
reaped a harvest.
It has been seriously asserted that Venice in its palmiest days has
never been able to compete with Tamawaca on "Venetian Evening."
During the delightful August weather social functions at the resort
reached their acme of enjoyment and followed one another as thickly as
the fleeting hours would permit. In some circles these affairs were
conducted with much solemn propriety; but many folks who suffered
under the imperious exactions of "good form" during the rest of the
year revolted from its tyranny while on their summer vacations, and
loved to be merry and informal. They were gathered from many cities of
the South, East, North and West, and here thrown together in a motley
throng whose antecedents and established social positions at home it
would be both difficult and useless to determine. So certain congenial
circles were formed with the prime object of "having a good time," and
they undoubtedly succeeded in their aim.
Jim, who before he quarrelled with his father had been accustomed to
mingle with the 400 of old St. Louis, was greatly amused at some of
these entertainments, many of which he attended with demure little
Susie.
Rivers, a jolly fellow who owned a lake front cottage--one of the
titles to distinction at Tamawaca--organized a "surprise party" on
George B. Still (another lake-fronter) one evening. A band of some
twenty people assembled at the cottage of a neighbor, all carrying
baskets laden with frosted bricks in place of cake, beer-bottles filled
with clear spring water but still bearing Budweiser labels, mud-pies
with nicely browned crusts, turnips fried to resemble saratoga chips
and other preposterous donations of a similar character.
Then they stole silently to George's cottage, and when he opened the
door in answer to their timid knock burst into a sudden flood of
merriment that never subsided until after midnight.
The Stills were as pleased as could be, but no one paid much attention
to them. Somebody thumped the piano while everybody else danced a
two-step regardless of interfering toes or furniture.
Little Drybug, a dapper man who weighed about seventy-six pounds but
didn't look so heavy, cavorted with blushing Mrs. Still who weighed
something less than three hundred--but not much--and nearly committed
suicide in the attempt. Commodore Diller danced with Grandma Jones, a
rosy-cheeked antiquity who blushed as charmingly as a girl of sixteen,
and the general mix-up was about as laughable as could well be.
In the breathless pause that presently ensued as a matter of course,
Mr. Idowno, a solemn faced gentleman who had attended the party with
his smiling, chubby wife but could not dance a single caper, protested
in an audible tone that it was time he must be going. "I have to work
for a living, you know," explained this individual, who was director in
several banks and controlled a number of business enterprises and could
not get them off his mind.
But the company laughed him to scorn and decided to play "five
hundred" for a series of prizes that had not been provided in advance,
and were therefore invisible.
So the self-invited guests rigged up card tables and chose partners
and fought and quarreled for points until Mrs. Rivers rung a gong and
invited all to supper.
Then they jumped up and trooped into an adjoining room, where the
frosted bricks and mud pies had been spread for a banquet; and although
George B. accepted his donations with good humor the guests began to
wonder if the joke was not on themselves, after all, since their jolly
exertions had created a demand in their interiors for real food.
"Well, I must be going," said the solemn Idowno. "I have to work
for----"
"This way, please!" called Mrs. Still, cheerily, and threw open another
door, disclosing an enticing array of provender that caused a stampede
in that direction.
"How on earth did you happen to have all this on hand?" Susie enquired
of Mrs. Still, as she and Jim squeezed themselves into a corner.
"Didn't Mrs. Rivers keep her surprise party a secret?"
"Of course, as secret as she can keep anything," answered the laughing
hostess; "but I had an intuition there'd be a lot of hungry folks here
tonight, so we've been busy all day getting ready for them."
After the supper, which consumed two hours in being consumed, Mr.
Idowno once more claimed he must be going; but the guests rose up and
loudly demanded the prizes they had won at cards. From the size of the
hubbub it appeared that nearly every one present was entitled to a
prize.
For once the Stills were non-plussed. They really hadn't thought of
"prizes" for their surprise party, and hesitated what to say or do.
But their guests settled the matter in their own way.
Mr. Iward took possession of a Japanese screen; Mrs. Rivers grabbed a
mantel ornament; Mrs. Jarrod seized upon an antique candlestick she had
long coveted and plump Mrs. Diller grabbed a picture off the wall. Mrs.
Purspyre found a Bible and appropriated it because she had always had a
curiosity to read it. Mr. Bowsir espied a paper-cutter of ivory, which
he secured after a struggle with George B., who wanted it himself,
while Katherine Pance swiped an embroidered cover from the center-table
and Mr. Connover took the table itself.
And so, amid screams and laughter, the pretty room was despoiled of its
treasures, for the Stills were greatly outnumbered by their guests and
powerless to protect their property.
As the heavily laden company trooped away down the walk, singing
as blithely as the forty thieves might have done, Mr. Wright, the
author-man, who had really won a prize but found the place stripped
when he returned from the dining-room (where he had been to hunt for
one last sandwich) gave a sigh and lifted the front door from its
hinges, carrying it home with many protests that "it was just about as
useful as any prize he had won that year."
And so ended the "surprise party," but little Minnie Still said
confidentially to her chum next day:
"We had a rough-house at our cottage last night, and they behaved just
dreadful! Why, if we young folks ever acted the way those old married
people did, my mother would send me back to Quincy in double-quick
time."
Such commentaries by children upon their elders are doubly sad when
they happen to be true.