A JINKS PARTY
THE second prize was really won by Delight, but as she was hostess, of
course she wouldn’t take it, so, Flip Henderson having the next best
list, the prize was given to him.
“Well,” remarked Midget, “that’s a pretty thing! Only two boys in our
Jinks Club, and they take the two prizes!”
“You girls will have to look to your laurels,” said Miss Hart,
laughingly.
As the prizes were both postcard albums, they were equally appropriate
for a boy or girl, and the two boys who won them were secretly quite
proud of their achievement.
“Now, we’ve time for one more game,” said Miss Hart, “and this is one
without prizes, but I think you’ll say it’s good fun. Kitty and Dorothy,
will you distribute these bits of paper, keeping them blank side up?”
The two little girls took the box of small papers, and gave them out to
the others, being careful not to look at the written side. The slips
were about an inch long, and half an inch wide, and though the girls
tried honestly not to look, they couldn’t help seeing there was a single
word written on each one.
At last, all were distributed, and the children sat round the room
waiting for the game to begin.
“This is a lovely Jinks Club meeting,” said Dorothy Adams. “I like it
better than the ones where we romp so hard.”
“It’s sure lots of fun,” agreed King. “But it’s just like a party. Jinks
Club never was like a party before.”
“I don’t care what it’s like, if you all have a good time,” said
Delight, who had been afraid the “Jinksies” wouldn’t have a good time at
her house, where romping was not allowed.
“We’re having a beautiful time,” Marjorie said, as she squeezed
Delight’s arm.
Then Miss Hart began the game.
“I will tell a story,” she said, “and when I pause, King, who sits next
to me, will turn over one of his papers and read the word on it. Then
I’ll go on, and when I pause again, Dorothy, who sits next, will turn
over one of her papers and read it out. And so on, round the circle.
Each one of you be ready in turn, please, so as not to delay the
thrilling tale. Now we’ll start. Once upon a time a gentleman was
walking down a crowded city street, when he suddenly saw a——”
“Giraffe,” said King, who had his paper all ready to read.
“‘What a strange thing!’ exclaimed the gentleman. ‘But I will lead it
away from here lest it scare somebody.’ So he persuaded the giraffe to
go with him, and, stopping at a shop, he bought a——”
“Sunbonnet,” said Dorothy.
The children all laughed, but Miss Hart went on:
“‘Just the thing!’ exclaimed the man. ‘Without this, my poor giraffe
might have been sun-struck.’ He tied the sunbonnet on the giraffe’s
head, although, to do so, he had to climb up on a——”
“Bureau,” said Midget.
“Which was just about to be placed on a moving-van. The sunbonnet
properly adjusted, the gentleman said politely to the giraffe, ‘What is
your name?’ To his surprise, the animal spoke quite plainly, and
answered——”
“Strawberry Jam,” read Delight, giggling.
“‘A lovely name!’ exclaimed the man. ‘Now, Strawberry Jam, I feel sure
you are hungry, so I will feed you some——’”
“Tin tacks,” said Kitty.
“‘You may not think you’ll like them, dear Strawberry Jam, but I assure
you that, made up into little cakes, and iced over with——’”
“Mucilage!”
“‘They are really very nice.’ ‘Not for me!’ growled the giraffe. ‘I much
prefer——’”
“Soap and candles.”
“‘Very well,’ exclaimed the man, ‘you shall have those also. Now, as
you’re weary, I propose you take a nap in a——’”
“Washboiler!”
“It was difficult to get the large animal in, but by doubling him up the
gentleman managed to get Strawberry Jam quite comfortably in the
washboiler, when just then a lady came along. She carried——”
“Two watermelons.”
“And——”
“A live turkey.”
“And——”
“A pail of whitewash.”
“Setting down her burdens, she said to the man, ‘I belong to the Society
for the Prevention of——’”
“Green apples.”
“‘And I shall have you arrested for ill-treating that giraffe, unless
you at once give him a——’”
“Lace collar.”
“‘I shall carry out my threat.’
“‘Madame,’ said the gentleman, ‘I have no lace collars handy, and,
besides, with his long neck, he would require about seventeen, but I
will give him a——’”
“Yellow wheelbarrow.”
“‘Do so!’ cried the lady, ‘and I will wheel him away in it.’ She did so,
and the giraffe was never seen or heard of again.”
“Oh, Miss Hart, don’t stop! We have several papers left yet!” cried
Kitty, as the story came to an abrupt end.
“I must, dearie, for I see Mary is ready to announce supper.”
“Supper!” exclaimed Midget. “Why, we never have supper at Jinks Club!
Just cookies and lemonade or plain water.”
“But this is to make up for your being so good and quiet,” said Mrs.
Spencer, who stood in the doorway leading to the dining-room. “I’ve been
told that Jinks Club usually necessitates a whole redecoration of the
house, but I can’t see that you’ve done the least bit of damage here
today. So here’s your reward.”
It was a very inviting-looking reward, for the dining-table was set
prettily, and with Mrs. Spencer and Miss Hart at either end, the six
children were soon seated in their places.
No crackers and lemonade this time! There were creamed oysters, and
little sandwiches, and cocoa, and afterward a lovely snow pudding and
tiny iced cakes and bonbons.
The feast was delicious, but somehow conversation seemed to flag.
Mrs. Spencer was charmingly hospitable, but she was so polite, that it
made the children feel restrained.
“Do you miss your mother, Marjorie?” asked the hostess, in her
conversational way, and Midget answered:
“Yes, Mrs. Spencer, very much.”
It sounded too short, but poor Midge couldn’t think of anything to add
to the bald statement.
King helped her out. The Maynards always tried to help each other.
“We all miss Mother,” he said, “and Father, too.”
“But we try to be cheerful about it,” supplemented Kitty, who had an
uncomfortable feeling that she must act as if at a “party.”
Then a silence fell, and had it not been for Miss Hart’s cheery little
jokes and merry manner, the supper would have been a very quiet affair.
At half-past five they all went home, and, after polite good-byes, the
three Maynards walked decorously across the street.
But as they entered their own gate, King cried out:
“Race you to the house!” and the three broke into a mad run for dear
life.
Of course, King got there first, but plump Marjorie, puffing and
blowing, came a close second, while Kitty, usually a swift runner, came
walking behind them with great dignity.
“I can’t get off my Spencery air so soon,” she explained, and the others
laughed, for Kitty was far more inclined toward elegant repose of manner
than the other two madcaps.
“Huh! Guess you’ll have to!” cried King, and, taking her two hands in
his own with a clinching grip, he began to whirl her round and round.
This somewhat dangerous game, known as “Sail a boat,” required careful
attention, if accidents were to be avoided; so, seeing she was in for
it, Kitty gracefully capitulated and swung round faster and faster until
she nearly had King off his feet.
“There, stop it!” commanded Marjorie. “You’ll get dizzy, and then you’re
sure to fall. Quit it, King! We don’t want any more accidents!”
“That’s so,” agreed King, stopping slowly, and helping Kitty to preserve
her equilibrium.
“But I do say,” he went on, as they all three burst in at the front door
together, “I’d rather have plain, everyday Jinks than to go to a Spencer
party.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Marjorie, who was always satisfied with things
as they came. “I liked the party part of it, and the supper was grand.”
“But it was so mixed up,” said Kitty. “In the first place, it wasn’t a
party, ’cause there was no ice cream, and yet it was a party, ’cause we
sat at the table, and had the cut-glass goblets. Then, it wasn’t a
party, ’cause we weren’t dressed up, and yet it was a party, ’cause the
grown-ups helped entertain us.”
“That’s the point, Kit,” said her brother. “It wasn’t either party or
Jinks Club, but a mixture of both. I’d rather have either one thing or
the other. But I’ll make up for it now. I was so ’fraid I’d cut up jinks
over there, I didn’t know what to do. But here goes!”
Like one let suddenly loose from restraint, King turned two or three
handsprings down the long hall, and at the last one managed to collide
with both Miss Larkin and Rosamond’s doll-carriage. The three were
pretty well tangled up; King lost his balance, Miss Larkin lost her
dignity, and the doll-carriage lost a wheel.
But King was in high spirits by this time.
“There, there, Larky,” he said, “you’re all right. Pick up her back
comb, Mops. Don’t step on her eyeglasses, Kitty! Look out, they’re right
under your feet!”
Fortunately the comb and glasses were rescued intact and restored to
their owner.
Miss Larkin didn’t quite know whether to be annoyed or to laugh, but
King was in a wheedlesome mood, and he patted her shoulders, and
smoothed down her laces as he said:
“There, Larky Parky; it’s all right. You’re not mussed up a bit.
Nothing’s busted but the carriage. And I guess we can get that wheel
fixed. And, Jiminetty Christmas! I had to tumble about a little, to get
limbered up after that stiff party. Oh, I say, Larky, dear, did you get
us our scrap-book, as you promised?”
“Oh, I didn’t!” exclaimed Miss Larkin, looking greatly chagrined. “To
tell you the truth, King, I forgot all about it.”
“It’s naughty to be forgetful.”
“Yes, King, I know it is; and I’m awfully sorry. But I had a letter from
some friends who are coming to visit me here, and everything else went
out of my mind.”
The Maynard children had already had some experience with Miss Larkin’s
forgetfulness, so they were not greatly surprised.
But they were disappointed, and Kitty’s face showed it so plainly, that
Miss Larkin said:
“I’ll do my best to repair my error, Kitty. I’ll go downtown to-night,
right after dinner, and get the scrap-book.”
“Oh, no, Miss Larkin, you needn’t do that,” said Marjorie, quite
overcome by this offer. “It’s too late and too dark for you to go out
alone. Unless,” she added, as an afterthought, “we all go with you.”
“Oh, let us do that,” begged Kitty. “I’ve almost never been downtown at
night. Oh, do let’s go! It would be lovely!”
“Would that make up to you for my forgetfulness?” asked Miss Larkin,
smiling, and when they all chorused, “Yes!” she agreed to take them.
Dinner was soon over, for after their Jinks supper, the children wanted
almost nothing, and then, scrambling into their coats and hats, they
declared themselves ready.
Kitty walked with Miss Larkin, and King and Midget followed.
“Oh!” sighed Kitty, as they came at last to the brightly-lighted Main
Street, “isn’t it wonderful. They say New York is very brilliant at
night, but I don’t think it can be much brighter than this. Is it, Miss
Larkin?”
“Oh, yes, indeed it is, Kitty. Have you never seen New York at night?”
“No; Mother says I’m too young. I’m not ten yet, you know. But I don’t
see how it can be much gayer than this.”
The Main Street of Rockwell was the usual thoroughfare of a small town,
but the bright electrics in many of the shop-windows gave it a fairly
light effect.
One large drug-shop, which, of course, was open evenings, kept
stationery, and here they went for the scrap-book.
Great care was exercised in choosing it, for if too small, it would not
hold enough, and the very large ones were unwieldy.
So just the right size was selected, and King volunteered to carry it
home.
Miss Larkin was warmly thanked by her appreciative beneficiaries, and
then, as they turned toward home, she said:
“Suppose we make this a sort of gala night, and stop here at this shop
and have some ice cream.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Kitty, ecstatically, “do let’s do that!”
The others were far from unwilling, so the quartette were soon seated
round a white marble-topped table.
“I do think,” said Kitty, as she viewed lovingly the pink and white heap
that was placed in front of her, “I do think we’re having the loveliest
time!”
“Better than the Jinks Club?” asked Miss Larkin, with a twinkle in her
eye.
“Well, different,” said Kitty. “I feel as if I could talk every-day
talk, you know, and not think how it’s going to sound.”
“I do hate to have to think how things sound,” admitted King, honestly.
“But I s’pose,” said Midget, thoughtfully, “we ought to talk always so
they sound all right anyway.”
“That sentence might be improved upon,” said Miss Larkin, laughing; “but
I want you to have a specially good time this evening, so never mind
about any frills on your conversation. I’ve been thinking, children,
that I’ve rather neglected you. I ought to do more to entertain and
amuse you, now that your dear parents are away.”
The three Maynards looked at her in amazement. They had thought that
Miss Larkin was very indulgent usually; and though sometimes she was
unexpectedly strict or stern, yet in a moment she would forget what she
had said, and give them an extra treat of some sort. The truth was, Miss
Larkin was decidedly inconsistent. All unused to the management of
children, she was now over-indulgent and now over-exacting. She had no
knowledge of the uniformly mild and gentle, yet positive government
which Mr. and Mrs. Maynard exercised in their home.
And so the Maynard children, not understanding this, had accepted Miss
Larkin as she was, and though they sometimes rebelled at her really
unjust commands, they enjoyed to the full her often unwise indulgence.
Now, they were surprised, indeed, to hear her say she had neglected
them, but with their easy adaptability they were quite ready to accept
present and future favors. However, King felt that justice was due her,
so he said:
“Oh, come now, Miss Larkin; you’ve been pretty good to us. I think
you’re a brick, don’t you, girls?”
“Yes, we do,” agreed Midge and Kitty, and then Marjorie went on:
“Did you say you expect company, Miss Larkin? Perhaps we can help you
get ready for them.”
Miss Larkin smiled, as she remembered the “decorations” that met her
eyes the day she arrived at the Maynard house, and she replied:
“No; you can’t help me, except by keeping out of the way as much as
possible, and behaving as well as you can while they’re here.”
“We’ll try,” said Marjorie, earnestly; “who are they, Miss Larkin?”
“Mr. and Mrs. Mortimer, some friends of mine from Boston. They will stay
two or three days. And I want to have everything as nice as possible,
for they are rather particular people.”
“H’m,” said King. “If there’s anything I don’t go much on, it’s these
‘rather particular people.’ But to please you, Miss Larkin, I’ll promise
to behave the very bestest I can. And if the girls don’t do likewise,
I’ll pound ’em.”
“Huh!” said Midget, “guess you’d get pounded back!”
“Oh, children,” said Miss Larkin, in despair; “don’t talk like that! I
know you don’t mean anything, for you love each other, but your rough
and tumble ‘poundings’ would shock Mrs. Mortimer inexpressibly.”
“All right, Larky, dear,” said King, in his winning way; “we won’t have
any jinks of any kind while your friends are here. We’ll be as good—as
good—oh, we’ll be just _Spencer_ good!”
“That’s nice of you,” said Miss Larkin, beaming on them; “and if you say
so, I know you’ll keep your word.”