CHAPTER XIII.
JIMMIEBOY AND JACK FROST--IN WHICH JACK GIVES OFFENCE.
Jimmieboy is the proud possessor of a small brother, who, to use one ofJimmieboy's own expressions, is getting to be a good deal of a man. Thatis to say, he is old enough to go out driving all by himself, beingeleven months of age, and quite capable of managing the fiery untamednurse that pushes his carriage along the street. Of course, if the nursehad not been warranted kind and gentle when the baby's mamma went tofind her in the beginning, little Russ would have had to have somebodygo along with him when he went driving--somebody like Jimmieboy, forinstance, to frighten off big dogs and policemen, and to see that thenurse didn't shy or run away--but as it was, the baby had developedforce of character and self-reliance enough to go out unattended, and,except on one occasion, he got back again safe and sound.
This one occasion was early in December, when Nature, having observedthat the great big boys had got through playing football and werebeginning to think of snow-balls, sent word to the Arctic Cold WeatherCompany that she desired to have delivered at once five days of lowtemperature for general distribution among her friends, which days weresent through by special messenger, arriving late on the night ofDecember 1st, giving great satisfaction to everybody, particularly tothose who deal in ice, ear-tabs, and skates. At first Jimmieboy's mammathought that Nature was perhaps a little too generous with her frostyweather, and for two days she kept her two sons, Jimmieboy and Russ,cooped up in the house, laying in a supply of furnace and log-fire heatsufficiently large to keep them warm until the third day, when shethought that they might safely go out.
JIMMIEBOY PREPARED FOR COLD WEATHER.]
Upon the third day Jimmieboy's papa said that he imagined the boys werewarm enough to venture out-of-doors, so they were bundled up inleggings, fur-lined coats, flannel bands, scarfs, silk handkerchiefs,lamb's-wool rugs, and "arctics," the door was opened, and out theywent. Jimmieboy staid out seven minutes, and then came in again to seeif he could find out why his nose had suddenly changed its color, firstfrom pink to red, and then from red to blue. He also wished to come in,he said, because the solid iron driver of his red express wagon had been"freezed stiff," and he was afraid if he staid out much longer he'dnever thaw out again. Little Russ, on the contrary, lying luxuriously inhis carriage, with no part of him visible save the tip end of his chin,which was so fat that the coverings would slip off, no matter how hardmamma and the nurse tried to make them stay on, remained out-of-doorsfor two hours, apparently very comfortable. His great blue eyes shonemirthfully when he came in, and until six o'clock that evening all wentwell with him, and then he began to whimper.
"What's the matter with my baby?" asked Jimmieboy.
LITTLE RUSS.]
Little Russ made no reply other than a grimace, which made Jimmieboylaugh, at which the baby opened his mouth as wide as he could andshrieked with wrath.
"I'm inclined to think," said the nurse, as she sought vainly to findwhere a possible pin might be creating a disturbance to the baby'sdiscomfiture--"I'm inclined to think that perhaps he's got a painsomewhere."
And then the youthful Russ blinked his eyes, gave another shriek, andattempted to pout. Now it is a singular way little Russ has of pouting.He gets it from his mamma, who used to pout in just the same way whenshe was a little girl--so grandma says--and it consists entirely ofsticking his chin out as far as he can, while concealing his lower lipas much as possible beneath the cherry-colored Cupid's bow that acts ashis upper lip. A proceeding of this sort always results in making thatchin the most conspicuous thing in the room, so that it is notsurprising that when little Russ pouted every one in the room should atonce notice that there was a great red spot upon it.
"Why, the poor little soul has been frost-bitten!" cried mamma, runningfor the cold cream--queer thing that, by-the-way, Jimmieboy thought. Hewould have put warm cream on a cold sore like that.
"So he is!" ejaculated papa, with an indignant glance at the chin, whichonly caused that fat little feature to pout the more. "Hadn't I bettersend for the doctor?"
"Does dogs frost-bite?" queried Jimmieboy, looking around the room for astick with which to beat the dog that had done the biting, if perchanceit was a dog that was responsible.
"No, indeed," said papa. "It wasn't a dog; it was Jack Frost, andnobody else. He ought to be muzzled."
"Who is Jack Frost, papa?" Jimmieboy asked, so much interested in Jackthat he for a moment forgot his suffering small brother.
"Jack? Why, Jack is a man named Frost, who deals in cold, and he goesaround in winter biting people. He's a sort of ice-man, only he'sretired from trade, and gives things away, to people who don't want 'em.It would be better if he'd go into business, and sell his favors topeople who do want 'em."
"Well, he's a naughty man," said Jimmieboy.
"Yes, indeed, he is," said papa. "Why, he's the man who withered allyour mamma's plants, and painted our nice green lawn white; and then,when we wanted to dig holes for the fence posts, he came along and madethe ground so hard it took all the edge off the spade, and made thehired man so tired that he overslept himself that night and let thefurnace go out."
"Can't somebody catch him, and put him into prism?" asked Jimmieboy.
"Oh, he's been in prism lots of times," said papa, with a laugh atJimmieboy's droll word; "but he manages to get out again."
"Where does he live, papa?" asked the boy.
"All around in winter. In summer he goes north for his health."
"And can't anybody ever get rid of him?"
"No. The only way to do that successfully would be to burn him out, andso far nobody has ever been able to do it entirely. You can put him outof your own house; but, if he wants to, he'll stay around the place andnip your plants, and freeze up your wells, and put a web of ice on yourgrass and sidewalks in spite of anything you can do."
By this time little Russ had quieted down and gone to sleep. The coldcream, aided by a huge bottleful of the food he liked best, which warmedup his little heart and various other parts of his being, to which theworld had for a little while seemed bleak and drear, had put him in acontented frame of mind, and if the smile on his lips meant anything hehad forgotten his woes in dreams of sweet and lovely things.
It was not so, however, with Jimmieboy, who grew more and more indignantas he thought of that great lumbering ice-man, Jack Frost, coming alongand biting his dear little brother in that cruel fashion. It was simplycowardly, he thought. Of course Jimmieboy could understand how any onemight wish to take a bite of something that was as sweet as little Russwas, and when mosquitoes did it he was not disposed to quarrel withthem, because it was courageous in a minute insect like a mosquito torisk his life for his sweetmeats, but with Jack Frost it was different.Why didn't he take a man of his size like papa, for instance, or thegrocer man? He was afraid to--that was it--and so he fastened upon apoor, helpless little man like Russ, only eleven months old.
"He ought to be hitted on the head," said Jimmieboy.
"That wouldn't do any good," said papa. "It wouldn't hurt him a bit. Youcouldn't kill him with a hundred ice-picks, and I don't believe even asteam-drill would lay him up more than a week. What he's afraid of isheat--only heat, and nothing else. That cracks him all up and melts him,so that he can't bite anything."
Then Jimmieboy had his supper and began playing with his toys untilbedtime should come, but all the time his mind was on that cruel JackFrost. Something else in the room was thinking about it, too, onlyJimmieboy didn't know it. The little gas-stove that stood guard over bythe fire-place was quite as angry about Jack's behavior as anybody, buthe kept very still until along about eight o'clock when he began tosputter.
Jimmieboy stopped pushing his iron engine over the floor, and lookedwith heavy eyes at the gas-stove. This was extraordinary behavior forthe stove, and Jimmieboy wondered what was the matter.
"Say!" whispered the stove, as Jimmieboy looked at him. "Let's get afterthat Frost fellow and make him wish he n
ever was born."
Jimmieboy said nothing to this. He was too much surprised to sayanything--the idea of a gas-stove speaking to him was so absurd. He onlygazed steadfastly at the extraordinary thing in the fire-place, and thenlet his head droop down on his arms as he lay on the floor, and in amoment would have been asleep had not the stove again sputtered.
"Hi! Jimmieboy!" it cried. "Don't go to sleep. I know where Jack Frostlives, and we'll get after him and punish him for what he did to littleRuss."
"How?" asked Jimmieboy, crawling across the room on his hands and knees,and looking earnestly at this strange gas-stove.
"Never mind how," returned the Stove. "I'll tell you that later. Thepoint is, will you go? If you will say the word I'll make all thearrangements, and we'll set off after everybody has gone to bed. It is abeautiful moonlight night. Everything is just right for a successfultrip. There's enough snow on the ground for the sleigh to move, and theriver's all frozen over except in the middle. We can skate as far as theice goes, and then, if there is no boat, we can put on your papa'sarctics, and walk across the water to the other side. From there it'sonly a forty-minute skate to Jack's home. He'll come in about twelveo'clock, and we'll have him just where we want him. What do you say?"
"I'll be in bed by the time you want to start," said Jimmieboy. "I'dlike to do it very much, but I don't know how to dress myself, and----"
"Never mind that," returned the Gas Stove. "Go as you are."
"In my night-gown? On a cold night like this?" queried the littlefellow, more than ever astonished at the Gas Stove's peculiarities.
"Why, certainly. I'll see that you are kept warm," returned the stove."I've got warmth enough for twenty-six as it is, and if there's only twoof us--why, you see how it'll be. It'll be too warm for two of us."
"That's so," said Jimmieboy. "I never thought of it that way. I mightsit on your lap if I couldn't keep warm any other way, eh?"
"I've got a better way than that," said the Stove, dancing a little jigon the tiles. "I'll get you a pair of gas gloves, some gas ear-tabs, apatent nose furnace, an overcoat lined with gas-jets that can be lit soas to keep you warm without burning you, and leggings, shoes, hats, andeverything you need to make you feel as happy and warm as a poached eggon toast."
"That'll be splendid," said Jimmieboy. "I'll go, and we'll fix Jack sothat he won't bite any of our people any more, eh?"
"Yes," said the Gas Stove, delighted at the prospect.
"Shall we muzzle him?" asked Jimmieboy. But the Gas Stove only winked,for just then mamma came up stairs from dinner, and as it wasJimmieboy's nurse's night out, his mamma undressed the little fellow,and put him in his crib, where he shortly dropped off to sleep.
THE GAS-STOVE TAPPED HIM LIGHTLY ON THE SHOULDER.]
In a little while everybody in the house had gone to bed, and when thelast light had been extinguished the door of the room in which Jimmieboyslept was slowly opened, and the Gas Stove, all his lights turned downso that nobody could see him in the darkness, tip-toed in, and climbingupon the side of Jimmieboy's crib tapped him lightly on the shoulder.
"All ready?" he said, in a low whisper.
"Yes," answered Jimmieboy, softly, as he arose and got down on thefloor. "How do we go? Down the stairs?"
"No," replied the Gas Stove. "We'll take the toy balloon up thechimney."
Which they at once proceeded to do.
Half-Hours with Jimmieboy Page 13