XI A LABOR DAY LUNCHEON
Labor Day was, of course, on Monday, and the Saturday before Bettyreceived this letter:
Boston, Friday.
Dearest Betty: The loveliest thing has happened! Aunt Evelyn has asked me to make her a little visit in New York (she lives at the Waldorf, you know), and she says I may ask you to go with us on a Labor Day excursion on Monday. So don't fail me; I'm crazy to see you! I'm so excited over it all, I can scarcely write. But this is the plan. I'm going to New York to-morrow. You're to come on Monday morning, and we'll meet you at the ferry--on the New York side, you know. And then, the boat--oh, I forgot to tell you, we're going to West Point--sails from somewhere near there. But never mind that; we'll meet you and show you the way. We're going to carry our luncheon, for Aunt Evelyn says you can't get anything fit to eat on an excursion-boat. So you can bring a contribution to the feast, or not, according to your convenience. But be sure to come. I've never been up the Hudson River, and we'll have loads of fun. Take that early train from Greenborough, and wait for us "under the clock."
Lovingly, Dorothy.
"Isn't it fine, Mother?" said Betty, as she read the letter aloud. "I'venever been up the Hudson either, and it will be such fun to go withDorothy."
"Yes, it will, deary. I'm sure you'll have a lovely trip. You'll have toscurry out early, though, if you're to take that seven-thirty train.You'll want to take some luncheon, won't you?"
"Oh, yes; I think I ought to. Ellen will cook some of her lovely friedchicken for me. And I might take some stuffed eggs or some jelly tarts.I'll talk it over with Ellen."
Now, Ellen was by nature what is called "a good provider." And so ithappened that when Betty came down-stairs at half-past six on Mondaymorning Ellen was already packing into a big box the good things whichshe had risen before daylight to prepare.
"For mercy's sake, Ellen!" cried Betty, "do you think I'm going to feedthe whole excursion?"
"Arrah, Miss Betty," returned Ellen, placidly, "it's a fine appetiteye'll get on the water, and yer city folks'll be glad to eat yer countryfixin's."
Ellen was wrapping delicious-looking bits of golden-brown fried chickendaintily in oiled paper, and tucking them into place in the big box.
Then in one corner she placed a smaller box of stuffed eggs, which, intheir individual frills of fringed white paper, formed a pretty picture.
Another partition held jelly tarts, with flaky crusts and quivering redcenters, and somehow Ellen found room for a few sandwiches, through whosethin bread showed the yellow of mayonnaise.
Everything was carefully protected with white paper napkins, and thewhole box was a most appetizing display of skilled culinary art.
"But it's so big, Ellen," repeated Betty, laughing. "I simply can't carryso much stuff."
"Niver you mind, Miss Betty," said the imperturbable cook, going on withher work of wrapping the big box in neat brown paper and tying it withstout twine. "You've not to walk at all, at all, and ye can get a portherto lift it off the thrain. An' sure Pat'll put it on safely fer ye."
So Betty submitted to the inevitable, realizing that she wouldn't have tocarry the box at all, and proceeded to eat her breakfast.
"It is an awfully big box," said Mrs. McGuire, as the carriage came tothe door; "but if your party can't eat all the things, you can give themto some children on the boat."
"Oh, it'll be all right," said Betty, and kissing her mother good-by, shejumped into the carriage, and Pat drove her to the train.
There were few passengers at that early hour, and so there was ample roomfor the box on the seat beside her. Though Betty went often to New York,she rarely went alone, but as Dorothy and her aunt's family were to meether, she felt no responsibility as to traveling.
In Jersey City the conductor lifted the box out for her, and a convenientporter carried it to the ferry-boat.
"Hold it level," Betty admonished him, and he touched his red cap andsaid "Yes'm," and then carried the box with greatest care. Betty went bythe Twenty-third Street Ferry, and in the ferry-house on the New Yorkside she was to meet Dorothy, "under the clock."
This tryst was a well-known one, for it made a definite place to meet inthe crowded room.
Betty always enjoyed the long ferry, and she sat outside, with herprecious box reposing on the seat beside her.
The morning was delightful, but it was growing warm and bade fair to be avery warm day.
Betty watched with interest the great steamer piers, and the traffic onthe river, rejoicing to think that soon she would be sailing farther upthe stream, where the banks were green and wooded, and the expanse ofwater unmarred by freight-boats and such unpicturesque craft.
The ferry-boat bumped into its dock at Twenty-third, Street, and Bettypicked up her box and started off with it. A porter met her at thegangplank, and she gave it to him with an injunction to hold it quitelevel. For it would be a pity to tumble the neat arrangement of Ellen'sgoodies into an unappetizing mass.
Down-stairs they went, and into the waiting-room, where Betty paused"under the clock."
Dorothy hadn't arrived, but Betty remembered, with a smile, that she wasnearly always late, so, remunerating the porter, she sat down to wait,with her box beside her.
She had on a suit of embroidered blue linen, and a broad-brimmed strawhat trimmed with brown roses.
The big hat suited Betty's round face and curly hair, and, allunconsciously, she made a pretty picture as she sat there waiting. Beforeshe had time to feel anxious about Dorothy's non-appearance, amessenger-boy in uniform came toward her.
"Is this Miss McGuire?" he said, touching his cap respectfully.
"Yes," said Betty, wondering how he knew her.
"Then this is for you. The lady told me how you looked, and said I'd findyou right here. No answer."
The boy turned away, and in a moment was lost in the crowd, leaving Bettyin possession of a note addressed in Dorothy's handwriting.
She tore it open and read:
Waldorf-Astoria.
Dear Betty: What do you think! Aunt Evelyn has a _fearful_ sick headache, and can't raise her head from the pillow. So, of course, we can't go up the Hudson to-day, and she says for you to come right up here, and have luncheon here, and afterward Uncle Roger will take us to a matinee. She said this was the surest way to reach you, and for you not to be afraid, but just take a taxicab and come straight here. I told her I knew you wouldn't be afraid, but she said for you to telephone us as soon as you get this note, so she'll know it's all right. She's sort of nervous about you. So call us up right away, and I'll answer you.
In haste, Dorothy.
P. S. I told the messenger he'd know you because you were very pretty, except for your turn-up nose.
Betty smiled at Dorothy's postscript, and then she read the note overagain. On the whole, she didn't much care that the plans were changed,for a luncheon at a fine hotel and a matinee afterward seemed quite asattractive on a hot day as a sail on a crowded excursion-boat.
Also, she was not at all afraid! She laughed at the idea. She wouldtelephone Dorothy, and then she would really enjoy taking a taxicab anddriving up to the hotel all alone. It made her feel decidedly grown-up.
So she went to the telephone booth and called up Dorothy.
"Indeed, I don't mind the change of plans a bit," she said, in answer toher friend's query. "I'm awfully sorry for your aunt, but I think we'llhave a better time on land than on the water to-day. It's getting verywarm."
"Is it?" said Dorothy. "It seems cool here."
"Well, it's hot out in the sun all right. I'll take a taxi, and I'll bewith you in less than half an hour."
"Yes, come right here, and we'll be waiting for you. My cousins Fred andTom want to see you, and Aunt Evelyn says perhaps we can go for a drivein the Park before luncheon."
"Oh, that reminds me, Dorothy. I've a big box of luncheon with me. Whatshall I do with it? I can't walk into the Waldorf with that!"
"Gracious, Betty, I should say not! But it's a shame to throw it away.Just give it to some poor person, can't you?"
"Yes, that's a good idea; I will. Well, good-by, till I see you."
"Good-by. Hurry up here," said Dorothy, and Betty hung up the receiver.
As she picked up her box to start toward the taxicab rank, the thoughtoccurred to her that it might be well to dispose of the box before shetook the cab. Acting on this idea, she stepped out of the ferry-house andlooked about her.
It was rapidly growing much warmer, and the glare on the hotpaving-stones was unpleasant, but Betty determined to bestow thewholesome food on some grateful poor person before she started up-town.
"I want to find some one really worthy," she said to herself; "it wouldbe too bad to waste all these good things on an ungrateful wretch."
She looked at the newsboys who were crying their papers, but it seemedimpracticable to expect them to carry a large, heavy box in addition totheir burden of papers. She wandered along the street until she saw apoor-looking old woman in a news-booth.
The papers and magazines were piled up tidily and the old news-venderherself sat comfortably knitting, now and then looking out over herspectacles for a possible customer.
She was certainly thrifty, Betty thought, and would be greatly pleasedwith a present of good food.
"I'd like to give you this," said Betty, resting the box on a pile ofmorning papers; "it's some food--nice bits of cold chicken and eggs."
The old woman glared at her.
"Bits of food, is it?" she exclaimed. "Broken bits ye're offerin' to me!Well, ye may be takin' 'em back! Nobody need dole out food to BridgetMolloy! I takes nobody's charity! I earns me honest livin'! More shame tothem as doesn't!"
"Oh, I didn't mean to offend you," cried Betty, greatly distressed athaving hurt the old woman's feelings. "It's a very nice luncheon that Ibrought for myself and some friends."
But Mrs. Molloy would not listen.
"Take it away," she said; "take yer cold victuals to some one as is toolazy to work for a honest livin'! I asks no charity fer me or mine!"
Greatly chagrined and a little angry, Betty picked up her box and walkedaway.
It had been an unfortunate occurrence, but surely it would be easy enoughto find some one more reasonable than the old newswoman. Before she hadgone a block Betty saw a ragged urchin who was, she decided, a worthycase. He was not selling papers; indeed, he was doing nothing, butleaning against a high board fence, digging his bare toes into the dust.
"Poor little thing," thought Betty; "I've no doubt he's hungry." Then shesaid:
"Good morning, little boy. Are you one of a large family?"
The boy looked suspiciously at Betty, then, in a whining voice, replied:
"Ten brudders an' ten sisters ma'am; an' me fadder is sick, an' me mudderis out o' work."
"Oh, you poor child!" exclaimed Betty, and as he held out a grimy littlepaw, as if for coin, she offered him the box.
"You're just the boy I'm looking for. Here is a quantity of nice food foryou and your brothers and sisters."
Quickly the grimy little paw was withdrawn, and with both hands behindhim, the boy winked rudely at Betty and said:
"Aw, g'wan! Quit yer kiddin'."
"I don't know what you mean," said Betty, who couldn't help laughing atthe impudent little fellow. "I'm offering you some good food."
"Good food nothin'!" said the strange child. "Take yer box away, lady; Iwouldn't swap yer me college pin fer it!"
Betty had to laugh at this, but since the boy was so indifferent, shedidn't care to give him the lunch anyhow; so she went on to find some oneelse.
"It does seem queer," she thought, "that there's nobody about who is justthe right one to give this to. There are men working at the road, but Idon't like to offer it to them, they look so--so untidy."
But at last she spied a little girl. Though somewhat gaudily dressed, thechild was evidently poor, for her frock was faded and torn. She wore astring of bright beads round her neck, and a big bow on her black hair,and she walked with a mincing step.
But she was thin and looked ill nourished, so Betty thought that at lastshe had found just the right beneficiary.
"Where do you live?" she said, by way of opening the conversation, as shepaused in front of the little girl.
"You ain't a settlement teacher," said the child. "Comes a settlementteacher, and I tell my name. But you ain't one."
"No," said Betty, smiling kindly, "I'm not a settlement teacher, but Iwant to give you something--something very nice."
"What is it nice you wants fer to give me?"
The child did not look receptively inclined, but Betty held out the bigbox toward her and said:
"It's this box of lovely luncheon, fried chicken and little pies! Take ithome to your mama."
The girl turned on Betty like a little fury. Her black eyes snapped, andher whole little body shook with indignation as she cried:
"Think shame how you says! My mama wouldn't let me to take whole bunchesof lunch from a lady! It ain't for ladies to give lunches off on thestreet!" With a flirt of her shabby little skirts, the child turned herback on Betty and walked haughtily away.
It was Betty's first experience with that peculiar type of dignity andself-respect, and she was bewildered at the sudden fury of the indignantchild.
But the box was still to be disposed of, and Betty looked around foranother opportunity. She was tempted to throw it away, but the thought ofEllen's dainty morsels being wasted was so disappointing that sheresolved to try once more anyhow.
"I didn't think it was so hard to give food away in town," she reflected,smiling grimly at her predicament. "Oh, I do believe it's going to rain!"
The sky had suddenly clouded over, and there were portents of a comingshower. Betty looked at the clouds, and resolved to make one more attemptto bestow her charity, and if that failed she concluded she must throwaway the box. As Dorothy had said, she couldn't very well walk into alarge hotel carrying a box of luncheon. It would look ridiculous. Andeven if she did have to throw it away, she had the satisfaction ofknowing she had tried to utilize it. The drops began to fall, but theywere large and scattered, so Betty thought she had time for one moreattempt at her good work before she ran for shelter.
A poor-looking man came toward her, and Betty stopped him. She had becometimid about the box by this time, so, unconsciously, she spoke as ifasking a favor.
"Wouldn't you like a box of nice food to take home?" she said, as shehesitatingly held the box out to him.
"Do you mean to give it to me?" he asked, in such a threatening tone thatBetty recoiled a little. She thought quickly. Here was another who wouldtake offense at being looked upon as an object of charity. It flashedthrough her mind that if she asked him to pay a small price he would keephis self-respect and get far more than the value of his money.
"No," she stammered; "I mean to sell it to you--for ten cents."
It seemed awful to ask money for it, but surely he could pay that much,and Betty felt instinctively that he would refuse it as a gift.
The man looked at her with a strange glance.
"Have you got a license to sell things in the street?" he asked.
"N-no!" gasped Betty, frightened now by his intent gaze at her.
"Well, you quit your foolishness, lady. You move on, you and yourprecious bundle, or I'll call a policeman and have you arrested!"
She almost _ran_ back to the ferry-house, concluding, as she went, tothrow away the luncheon and take a cab up to Dorothy's as quickly as shecould.
Where to throw it away was the next question. Betty looked in vain for arefuse receptacle or ash-c
an. She knew it was not allowed to throw thingsin the street, and the cleanly swept pavement near the ferries showed noresting-place for the objectionable-box.
There were poor-looking people about, but Betty did not care to riskanother impertinent refusal. Just as she was about to turn into thelittle office to engage a taxicab, she had a brilliant idea.
"I'll go back on the ferry-boat," she thought; "I'll get a ferry ticketand go through the slip and on to the boat. Then I can throw the old boxinto the water, and come off the boat again before it starts."
This seemed a really good plan, and with rising spirit Betty paid herpennies and went on the boat. She had ample time, as the boat had justarrived and would not go out again for several minutes. On the upper deckBetty walked to the extreme end, and stood looking over into the water.It seemed an awful pity to waste that lovely luncheon, but it was gettinglate, and it was raining quite steadily, so there was really nothing elseto do.
"Good-by, then, pretty little tarts and jolly good chicken!" said Betty,and she pushed the box over the rail.
Then she hurried back, and started again for the cab-stand.
"Yes, a taxicab, please," said Betty to the kind-faced official incharge, and then, "To the Waldorf," she said, as she got into thevehicle. She felt very capable and grown-up, as she settled herself inthe broad seat, and noticed with satisfaction that the shower was almostover.
But, just as the driver was about to start, a voice called, "Hi! hold onthere!" and running toward the cab came a deck-hand from the ferry-boat,carrying that box!
"I seen you!" he cried to Betty, in jubilant tones; "I seen you get onthe boat, and then I seen you drop this box. I wuz on the lower deck, an'I jest caught it! It dropped out of my hand, and the corners is smashedsome, but I saved it from goin' in the water, all the same! Here it is,ma'am!"
He looked so delighted at his feat that Betty couldn't help smiling backat him, though deeply exasperated to have the box on her hands again.
The young fellow clearly thought he had done Betty a great favor inrestoring her property, and he stood smiling, and shifting from one footto another, while the cab driver obligingly waited.
"Oh," thought Betty, "he expects a reward! Imagine paying a reward forgetting that box back!"
But she realized that the deck-hand thought it was valuable property hehad restored, so she took out her purse and gave him a coin that sent himaway grinning with pleasure.
Then the cab started, and Betty sat looking at the horrid box which hadgrown such a burden to her. It was beginning to look disreputable, too.The paper was soiled and torn, for the rain-drops had wet it, and the jaras the box fell on the ferry-boat deck had broken the pasteboard. Also,to Betty's horror, she could see tiny drops of jelly and something yellowoozing out at the edges. The stuffed eggs must be upset, and the warmweather had softened the jelly tarts! It was simply impossible to carrythe box into the hotel, and it would be also impossible to leave it inthe cab.
Betty was at her wits' end, and the street corners were flying by withannoying rapidity. Soon she would be at the Waldorf, and she _must_dispose of that box first.
Fortunately no drop from its edges had soiled her pretty dress, and ifshe could only rid of it, she could enter the hotel in sereneforgetfulness of all her trouble. She was tempted simply to pitch it outof the window, but if she did, it would break apart and scatter itscontents all over the street, and--she _might_ be arrested.
Betty didn't know much about the law, but she was almost certain it wasagainst it, to scatter stuffed eggs and fruit tarts along the middle ofFifth Avenue! And yet something _must_ be done!
She made a desperate resolve.
"Stop at a news-stand, please," she called to the driver. The man did so,and Betty bought four newspapers. "Go on slowly," she said; and thedriver obeyed. Then Betty untied the string from the damaged box, wrappedit all in many thicknesses of newspaper, and tied it with the string,making a secure if very cumbersome bundle. Surveying it withsatisfaction, she called to the driver, "Go as fast as you can!" and ashe accelerated his speed, she pitched the bundle out of the window. Toofrightened to look back, she huddled in a corner of the cab, scarcelydaring to think she was free at last from that hated presence.
"It won't spill in the street," she thought, "unless something runs overit, and if it does, my! how the eggs will spatter!"
It all appealed to Betty's sense of humor, and, though she was still alittle scared, she couldn't help laughing at her ridiculous experiencesof the morning.
She sat up very straight, and when the cab stopped at the hotel, shegravely alighted, paid the driver, and marched with a dignified air upthe steps and in at the door.
Once inside, the first face she saw was Dorothy's.
"Where _have_ you been?" she cried. "We've waited and waited! I couldn'ttelephone, 'cause I didn't know where to find you. Aunt Evelyn is _so_anxious about you. Oh, let me present my cousins, Tom and Fred Bates."
Two good-looking, merry-faced young men looked admiringly at pretty Bettyand made polite bows. Still full of merriment at the remembrance of herfunny morning, Betty's bright eyes were twinkling, and her cheeks rosybeneath her flower-trimmed hat.
"How do you do?" she said, smiling prettily at the boys, then turning toDorothy, she said: "Yes, I was detained a little; I'll tell you about itsome other time. But I came just now, from the ferry, in a taxicab."
"Yes, I saw you drive up," said Dorothy; "I was looking out of thewindow. But I've been there flattening my nose against the pane for halfan hour. Where were you, Betty?"
"Seeking my fortune," said Betty, teasingly; "or, rather, seeking tobestow fortune."
But her speech was not heard, because of a commotion behind her.
"That's the one!" said a childish voice, and, to Betty's horror, anemployee of the hotel ushered a ragged small boy straight toward her. Theboy held in his arms a large muddy, newspaper-covered bundle!
"I seen you drop it out o' yer cab, ma'am, an' I brung it to yer!"
His dirty little face gleamed with delight, and he held the awful-lookingpackage out toward Betty.
She drew back, feeling that she could not take that box in charge again,and Fred Bates said sternly:
"What does this mean? Why are you annoying Miss McGuire?"
"This chap says it's the lady's property," explained the clerk who waslooking after the boy. "Say the word, sir, and we'll put him out."
He laid a hand on the urchin's shoulder, but the boy spoke upinsistently:
"It _is_ hers, sir! I seen her lose it outen the cab winder, an' I pickedit up, an' ran to catch 'er, an' I seen her jest as she came in thewhirligig door, an' I got here as soon as they'd let me!"
"That awful-looking bundle, Betty's!" cried Dorothy, in disgust. "Ofcourse it isn't! What nonsense!"
At this the clerk made as if to eject the boy who had brought the bundle,and then Betty's sense of justice was aroused. It was awful to claimownership of that disreputable piece of property, but it was worse, inher estimation, to have an innocent boy reprimanded for doing what he hadbelieved to be right.
"It _is_ mine," she said bravely, though her cheeks grew scarlet at thesurprised glances cast upon her, not only by her friends, but bystrangers who happened to be passing.
"It _is_ mine," she repeated, turning to the boy, "and you did right tobring back to me what you thought I had lost. But I want to lose it, asit is of no use to me. So if you will please take it away and dispose ofit properly, I will be much obliged to you, and I will give you this."
Betty took a two-dollar bill from her purse, and offered it to the boy,who still held the bundle.
"Sure, lady," he said, flashing a grateful glance at her. "You're a whiteone, you are! Thank you, lady!"
The clerk smiled and bowed, and ushered the small boy away. The urchinturned to give Betty one more admiring look, and she smiled pleasantly athim, and said:
"You'd better look in that box before you throw it away."
"Sure!" he replied, g
rinning, and then he disappeared.
"Now, Dorothy," said Betty, restored to equanimity, now that the box wasfinally disposed of, "let us go and sit down quietly somewhere, and I'lltell you all about it."
"Do!" cried Fred Bates. "You're the most mysterious person I ever heardof, Miss McGuire! Come right up to our family sitting-room and relate tous the story of the Beautiful Young Lady and her Strange Piece ofLuggage!"
"Very well," said Betty, dimpling and smiling. "Come on, and the whole ofthe dramatic tale I will unfold!"
Which she did, to a most enthusiastic and hilarious audience.
XII A LUCKY PENNY
"There's no doubt about it," said Jeanette, "Betty is the most populargirl in school."
"Not only in school," amended Dorothy; "she's the most popular girl inour whole set. The boys all adore her, too."
"Yes, they do," agreed Lena Carey. "My brother Bob thinks she's justabout all right."
The three, on their way to school, had paused in front of Betty's house,and she came out and joined them.
It was late in October. The McGuires had been back in their city home forseveral weeks, and both Betty and Jack were in school again.
"Do your ears burn, Betty?" asked Dorothy; as they two fell behind theother couple; "for we've been throwing the biggest sort of bouquets atyou!"
"They didn't hit my ears," said Betty, laughing. "What sort were they?"
"Oh, we just said you're a disagreeable old thing, and nobody loves you!"
"Nothing of the sort!" cried honest Jeanette, turning her head. "We allagreed that you're a general favorite and the boys like you better thanthey do any of the rest of us."
"Spare me blushes!" cried Betty. "Which of the boys confided thisstartling news to you?"
"Of course we can see it," said Lena, "but, to make sure, I asked BrotherBob. I said, says I, 'Which girl do you like best of all our set?' and hesaid, 'Why, Betty, of course,--doesn't everybody?' and I said, 'Yes.'"
"Oh, Lena, you goose!" said Betty, but she was unable to repress apleased smile at her friends' talk.
It was really true, Betty had become a prodigious favorite among thecircle of Boston young people with whom she associated. She was sowhole-souled and good-hearted, so ready to help everybody, so merry andfull of fun, and withal so unostentatious and simple-mannered, thatnobody could help liking her.
And though only a little over sixteen years old, an innate spirit ofcoquetry had begun to show itself, and her dark, roguish eyes anddimpling smile often captivated the boys who belonged to what theschool-girls called "our set."
Not that Betty was really romantic. Her coquetry was more mischievousthan sentimental, and, though she loved to tease, her warm, generousnature never allowed the teasing to hurt the feelings of another. It wasan open secret that both Harry Harper and Ralph Burnett were especialadmirers of Betty, and, in an amicable, good-natured way, were rivals forher favor.
But Betty was impartial, and at dancing-school or at the little"neighborhood parties" would accept attentions equally from both.
However, Betty's popularity was only a matter of degree, and gay,laughing Dorothy, lovely, quiet Jeanette, and pretty Lena Carey were alsofavorites in school and out. As the quartet walked along, Lena said:
"I've a lovely secret to tell you, but as we're almost at school now, Ithink I'll leave it until recess."
"No, tell us now!" clamored the others.
"My! but you're curious!" teased Lena. "No, I won't tell you now, butI'll tell you part of it. Just enough to stir up your curiosity a littlemore. I'm going to have a party!"
This was indeed interesting, but not another word would Lena tell, and soall the morning the three eager girls could only wonder what sort of aparty it was to be, and how big, and when, and a thousand other importantquestions.
But at recess the four gathered in a corner of the school-yard, and Lenaexpounded.
"It's a Hallowe'en party," she said, and then had to wait for theirdelighted exclamations to pause before she could proceed.
"Hallowe'en is a week from Friday," she went on, "and Mother said lastnight that I could have a party if I liked. So Bob and I talked it over,and we decided that a ghost party would be fun."
"What is a ghost party?" "How do you mean?" "Oh, just a phantom party!"exclaimed the three listeners all at once.
"Well, I haven't planned it much," said Lena, "because I thought it wouldbe more fun for us to plan it together."
"What a duck you are!" cried Betty. "I love to plan parties! Can we wearfancy costumes?"
"Oh, let's be witches," said Dorothy. "We ought to on Hallowe'en, youknow."
"Witches or ghosts, either, would be all right," put in Jeanette. "Isuppose you'll have all the old Hallowe'en tricks, Lena?"
"Well, Bob and I said we didn't want to have those foolish old games,like bobbing for apples and melting lead. They're so tiresome. But Ithought we could make up some new fun."
"I think so, too," declared Betty. "Anything ghosty or witchy, or anysort of fortune-telling, you mean, I suppose."
"Yes. Do you know any new tricks of that sort?"
"I'm not sure that I do, but we can make some up."
They all knew Betty's cleverness in making up games, so they felt suresomething could be done.
"There's the school-bell," said Lena. "You all come to my house thisafternoon, and we'll plan it all out."
The girls agreed to this, and then they returned to the school-room,where, I am sorry to say, their rebellious pencils persisted in drawingwitches or broomsticks, instead of copying the plaster cast of a classicleaf form which was their task for the day.
Not only that afternoon but several others were spent in arranging thedetails of the Hallowe'en party.
Jeanette, who was inclined to the serious rather than the grotesque,favored the idea of the guests appearing as Druids, who, she said, werereally the originators of Allhallowe'en.
But Dorothy declared that Druids were poky old things and that witcheswere lots more fun.
So, as Betty and Lena insisted on ghosts, the invitations were finallycompiled to read like this:
DRUIDS, WITCHES, AND GHOSTS ARE INVITED TO ASSEMBLE AT THE HOME OF MISS LENA CAREY AND MR. ROBERT CAREY ON ALL HALLOWE'EN OCTOBER THIRTY-FIRST AT EIGHT O'CLOCK
This gave the guests ample choice of costume, and if they chose theycould come simply draped in sheets and pillow-cases, as at the old-timephantom parties.
Betty, after much deliberation, decided to wear a witch's costume.
And very becoming it proved. The skirt of scarlet silk was sprinkled withstrange hieroglyphics and mystic signs which had been cut from black silkand pasted on. The pointed scarlet bodice was laced up over a soft whiteneckerchief, and over all was a long black cloak lined with red. Then shehad a high, peaked hat, made after the most approved style for witches,and on her shoulder was perched a toy cat. This furry animal was of mostlifelike effect, and his green eyeballs blared by reason of tiny electriclights concealed in his head. Betty carried a broomstick wound with redribbons, and, with high-heeled red shoes, she made a complete picture ofthe traditional witch.
Jack was a ghost. But he disdained the idea of a ghost in white.
"No," he said, "I want a real ghost's robe. It must be made of thin,almost transparent, fluttery stuff--yards and yards of it--and of a sortof brownish smoke color."
Mrs. McGuire caught his idea, and herself fashioned a voluminous robe ofsmoke-colored chiffon. It was made something like a college gown, butthere were several of them, and after donning a sort of ulster-shapedgarment of dull brown muslin, Jack put on one after another of the floppygauze robes. The effect was fine. The least breath of air sent theshimmering material into billowy waves, and the "ghost" almost seemed todisappear at times. A deep cowl-like hood nearly c
oncealed his face, andmade his features dim and indistinguishable, and when Jack stalked aboutwith theatrical stride, and gave voice to fearful, hollow groans, heseemed as fine a ghost as one could wish.
Jeanette and Constance had chosen to wear Druid's costume, and, asseveral others had like taste, quite a number of shapes in flowingclassic raiment lent their dignified effect to the party. There were manywhite ghosts, some weird and terrible ones, several witches and wizards,and many nondescript costumes.
The guests assembled on time, as all were anxious not to miss any of thefun.
When Betty and Jack arrived at the Carey house and rang the door-bell,the door swung slowly open, and though no one was in sight, a sepulchralgroan greeted them. Then a strange-looking, cloaked figure, with alighted Jack-o'-lantern for a head, ushered them into the drawing-room.
Betty herself had helped to arrange this room, but when the party began,it looked even more effective than when they had decorated it.
The room was very dimly lighted, and the walls had been hung with blackmuslin on which were painted grinning skulls and cross-bones in gleamingwhite. The big wood fire at one end of the room shone through a screen ofred transparent stuff, which gave a crimson glow to the room.
Jack-o'-lanterns were all about, and the candles inside them lit up thegrotesque faces of the pumpkins.
Bob Carey, who announced that he was the ghost of Hamlet's father,introduced the other ghosts to each other.
"This," he would say, indicating a sheeted figure, "is the ghost ofBanquo. We used to play together as boys. And here is the ghost of a manwho died a-laughing. You will observe his laughter when I tickle him."
The ghost, when tickled, would give howls of demoniac laughter, in whichthe other guests involuntarily joined.
When all the weird-looking figures had assembled, the fun began.
Another room had been prepared as a fortune-telling room, and into thiseach guest was invited to go, alone, to learn his or her fate.
Just who was the fortune-teller was a great secret. No one outside of theCarey family knew who it was who greeted the seekers for knowledge asthey entered one by one.
But apparently the strange being knew his clients, for many jokes andsecrets were exposed, and often the victim came out giggling, but lookinga trifle sheepish.
Jack was really very fond of Dorothy. Indeed, she was his favorite of allthe girls--after Betty, of course.
So, when Dorothy went into the Room of the Fates to learn what futurefortune might befall her, and came out holding a card in her hand, theothers clamored to know what had been told her.
Dorothy looked mysterious and refused to tell, but when the boys andgirls insisted on seeing what talisman had been given her, and she showedthe card, a roar of laughter went up from all. It was a playing-card, thejack of hearts, and ghostly Jack himself seemed quite satisfied with theepisode.
Every one who went into the Room of the Fates returned with a talismanindicative of their future career.
It might be a doctor's diploma or a fireman's badge. It might be athimble, indicating spinsterhood, or a spray of orange-blossom,indicating matrimony. But in every case the souvenir bore sufficientmeaning to prove that the fate-dispenser was some one who knew theindividual traits of his auditors.
When it was Betty's turn, she entered the Fate Room, determined to guess,if possible, who the wizard was. All of the young people of their setwere in evidence as guests, so the mysterious fortune-teller must be someolder person or a stranger.
As Betty entered, she was met by three draped figures, representing thethree Fates.
These, she knew, were Harry Harper, Ralph Burnett, and Elmer Ellis, forshe and Lena had invited these boys to act these parts.
They were robed in brown, flowing draperies, which they did not manage inclassic fashion, but kicked about in derision. One carried a distaff, onea ball of cord, and one a pair of shears, in imitation of the traditionalthree. The room was draped with white sheets, and at the far end was asort of throne on which sat the Master of the Fates. He was gorgeouslyrobed in a scarlet satin suit and a purple velvet cape edged with ermine.A flowing white wig, bushy white beard and eyebrows, completely disguisedhis features, while a high, peaked hat added to his wizardy effect.
Grouped about him were a globe, a map of the stars, a divining-wand, agreat Book of Fate, and all sorts of mysterious-looking instruments andparaphernalia.
Bats, cut out of paper, swung by invisible threads from the ceiling, andwere set fluttering by sly puffs from bellows by the three Fates, whoscampered about, on mischief bent.
In the white room were several black cats also. These added greatly tothe weird effect, and, as they were good-natured old tabbies that Lenahad borrowed from neighbors, they just stalked about and lay dozing inthe white-draped chairs.
The three Fates ushered Betty with great pomp and ceremony to the chairfacing the wizard, and begged her to be seated.
"What do you most want to know?" droned out the magician, as he gravelywagged his head at her.
"Who you are!" said Betty, so suddenly that he fairly jumped.
At this the three Fates doubled up in gleeful antics, but the wizardrecovered himself, and continued in slow, deep tones:
"That you may know sometime, but not now. I will now foretell your fate."
"Do," said Betty, wondering where she had heard that full, deep voicebefore.
"You have strange adventures awaiting you. You will travel by land andsea, and great good fortune shall be ever yours. In the years to come,you will meet your destiny. The stars ordain that a fitting mate shallclaim you, but it will be neither of the two Fates who are now doggingyour footsteps."
At this Harry and Ralph gave forth despairing groans and pretended topommel one another. Betty giggled, but the wizard remained grave.
"That you may know your fate," he went on, "I give you this talisman."
Now, Betty had no mind to be teased as Dorothy had been, and receivingthe talisman from the wizard, she slipped it into her pocket.
Then, as the wizard dismissed her, she rose to take leave.
"Thou mayst not depart until thou shalt exhibit thy talisman," said HarryHarper, striking a dramatic attitude before the door.
"Oh, yes, I mayst," said Betty. "Avaunt thee, Fate, and let me pass, or Icast o'er thee my magic spell!"
"Already hast thou done that," said Harry, his tone exaggeratedlysentimental.
"Let the witch pass!" interrupted Elmer Ellis, and, amid the chucklingexclamations of the three, Betty departed.
"What did you get?" "What's your talisman?" cried those who awaited her."Let's see your fate!"
But Betty laughingly showed her empty hands, and could not be persuadedto admit that she had received anything. But as soon as she could get amoment unobserved, she took out her talisman to examine it.
It was a bright new cent, dated the present year.
"Oh," said Betty to herself, "a penny! Hal Pennington! I _thought_ I hadheard that voice before! What a little witch Lena is, to keep it sosecret! I never dreamed of his coming."
Betty was glad he had come, for though they had met only a few times,they were good friends, and it was a compliment indeed that he had givenher himself as a fate! Of course it was just for that evening, and Bettythought it was very jolly.
With shining eyes and rosy cheeks, she rejoined the others.
"Let's play a joke on Betty," said Dorothy to Jeanette, as it nearedsupper-time.
"How do you mean?"
"This way. Lena says we girls each have to select our partner for supper.She says she won't have the old-fashioned way of pairing off by matchednuts or flowers or things. Each girl has to ask a boy herself. Now, ofcourse, nobody will ask the boy she really likes best. I wouldn'tmyself!"
"Well," asked Jeanette, "what's the joke on Betty, then? She won't askeither Harry or Ralph, and we know she likes them best."
"That's just it! Of course Lena will make her choice last, as she'shostess. Let's fix it so Be
tty will be next to last, and let's leavethose two boys till the last. Then Betty will _have_ to choose one or theother of them, and that will be a good joke on her."
"Yes, it will! And it isn't a mean joke, either. If there are only thosetwo, she'll have to select one."
"But how can we be sure nobody else chooses either Harry or Ralph?"
"Oh, nobody will. They'll know enough to leave them for Betty. But I'llwhisper to Constance and a few of the girls to make sure."
The scheme worked well. Lena, in burlesque authority, ordered each fairdamsel to choose the knight she most admired, to escort her to supper.
This made great fun, as each girl deliberately ignored the boy she likedbest, and chose a brother or a comparative stranger. Betty had made upher mind to choose Jack, and thus evade an embarrassing decision betweenher two admirers.
But, as one girl after another was called, Betty began to surmise therewas some joke in progress.
But Lena said to her, casually, "You and I will go last, Betty," and soshe really suspected little.
But at last no boys were left but Ralph and Harry, and, as Lena announcedwith twinkling eyes that Betty must make her choice, she saw at once thatthe girls had pre-arranged this.
It was a difficult situation. Betty had no wish to offend either boy bychoosing the other, and she was decidedly in a quandary. She stoodlooking at them and smiling.
"It's so hard to choose between you," she said, provokingly, but reallyto gain time. Suddenly she bethought herself of the penny in her pocket!Ah, here was a way to circumvent those mischievous girls!
"I'm sorry," she said, with a little sigh, "that I can't choose either ofyou very gentlemanly appearing boys. But my Fate was foretold me, and thetalisman that I have here bids me await the coming of the knightappointed for me by Destiny."
Betty held up her bright penny with a roguish look.
"What do you mean?" exclaimed Lena, who knew nothing of what Hal had saidto Betty in the Room of the Fates.
"Ah, here he comes! Here's the Bad Penny, who always turns up when he'swanted!"
Hal was just entering the room, his first appearance except in hisdisguise as "Fate." He had removed the uncomfortable wig and whiskers,but still wore the gorgeous costume.
The smile with which Betty greeted him quite took away the sting of beingcalled a Bad Penny, and he said gaily:
"A Lucky Penny, rather, to be chosen by such a merry witch!"
So the girls were foiled in their little plot, and Lena, accepting herdefeat good-naturedly, declared she had to choose both the remainingknights, and taking an arm of each, she followed the procession to thedining-room.
The feast was abundant and the guests very merry. More fortune-testingwas provided in the mottoes and snapdragon, and at last the"fortune-cake" was cut.
This great confection was almost like a bride-cake, save that itsfrosting was red and chocolate instead of white.
It was decorated with tiny witches and black cats, which were, of course,confectionery, and candles were burning all round it.
In it had been baked a thimble, signifying spinsterhood; a gold ring,betokening matrimony; a penny, meaning wealth; a gold pen for literaryfame; a button for a bachelor; and many other tiny emblems of fortune,which were arranged only one to a slice.
By dint of clever manoeuvering Lena arranged that Betty should get theslice with the penny in it, and this caused a shout of laughter atBetty's expense.
But she didn't mind, and only glanced merrily at Hal, as she said:
"We seem to be irrevocably fated, don't we?"
"I'm satisfied to have it so," he replied gallantly, making a gesturelike a real stage suitor; and Betty returned saucily:
"So am I--during supper-time!"
After supper they assembled in the "black room" for a fagot party.
The screen was removed from the blazing wood fire, and all sat on thefloor, or on cushions or ottomans clustered round the big fireplace.
Each was given a "fagot," a bundle of tiny sticks tied together with redand black ribbons, and each, in turn, threw the fagot into the fire.While the fagot burned, the thrower was to tell a ghost story, which muststop as soon as the sticks were entirely consumed.
This was a most exasperating performance, for in nearly every instance,just as the thrilling climax of the story was nearly reached, the sticksburned out, and the narrator was not allowed to proceed.
Hal Pennington's was one of the most interesting.
"Mine is a fearful tale," he said, as he threw his fagot on the fire,"and I will tell it rapidly that you may all hear the marvelous andalmost incredible _denouement_."
The others crowded closer to hear, for Hal spoke in low, mysterioustones.
"It was a house up on Cape Cod," he began, "an old-fashioned, ramblingsort of house, that was said to be haunted. It had long borne thisreputation, and one room in particular, a small room at the end of a longball-room, was said to be the room where the ghost appeared. The peoplewho told about it always shuddered, and refused to tell what horribleshapes the ghost assumed when it made itself visible."
Harry Harper gave a scared sort of gasping groan, and then the other boysgroaned dismally, while the girls shivered and giggled both at once.
"A lot of us fellows," went on Hal, "didn't believe in this ghost, and wedecided to spend a night in the old house and test it."
"Did no one live in the house?" asked Betty.
"Oh, no; it hadn't been occupied for years, because of the ghost. Well,eight of us went there one evening, and one, Phil Hardy, said he would gointo the haunted room and lock himself in, and we others must keep watchin the ball-room."
"Why did he lock himself in?" asked Lena.
"Because he thought the ghost was some person playing a trick on us. Hewasn't afraid of a ghost, but he was of a real marauder. So we other boysstayed in the big, dark, empty ball-room. That is, it was nearlyempty--only a few chairs and sofas ranged against the wall. We hid behindthese, having previously locked all the doors. You see, we were willingto receive the ghost, but we didn't care to have burglars coming in. Thestory was that the ghost came from the hall into the ball-room, traversedthe full length of that, and then entered the little anteroom where Philwas keeping watch.
"For a long time we crouched silently behind our chairs, and then--thenwe heard the latch of the door click! We knew it was securely locked, butour hair rose on our heads as we heard it open and close again. Thenfootsteps----"
"Hollow footsteps!" interrupted Harry.
"Yes, hollow footsteps----"
"And clanking chains," put in Harry, again.
"Look here, who's telling this?" demanded Hal. "Well, hollow footstepsand clanking chains resounded on our ears, as we heard the ghost glidethe full length of that long room!
"Half scared to death, we peeped out from behind our chairs, but couldsee nothing, though we all heard the footsteps.
"Then, though it didn't move, we heard the door open into the room wherePhil was, and close again.
"We trembled and turned cold with a mysterious horror, when suddenly anawful shriek broke the silence!"
There was a breathless pause, and then Betty exclaimed: "Oh, what wasit?"
"I can't tell you," said Hal; "my fagot has burned out!"
"Oh, you fraud!" cried Lena; "you timed it so on purpose!"
"Perhaps I did," said Hal, smiling; "anyhow, there isn't a word of truthin my yarn, and I confess I didn't know quite how to end it up myself!"
"Pooh! that's no sort of a ghost story!" said Lena, but the others allagreed that it was the best one, and Hal must have the prize.
Then the party broke up, and the ghosts and witches went for their moreprosaic hats and wraps.
"Thank you, no; Jack will take care of me," said Betty, as Hal Penningtonasked to escort her home.
"Then mayn't I go to see you to-morrow?" he said. "Remember, you chose meto-night in preference to your two devoted swains."
"That was to disguise my real pref
erence," said Betty, roguishly; "and,besides, I had to choose you, because it was so decreed by Fate!"
"There's many a true word spoken in jest," declared Hal, theatrically,and taking a couple of stagy strides across the hall with eyes rolled upto the ceiling; and then, after a chorus of general good nights, Bettyand Jack went home.
Transcriber's Notes
--Copyright notice provided as in the original--this e-text is public domain in the country of publication.
--Silently corrected palpable typos; left non-standard spellings and dialect unchanged.
--Provided an original cover image, for free and unrestricted use with this Distributed Proofreaders eBook.
Betty's Happy Year Page 12