Family Grandstand (Nancy Pearl's Book Crush Rediscoveries)

by Carol Ryrie Brink

  “As late as Pinkie Ambrose,” Mother said happily. And Father was too excited to remind her that Pinkie Ambrose was a Dean.

  The Ridgeway children made themselves unusually neat and tidy for a Saturday afternoon. Susan combed her own hair and tied fresh red ribbons on Dumpling’s pigtails.

  “Why, Susie dear,” asked Dumpling, “if we are only going to the Tower?”

  “We must be neat and refined,” said Susan.

  “Why, Susie?” persisted Dumpling.

  “We hope to see the Dean,” Susan said.

  George had made several scouting expeditions to the corner of the stadium, returning to report to Susan that the Lizard was still there. “Boy! Is it ever there!” he said, adding with relish, “And boy! oh boy! are Mr. Gimmick and Officer Cahill mad! They’ve been trying all morning to move the Lizard out of there.”

  “Poor Tad!” Susan said. But George said, “Susie, it wasn’t Tad that got the works. It was Tim because he forgot to come back.”

  At one-fifteen the stream of football fans passing the Ridgeway house began to grow thinner. Belated cars were still cruising the streets to find a parking place, but in general things were quieting down. The Gimmicks’ driveway was full of cars, and Tad and Tim had taken in their signs. Mother was still hurrying into her things, and Dorothy was getting her corsage out of the box; and Father had just come back with another corsage for Mother. The three Ridgeway children sat in an expectant row on the stone wall in front of the house.

  Occasionally a worried motorist would slow his car and shout at them, “Hey! Can I park in your drive?”

  “I’m very sorry,” Susan replied politely, “but our father does not allow us to park cars.”

  “There he is!” George said. “There’s the Dean!”

  “Don’t point,” said Susan. “It isn’t dignified.”

  Dean Ambrose raised a hand in absent-minded greeting as he rolled leisurely by. He was flushed with a good lunch taken at his ease, and he expected to drive right into his parking place and go into the stadium and have a pleasant afternoon.

  The children watched him roll by, and waited.

  “Of course,” said George uneasily, “he might find someplace else.”

  “He might,” said Susan.

  Father came out on the porch. “Why aren’t you fans in the Tower?”

  “The game hasn’t started yet,” said Susan. Father went back into the house. “Mother,” he called, “for pity’s sake, hurry! No one will notice if your lipstick’s on crooked.”

  The Dean’s car came down the street again. It was going faster now, and the Dean’s face was several shades redder. It had lost its expression of calm repose.

  “Just a minute, darling,” Mother called. “I can’t find my winter gloves. I’m sure there’s lots of time.”

  The Dean looked at the Ridgeway children as he drove by. This time he did not raise a hand in greeting but he noticed their empty driveway with a look of great interest. Still he went on by.

  “Maybe we should have had a sign,” George said.

  “No, we must be patient,” Susan said. “He has to come to us. We mustn’t go to him.”

  “I s’pose you’re right,” George said. But it was very hard to wait.

  The third time the Dean came around the block he was certainly exceeding the speed limit. His face was fiery red and his mouth was working. With a shrieking of brakes he pulled up in front of the Ridgeway house and shouted in a loud voice to the Ridgeway children, “How about parking in your driveway?” George gave an enthusiastic yelp which was just about to turn into a “Sure!” when Susan pushed him firmly aside.

  “I’m very sorry, Dean Ambrose,” Susan said in a sweet, clear voice, “but our father does not allow us to park cars.”

  “He doesn’t allow—?” roared the Dean. “Why not?”

  Susan could hear Father and Mother coming out on the porch behind her. It was all happening very nicely, just like a play.

  “Because,” Susan said in her most polite but clear voice, “because our father feels that it is not very dignified for faculty children to park cars. He feels that a great University like Midwest expects something better of professors’ children.”

  “Ridgeway!” roared the Dean. “Do you mean to say that you are deliberately holding out parking space on football days in this congested area, because—because of—”

  “Because of adachemic dignity,” said Dumpling.

  “Ridgeway, where is your Midwest spirit?” wailed the Dean. Father and Mother and Dorothy had come out now and were standing beside the children on the sidewalk. Father cleared his throat and spoke.

  “Children,” said Father, “will you kindly park the Dean’s car in our driveway and charge him the customary twenty-five cents?”

  “Are you sure, Father?” asked Susan.

  “Yes, I am sure,” said Father.

  George was already making “Stop,” “Go,” and “Come ahead a few inches” motions in the best style of Officer Cahill. The Dean’s car rolled into the driveway and up to the turnabout.

  “Well!” said the Dean, as if it was about time.

  Three or four other cars had slowed up hopefully behind the Dean’s car and were tooting to be let in.

  “One at a time, please,” Susan said. “We can take only three more of you, and it will be a quarter for each car, if you please.”

  “Well, Pinkie,” Mother said, as she and Father and the Dean and Dorothy started off toward the stadium. “It’s a long time since we’ve seen a game together.”

  “A-hem!” said the Dean, clearing his throat for a serious remark, but what it was the Ridgeway children never knew because for a few moments they were far too busy parking cars. They could scarcely believe it, but presently there were four cars lined up neatly in their driveway! And Father and the Dean had really insisted on it!

  “And look at here!” George cried. “Four quarters. That’s a dollar, and it will buy quite a lot of dog food.”

  “Next week, too?” asked Dumpling.

  “I think so,” Susan said. “I don’t think anyone will ever make a fuss again about our parking cars.”

  “How many more football games?” asked Dumpling.

  “Two,” Susan said, “but there will be football again next fall.”

  “Three dollars,” George said, “that will not be enough money to feed Terence until next fall.”

  “Well, it will help,” Susan said. “It’s better than nothing. And we have the fun of parking cars, just like the Gimmicks.”

  “Boy!” George said. “Did you see me directing traffic, telling them how to park? Just like Officer Cahill.”

  “Yes, I saw,” Susan said. “And now we’d better hurry to the Tower. They’ve begun to let the balloons fly away. The game must have started.”

  A Number of Things

  Watching with the field glasses from the Tower, it seemed to the Ridgeway children that there had never been a better football game. Certainly Tommy Tucker had never played a finer game. He always seemed to be in that part of the field where he was needed most. Now he had intercepted the ball and carried it for a first down. Now he had carried it over the goal line and made a touchdown.

  “Dorothy will be proud,” Susan said. And George said, “We’re proud, too!”

  At the end of the first half of the game, Midwest was far ahead of the visiting team, and the cheering from the stadium came to the children like a roar of thunder. Red and yellow balloons from the kickoff still floated lazily in the blue October sky. A particularly nice red one came nearer and nearer to the Ridgeways’ Tower. Presently a little puff of air brought it so near that George could stretch out his hand and grasp the string and pull it in the window above the gently stirring ghosts. “Oh boy! Oh boy! Oh boy!” cried George, and he was very happy.

  In the period between the halves of the football game, while the members of the two teams were resting, the Midwest band marched onto the football field to play the college son
gs. One of the college girls had been chosen Homecoming Queen for that day, and as the band played “Forever Dear Midwest” the queen came onto the field in her crown and robes and was introduced to everyone in the stadium. The children could see her plainly through the field glasses, and how very pretty she was. They could see the president of the student body who was introducing her, and over the radio they could hear what he said.

  When he had finished introducing the queen, he said, “And now, ladies and gentlemen, there is just one more announcement I wish to make before the game goes on. Many people all up and down College Avenue have decorated their houses in honor of Homecoming, and at this time we wish to tell you which houses received the awards of the judges.”

  George and Susan and Dumpling came and stood close beside the radio, so that they would not miss a word.

  “The first prize of twenty-five dollars,” said the speaker, “goes to the Delta Phi Omega house for its fine display.”

  “That’s the one with the stadium,” Susan said.

  “Oh, gee!” George said.

  “But it’s right that they should have it, George,” Susan said. “That one was the best.”

  “The second prize of fifteen dollars,” said the speaker, “has been awarded to the Alpha Eta Pi house with its cornfield and its scarecrow.”

  “Oh, gee!” George said.

  “But, yes,” Susan said sadly, “I guess they really did deserve it, George.”

  “Both of these prizes,” said the speaker, “have been awarded to large houses where groups of students live together. In awarding the third prize, the judges decided that the ten dollars should go to a private house instead of a fraternity house.”

  “Oh boy, oh boy!” said George.

  “Many private houses,” continued the speaker, “were beautifully and tastefully decorated, and we wish to thank the owners for their interest and cooperation. But the private house with the most original and interesting decorations, in the opinion of the judges, was the one which combined the idea of Halloween with the idea of Homecoming. Folks, the third prize of ten dollars goes to the house at Seventeen-forty College Avenue, the house with the tower and the five ghosts.”

  There was a great roaring cheer from the stadium, and whether it was because the Ridgeway children had won the ten dollars or because the football team had chosen that moment to return to the field for the second half of the game, no one could say. But George and Susan and Dumpling cheered, too, and long after the game had been resumed, they were still cheering and leaping about and hugging Terence and each other, and crying, “Boy! Oh boy! What a wonderful day!”

  It was a wonderful day in more ways than one, for it turned out to be the greatest football victory that Midwest had ever known, and all because of Tommy Tucker’s splendid playing.

  The Gimmick boys and the Terrible Torrences joined the Ridgeway children on the Ridgeway lawn to watch the crowd leaving the stadium and to talk over all the exciting things that had happened.

  They all sat on the stone wall, and it is true that Tim sat down very quietly, for it turned out that “the works” had been applied rather violently to Tim’s posterior. Mr. Gimmick believed in the old saying, “Spare the rod and spoil the child,” and he did not intend to see Tim spoiled.

  “What about the Leaping Lizard?” Susan asked.

  “Pop says he’ll have it out of there tonight after the crowd’s gone,” Tim said. “And you know what? He says it’s no good as a car anyway, and he’s going to put it far back out of the way in our yard, and lock the brakes and let it stay there, and all of us can use it just to play in.”

  “Us, too?” asked George.

  “Sure,” said Tad, “even the Torrences. We can pretend all kinds of trips and picnics, too!”

  “With chorc’late cake,” said Dumpling.

  Just then Father and Mother and the Dean and Dorothy came back from the game. They looked as if they had been having a good time.

  “Ridgeway,” the Dean said, “you have the nicest little family I ever saw. Well-behaved children! Yes, well-behaved children. I hope you will let them park my car for me every week. This is a much better spot than that small corner by the stadium.”

  Father smiled. “I’m sure they’ll be glad to take care of your car for you, Dean Ambrose, at any time. They are very, very good children.”

  “But it’s hard always to be very, very good,” Dumpling said, remembering how she had tried to be very, very good to Dickie. “It is hard to have to be a P-R-O-D—one of those things.”

  “Oh, darling,” Mother said, “that reminds me that I sat next to one of the young ladies from the Child Study Clinic at the football game, and she said, ‘How is that nice little girl of yours who is so good at puzzles?’ and I said, ‘Dumpling is fine, but do tell me! She isn’t a prodigy, is she? Because I think I shouldn’t like to have her be anything so unusual.’ ‘Oh, no,’ the young lady said. ‘We did have a sort of child prodigy in for testing that same morning that Dumpling was in. Dumpling is certainly above the average in smartness, but she is not a prodigy.’”

  Dumpling caught hold of Mother around the waist. Her eyes sparkled behind her glasses. Her pigtails bristled with pleasure and relief. “Mummy,” she said, “you mean that I don’t always have to be very, very good?”

  “Why, honey-child,” Mother said, “not very, very good—just good the way you’ve always been. Just be our usual Dumpling.”

  A great weight seemed to have lifted off Dumpling’s mind. She skipped and hopped and ran all around the front yard. She went in the house and got Irene and said to her, “Irene, honey, we’re not that P-R-O-D thing they said at all. And if we just be good it’s enough without the very, very.”

  While the others were still talking and laughing and being happy in the front yard, Dumpling and Irene went out behind the carriage house and looked at Dickie’s cage. The seed was gone out of the cup. “Those mice,” Dumpling said, “they must be awfully hungry.”

  She threw back her head and looked up into the tree. Almost all of the yellow leaves had fallen since yesterday. Any day now the winter cold would be beginning. There were still a few yellow leaves left, and suddenly one seemed to detach itself and float on the air. But it did not float gently down as other falling leaves did. It went to another branch and attached itself there. “Tweet! tweet! tweet!” it said quite musically. Dumpling looked and then she rubbed her eyes and looked again. She drew a deep breath and stood very still. The yellow leaf which had spoken “tweet” detached itself again from the branch and came down, down, down, right to the entrance of the open bird cage. It paused a moment, and Dumpling held her breath. Then it went hop, hop, hop into Dickie’s cage, pecked at the birdseed cup, tried the water cup, and then it hopped very lightly onto the swing which went sideways in quite a funny way because, after all, the cage was lying on its side.

  Dumpling’s heart began to pound with excitement. She moved very softly toward the open cage. When she was quite near to it, she suddenly turned it right side up, so that the top of the cage sat on the bottom part, just as it should do. And there inside the cage was Dickie! He began to scold her and flutter his wings and jump about just as he used to do. But Dumpling was no longer fooled by Dickie’s actions.

  They were all surprised to see Dumpling coming around the house with the birdcage clasped firmly against that part of her which stuck out farthest.

  “Susie,” she cried, “you were wrong about mice.”

  “Wrong about mice?” asked Susan, puzzled. But Dumpling went on to George, and she said, “George, I gave you turtles for a birthday present and you had to let them go—”

  “Dickie!” cried George. “Why, Dumpling, where did you find him?”

  “He came back,” Dumpling said. “This is his home. And don’t worry, George. If he flutters and makes a fuss he doesn’t really want to get out, it’s just the way he acts.”

  “Boy, oh boy!” said George.

  “And now he belongs to you, Geo
rge,” Dumpling said, “to make up for the turtles. Happy birthday, George.”

  The Terrible Torrences began to sing:

  “Happy birthday to you!

  Happy birthday to you!

  Happy birthday, dear Georgie,

  Happy birthday to you!”

  Rudy said, “Will there be a cake?” And Alvin said, “With candles?”

  “Yes,” Mother cried, “there will just be time before dinner to bake a cake. Don’t you think so, Dorothy?”

  “Yes,” Dorothy said. “I’ll run right in and start the oven.”

  “And you are all invited to dinner,” Mother said. “Tim and Tad and Rudy and Alvin, run ask your mothers if you can stay, because we have a great many things to celebrate today, and Tommy Tucker is coming to supper with us, too!”

  “Hooray!” everybody shouted.

  “But we will have to leave early,” Alvin said. And Rudy said proudly, “Because we have to do the Jones’s dishes.”

  “Certainly,” Mother said.

  “And you can have candles if you want to,” Alvin said. And Rudy said, “Because we are big boys now, aren’t we, Susan? And we would not eat the candles, would we?”

  “No,” Susan said, “because you are big boys.”

  So everybody began to bustle around and help prepare for dinner. Dickie’s cage was hung back on its hook, and George turned somersaults all around the living room, and Terence ran after him, barking and trying to kiss his nose.

  “We live in a madhouse,” Mother said, as she whipped up the eggs for the cake, “but it is a very nice one!”

  “Mother,” Susan said, “are you still stuck in the middle of your mystery story?”

  “Yes,” Mother said, “but I suppose it doesn’t really matter, because everything else seems to be turning out so well today.”

  “I’ve been thinking,” Susan said, “why don’t you have the Countess be the one who really stole the diamond necklace?”

  Mother stopped whisking eggs and looked at Susan in surprise. “But, Susan,” she said, “the diamond necklace belongs to the Countess!”