All-of-a-Kind Family Uptown

by Sydney Taylor

  “Yes,” Sarah replied vaguely, absorbed in her history lesson.

  “Oh, Sarah, will you forget about that history prize for once? Didn’t you hear me? I said the soldiers are here! Come on!”

  Sarah jumped up. “Oh, Jules and Bill!” In a moment she and Henny were back in the parlor.

  Ella stamped her foot. “Both of you, will you please leave at once, and for heaven’s sake, keep out of the parlor—for a little while, at least! If the whole family falls on top of Grace’s visitor, he’ll be so embarrassed he’ll want to run!”

  “Okay! Okay!” Henny and Sarah retreated to the kitchen.

  Ella stood expectantly at the open parlor door. In a few minutes Jules’s dear, familiar voice was crying out her name. “Ella!” A pair of strong arms enfolded her in a quick hug.

  Ella could not take her eyes off him. How handsome he was! Slim and wonderfully fit! “Jules, you look just grand in uniform!” she said.

  Behind them, a surprisingly deep but gentle voice asked, “How about me? Don’t I look grand in my uniform?”

  Ella and Jules whirled about. They’d almost forgotten about Bill! Full of apologies, Jules introduced his friend. My, but he’s big, thought Ella—a blond giant! He must be over six feet! Lucky thing Grace isn’t a shrimp like me.

  Bill took her hand; it was so small in his. “You’re a little bit of a thing,” he said, with a grin.

  “All good things come in small packages, you know,” Jules answered.

  Ella smiled. Bill was nice. She liked his strong, broad face, the cleft in his chin, the laughing gray eyes. “Come and meet Grace,” she said, leading him into the parlor.

  “So this is the kind lady who took pity on a poor lonely soldier,” Bill said, sliding down on the couch beside Grace. “Hello, Grace. Thanks so much for the letters as well as the slipover.” He chuckled and cocked his head to one side. “You’re even prettier than your picture.”

  Grace blushed, but Ella could tell that she was pleased. It was going to be fun—the four of them together.

  Alas, her bliss did not last long. Scarcely had they begun to talk when the whole family came swarming into the parlor. “Hello, Jules!” “How are you?” “How do you like army life?” “Gee, you look wonderful! Turn around so we can see the back!”

  In the midst of the hubbub, Ella attempted to introduce Bill to the various members of the family. He’s bound to feel awfully uncomfortable with all this mob, she worried. But Bill seemed to be enjoying himself enormously. “I see you’ve got your own army,” he remarked to Papa, and that set everyone laughing.

  Charlie planted himself in front of the stranger. Hands behind his back, he looked him up and down very carefully. “Where’s your gun?” he demanded.

  Bill tousled the boy’s hair. “I left it back in camp.”

  “How can you fight with no gun?”

  “Oh, I can fight all right. Want to see?” Playfully he poked Charlie in the ribs. “Bang! Bang! Bang! You’re dead!”

  Charlie tumbled to the floor. But in a moment he was on his feet to do battle again.

  “Say, I thought you were dead!” Bill said.

  “Now I’m another guy,” Charlie answered promptly.

  “Oh, excuse me! I got you mixed up with that other feller. How do you do?” They shook hands gravely. “Let’s be friends and not fight any more. Okay?”

  “Okay,” agreed Charlie, and he stood by Bill’s side gazing up at him admiringly.

  “It’s a lot of fun belonging to a big family,” Bill said to Mama. “At least I always thought so, being an only child myself.”

  “It must have been lonely for you,” Mama replied in quick sympathy.

  Bill grinned. “No, not really. I was quite a handful all by myself.”

  Jules turned to Mama. “That sweater you made me sure comes in handy on these cold nights. I haven’t had a chance to thank you yet.”

  Mama beamed at him. “I’m glad you like it, Jules.”

  “How about you, Bill? Anybody ever knit anything for you?” Henny asked, with a knowing wink at Grace.

  Bill’s eyes met Grace’s. “Yes. Somebody did. A fine slip-over, just like Jules’s. I’ll be nice and warm this winter too.”

  Ella squeezed Grace’s arm. Grace took the hint. “Well, Bill, Jules, Ella, how about coming down to my house?”

  The week that followed was a glorious one for the four friends. “I wish it would never end!” Grace exclaimed.

  How her eyes shine! Ella thought. Her whole face seems to glow. She smiled at Grace. “I know. I feel as if I’d like to hug every day close to me.”

  But there was no holding back the time. All too soon, it was Sunday evening. “Our last night together,” Jules said soberly.

  They took the streetcar which crossed to Manhattan. Here they could board a double-decker bus. “Let’s wait for the one that’ll give us the longest ride. Might as well get our money’s worth,” Bill said, laughing.

  At this hour the bus was nearly empty. “It’s mighty blowy upstairs today,” the conductor warned politely as they climbed aboard.

  Bill puffed out his chest. “After our army training, we’re regular Eskimos.”

  The bus lurched forward. Everyone held on for dear life, laughing boisterously. Clinging to the hand rail, they climbed up the steep spiral staircase to the upper deck. The bus pitched and rolled like a ship as they went stumbling down the aisle and tumbled into the front seats.

  The conductor held out his shiny coin machine. “Ooh, let me put the dimes in,” Ella begged like a little girl. Each time a coin was pushed into the narrow slot a bell tinkled, and Ella giggled as she felt the dime being sucked from her fingers.

  The bus turned into Riverside Drive. Autumn had touched the trees, turning their leaves to brown and gold. Beyond the grassy slope lay the flat Hudson River, the electric signs on the Jersey shore glinting on its slate-blue water. Before them the expanse of twilight sky stretched wide. The wind whistled past their ears, caught hold of every loose strand of hair. The couples snuggled cosily on the benches just big enough for two.

  For a while they rode in silence. To Ella the bus wheels seemed to be revolving in a mournful chant—“the last time together—the last time—the last time—the last time …” Was it the wind which made her feel so cold suddenly, she wondered? She shivered. Jules’s arm tightened around her shoulder.

  I mustn’t spoil the last evening. It has to be a happy time to remember afterward. I mustn’t think about tomorrow—just about now! She began to hum softly. “Let’s sing something together,” suggested Jules. So Ella let her voice come out full and strong. “Oh, how lovely is the evening—is the evening …” and Jules joined in on the next line.

  “That’s great!” declared Bill. “Let’s try it again, and Grace and I’ll sing too.”

  Ella started over. On the second line a clear, high tenor voice chimed in. It was the conductor! He was standing on the top step with one hand holding on to the rail, the other on his chest like an opera singer, his head tilted back.

  As the round ended, the buzzer sounded. The bus slowed down. “I’ll be right back!” the conductor shouted, starting down the stairs. When the bus started up again, he reappeared. “Had to collect a coupla fares,” he apologized. “How about ‘Row, row, row your boat’?” Beating time with his arm, he sang the first line, and the two couples joined in.

  Again the buzzer sounded. The conductor shook his head sadly and disappeared down the steps. He was back in a jiffy. “Say, folks,” he pleaded, “why don’t you come downstairs? Then we won’t get interrupted. My pal, the driver, has a bass voice, real deep, like a foghorn. And he’s anxious to get in on this.”

  “But what about the passengers,” Grace asked. “Won’t they mind?”

  The conductor chuckled. “Don’t worry. There’ll be no extra charge for the entertainment. They’ll enjoy it.”

  “Come on, let’s go!” said Bill. “This should be a lot of fun.”

  They scram
bled out of their seats and went below. Downstairs the bus was quite full. “Excuse me, lady,” the conductor said to a woman sitting up front, “would you mind changing your seat? These are the singers, an’ they gotta sit close together, you know.”

  Puzzled but obliging, the woman moved to the rear, and the four young people settled themselves on the seats behind the driver. The conductor held up his hand. “Passengers, attention!” he announced. “You will now have the pleasure of hearing for the first time, the Fifth Avenue Bus Singing Society!”

  Immediately the singers swung into “There’s a long, long trail a-winding into the land of my dreams.” When the song was ended, the astonished passengers applauded enthusiastically. Someone called out “More!” Someone else yelled, “How about that new song—you know—‘Over There!’ ”

  The conductor rapped for silence and the Singing Society started. “Johnny get your gun, get your gun, get your gun. Take it on the run, on the run, on the run.” The passengers began swaying with the catchy tune. Soon several joined in, and by the time they had reached the chorus, everybody was singing.

  The bus had turned away from the Drive and was now rolling down Fifth Avenue. Past stately mansions and old churches—past the library where the twin lion statues stared placidly—past the magnificent shops with their beautiful displays.

  All at once a lady passenger jumped up with a loud cry. “Oh, my goodness! It’s Fourteenth Street already! I got so interested in the singing, I forgot to get off at Thirty-fourth Street. Now what’ll I do?”

  “Take it easy, lady,” the conductor told her. “We’ll be headin’ back uptown. So sit down and enjoy yourself. We’ve just about enough time for another round.” He started them off. “Are you sleeping, are you sleeping?” One after another the singers took up the round. “Brother John, Brother John.” “Morning bells are ringing, morning bells are ringing,” boomed the driver. “Ding! Dong! Ding!” clanged the warning bell beneath his foot. “Ding! Dong! Ding!” the conductor answered, yanking the bell cord.

  All too soon, Washington Arch hove into sight. The bus rushed toward the last stop …

  They were home. Now was the time for saying good-by. All week long they had dreaded this moment. All week long they had covered up their feelings with gaiety and laughter. Now it was no longer possible to hide the fear and loneliness of parting.

  Ella raised misty eyes to Jules. He cleared his throat. “You must write, Ella. Every day! Every single day!”

  Ella nodded. She leaned her head on Jules’s shoulder.

  Bill’s fingers entwined themselves in Grace’s. He looked down at her sad face. “Good-by, dearest Grace,” he whispered.

  For a while no one spoke. Then Jules said, “We’ve got to go.”

  Ella tried forlornly to smile. She made her voice sound very bright. “All right! One last song, everybody! ‘When you come back, and you will come back—’ ” she began bravely, and the others joined in.

  The song was finished. Bill and Jules saluted stiffly. They turned on their heels and marched swiftly down the street. Tears rolling down their cheeks, the girls stared silently after them until they were gone from sight.

  The Naughty Nickel

  “Tanta Olga could use one of you girls this afternoon,” Mama said at breakfast.

  Tanta Olga was a seamstress. She made the most beautiful men’s silk shirts. Sometimes she got so busy she couldn’t keep up with her orders. Not having any daughters of her own, she’d call on Mama’s girls for help. Just to do the small things, like sewing on buttons or snipping basting threads.

  “I’ll go,” Charlotte spoke up quickly. Charlotte liked to sew. She once explained to Gertie, “You can think about things and make up the most interesting stories while you’re sewing.” Besides, Tanta Olga always gave her ten cents for the afternoon’s work.

  “I’ve been saving up,” she said. “With the ten cents I’ll make today, I’ll be able to buy another twenty-five cent thrift stamp to paste on my card.”

  “Now President Wilson will surely be able to buy everything we need for the war,” teased Henny.

  “Never you mind, Henny,” Sarah retorted. “Miss Brady says it may seem like a little, but Charlotte’s stamps, and yours, and mine, and everyone else’s all over the country, add up to a lot of money.”

  “And don’t forget,” Ella went on, “you get interest on your money.”

  “But you have to wait five years before you can collect,” Henny reminded her.

  “I can wait,” Sarah replied evenly. “Especially when it means I’m lending my money to my country.”

  “I like the little sayings they have in the spaces where you paste the stamps,” Gertie remarked. “Which one are you up to, Charlotte?”

  Charlotte ran to get her thrift card. “Number nine,” she announced. “It says, ‘Many a little, makes a mickle.’ ”

  Charlie was attracted by the sound of the words. “Many a mickle … nickel makes a nickel mickle.” He giggled as his tongue got all twisted up.

  “I’m way ahead of you,” Sarah cried. “I’m up to this one—‘Great oaks from little acorns grow.’ Just one more and I’ll have the whole card filled. I wish I could go with you, Charlotte, but I’ve got to stay home and study my history. I have to keep on getting the highest marks if I want to win the prize.”

  “If you keep on the way you’ve been doing, you ought to have a pretty good chance,” Ella said reassuringly.

  “I know, but that Dorothy Miller’s awfully smart. She’s the only one in my class I’m really worried about.”

  “Remember, Sarah,” Mama said quietly, “work should be done for its own sake, not just for a prize.”

  “I know, Mama, but still it would be so wonderful to win the prize.”

  On her way to the El, Charlotte hugged her library book to her. It was such a thrilling story—so strange and mysterious. It gave her goose-pimples all over! All through school, she could hardly wait to get on with it. Thumbing eagerly through the pages, she found her place and started to read. She walked slower and slower, completely caught up in the story. This was not the Bronx; she was not on her way to Tanta Olga’s. She was in far-off England, on a lonely heath with the wind howling eerily about her.

  “Hello, there! What are you reading that’s so absorbing?” a voice spoke above her. Charlotte didn’t even hear. A hand touched her shoulder. Charlotte’s head came up, her dreamy blue eyes blinked at Miss Brady.

  “You really shouldn’t be reading while walking,” Miss Brady admonished gently. “It’s bad for your eyes.” She turned the book over in Charlotte’s hand. Wuthering Heights. She smiled in understanding. “I can hardly blame you. That’s one book anybody would find hard to put down. Still, you must be careful. You might bump into something.”

  “I know,” Charlotte nodded seriously, “but I just couldn’t wait to find out what happens.”

  Miss Brady beamed at her. “I’ll be looking forward to having such a good reader in my history class next year.” She held up a small paper bag and shook it. It gave a sharp, rattling sound. “I’m collecting prune pits. Did you have prunes for breakfast this morning?” she asked with a twinkle in her eye.

  Charlotte stared at her. “Why—er—no,” she said, nonplused.

  “Will you be having them tomorrow?”

  “I don’t know. I guess so—maybe.”

  Miss Brady wagged a playful finger at her. “From now on, we must save all the pits from prunes, apricots, and peaches, and deposit them in a special red, white, and blue can you’ll find on the street corner. This is something new which our government has asked us to do.”

  “Why should we do that?” Charlotte asked, open-mouthed.

  “They’ll be burnt into charcoal, and then the government will use the charcoal to put into gas masks. You’ll be hearing all about it in assembly tomorrow morning.”

  By now they were at the station. From a distance, Charlotte could hear the clackety-clack of an oncoming train. Oh, dear! She di
dn’t want to miss that train. Tanta Olga always liked her to come early. “Good-by, Miss Brady,” she cried hastily, and went bounding up the long staircase to the elevated platform high above the street.

  She had almost reached the platform when the train pulled in. Already people were streaming through the opened exit gate at the head of the stairs. “Excuse me!” she gasped as she elbowed her way through and went sprinting madly down the platform. The very instant she hopped aboard, the conductor slammed the door shut. She laughed aloud in triumph. She’d made it! With a sudden violent jerk, the train moved away from the station and Charlotte, all breathless, hurtled into the nearest seat.

  She sat still for a minute, recovering her breath. She sighed blissfully. Now she could return to her Wuthering Heights. But first she had to blow her nose. She pulled her handkerchief out of her pocket. It had a hard lump in one corner where a knot had been tied. Inside was her money. Money! “Ooh!” It suddenly came to her. I forgot to pay my carfare! Gee willikers! That’s awful.

  She was puzzled. How did it happen? She tried to remember. When you got to the station, you were supposed to go to the booth and buy a blue paper ticket for a nickel. Then you took it over to the ticket chopper. The ticket chopper man always stood behind the tall wooden box, the top chamber of which was made up of two sides of wood and two of glass. Through one side ran a sharp cleaver attached to a handle on the outside of the box. When you dropped in your ticket, the ticket chopper man let you pass. When the chamber was quite full of tickets, he worked the handle up and down, and all the tickets would get chopped up into little bitsy pieces. Then they’d drop down into the bottom of the box where you couldn’t see them any more.

  But she hadn’t even stopped to buy a ticket! She had just rushed through the exit gate and boarded the train in the nick of time. Warily she looked around at the other passengers. Did they know what she’d done?

  She squeezed the handkerchief knot. A whole nickel! A person could get an awful lot for a nickel! For instance, a pad—a really, truly good one like the Square Deal kind which had such smooth, white paper. I could write my homework on it beautifully with ink. Or one of those tiny pink celluloid dolls from the Five and Ten. I’d have such fun dressing it for Gertie. I could get a Napoleon! It melts in your mouth with creamy custard just oozing out all over! Or even five Indian Bars with nuts inside! Then I’d give two to Gertie and keep three for myself! Mmm … mmmm. Charlotte smacked her lips.