Since Phœbe had chosen to make a friend of Marion, her twin was bound to follow her lead. Phil found the college girl a delightful comrade. He did not care much for girls, as a rule, excepting of course his own sisters, but Marion proved as frank and as keenly intelligent as any boy. She knew all about modern athletics, although too frail of physique to indulge in such sports herself. Likewise she had a fairly practical knowledge of business methods, politics, public institutions and reform movements, and talked well and interestingly upon all subjects of the day. Aspiring to become a poet, she read bits of original verse to her new friends which they considered so remarkable that it was a marvel to them she was not already famous.
“There is only one thing lacking about Marion,”
Phil confided to his twin; “she lacks any sense of humor. Seems to me she can’t appreciate anything funny, at all. The only things she laughs at are the mistakes of other people. Isn’t it queer, when she’s so bright in all other ways?”
“I think,” returned Phoebe, musingly, “that is a characteristic of all the Randolphs. Doris and Allerton are the same way, and I’ve wondered if Mrs. Randolph was ever in her life amused enough to laugh aloud.”
“Marion is good company, though,” added Phil, “and I like her.”
“She’s splendid!” agreed Phoebe; “and her poetry reminds me so much of Mrs. Browning.”
“Me too,” he said, laughing. “I never can understand a word of it.”
Others called on Marion and she soon became a popular favorite in the village. Especially, was she attracted to Janet Ferguson, and as Janet was a warm friend of the Darings, this made it pleasant for all the young people. When the famous lawn party was given at the Randolph residence the occasion was one long remembered, for no such elaborate entertainment was ever before known in Riverdale.
The festivity was designed to celebrate Marion’s birthday, as well as to introduce her socially to the young folks of the town.
“Of course it cannot be very exclusive,” observed her mother, when the invitation list was being prepared; “otherwise you would have but a mere handful.”
“I do not wish to be exclusive here,” returned Marion, gravely. “My desire is to study character and human nature, to assist me in my literary work. One cannot write of humanity without knowing something of the rank and file, you see; and there are many respectable, if humble, families in Riverdale.”
Mrs. Randolph scanned the list critically.
“Is it possible that you intend to ask the entire family of Darings!” she inquired.
“Yes, dear. I am inviting Rebecca and Donald for Doris and Allerton, you see, and I cannot well leave out that little fairy elf, Sue. So they must all come.”
“Do you know, Marion, those Darings — the younger ones, I refer to — are very ill-bred children?”
“Their manners are not strictly conventional, I believe.”
“And their language is that of the slums.”
“But they have had no mother to guide them, poor things,” explained Marion. “At times they are very winning and companionable, and I am sure they will behave nicely at my lawn fête.”
“Very well, dear,” sighed the lady; “invite them if you wish to. This was once their home, TOU remember. After all, it would not be quite right to exclude the Darings from your little affair.”
It may have seemed a “little affair” in the eyes of the blasé society woman, but it was not so to the people of Riverdale, by any means. A brass band of fifteen pieces came from the city by the noon train, and their uniforms were so gorgeous as to create tremendous excitement. Tents had been erected upon the lawn and a force of extra servants employed to prepare and serve the refreshments. The ample grounds were crossed in every direction by strings of unique Japanese lanterns, and in the early evening there was to be dancing to the music of the band.
It was but natural that every young person in town who had received an invitation was filled with joyful anticipation. “From five until nine,” the cards read, and it was hard work for Cousin Judith to control the younger Darings until the hour arrived. Sue insisted upon being dressed directly after dinner, and when arrayed in her new muslin with the cherry ribbons she found such difficulty in keeping still that Judith was fearful Sue would ruin the frock before five o’clock. Rebecca had a new gown, too, and Donald a new suit of clothes. When, finally, the children observed several arrivals at the reception tent on the lawn opposite, which they had carefully watched all afternoon from the dining room window, Miss Eliot felt that she could restrain their impatience no longer and away they trooped across the road.
Marion had asked Phœbe and Janet to assist her to receive, for she did not know personally all whom she had invited, while the other girls were of course familiar with every young person in the village. There were no “regrets” that day, you may be sure, for the unusual occasion could not well be disregarded. Eric Spaythe came early, in an elaborate costume fresh from the tailor, and he paid especial attention to Marion whenever her duties left her disengaged. Al Hayden, Toby Clarke, Jed Hopkins and, in fact, every eligible youth in the village, assembled in bashful groups and looked nervously at the bevies of girls and upon their bewildering surroundings. In order to help Marion, Phil tried to “break the ice,” as he said, by bringing the boys and girls together, and when the band struck up a spirited twostep it relieved the strain to a wonderful degree.
Mrs. Randolph kept out of sight, indulgently viewing the scene from a window. Mr. Randolph had not appeared in Riverdale since he brought his family there and settled them in their new home. He was a busy man, with many extensive financial interests, and could not be away from Boston for very long at a time.
Donald, Becky and Sue had promptly joined Doris and Allerton, and as they were a little younger than the majority of Marion’s guests they formed a group of their own.
“It distresses me,” said Doris, plaintively, “to realize how many poor people are suffering, while we revel at this fête; and I cannot help thinking how many deserving families might be relieved from want by means of the money we are squandering to-day upon useless luxuries.”
“Aw, cut it out!” cried Becky, indignantly. “Do you want to spoil all our fun?”
“My sister is religiously inclined,” observed Allerton; “yet there is a place for everything, and this is not a funeral.”
“Oh, Allerton — how shocking!” exclaimed the girl.
“I don’t believe,” said Don, “you Randolphs would have spent a penny on the poor if you hadn’t given this party; so what’s the odds?”
It suddenly occurred to Becky that this wasn’t a proper topic of conversation under the circumstances, and might lead to a quarrel; so she turned the subject by asking:
“What’s in that red-and-white striped tent?”
“Lemonade and ices,” said Allerton. “Will you have some?”
“Sure thing!” was the reply, and away they went, to be served by a maid in a white cap and apron.
“Doesn’t it cost us anything?” inquired Sue, who found the lemonade extremely good.
“Course not,” returned Becky, helping herself again from the big bowl when the maid was not looking. “But if Doris had her way they ‘d collect a nickel a glass for charity, — the kind of charity that doesn’t help the poor a bit.”
“Let us go to the long tent, over there,” said Allerton, with eager patronage. “I’ll show you the big birthday cake and the tables all laid with favors and things. If we go in the back way no one will see us.”
Doris was not sure they were doing right to peep at the tables in advance, but as none of the others hesitated to follow her brother she decided to trail along after them.
It was, indeed, a pretty sight, and the Darings were awe-struck.
“When do we feed?” asked Don, hungrily.
“The collation is at half past six, I believe.”
“The what?”
“The collation.”
“Can�
�t you speak United States?” asked Don, indignantly; “or are you trying to poke fun at me?”
“If you are too ignorant to understand simple language,” retorted Allerton angrily, “you become an object of derision.”
Don glared at him.
“Take that back, you mollycoddle!” he cried, “or I’ll punch your head.”
“Better not,” warned Becky, composedly. “It isn’t polite at a party.”
“Take back your own words!” shouted Allerton, white with rage. “I’m no mollycoddle, and I’ll fight you now, or any time.”
But Doris, startled and dismayed at this disgraceful scene, put her hand on her brother’s arm and drew him away.
“Come, Allerton,” she said, with such dignity as she could command. “You forget yourself.”
“I won’t forget him, if he does,” promised Don.
“Don’t,” answered Allerton, moving away but still furious; “I’ll settle this with you some other time, when you are not my sister’s guest.”
Becky laughed and followed Doris, but outside the tent Allerton broke away from the group and went to nurse his grievances alone. Don was trying to think of a way to apologize to Doris when the girl gave him such a look of mingled scorn and reproach that he turned away, thrust his hands in his pockets and walked across the lawn whistling softly to himself.
“Never mind,” said Becky, with cheerfulness, “they’ll get over it in a minute. It isn’t any of our bread-and-cheese, anyhow.”
The incident, however, had disturbed gentle Doris greatly, and she was so silent and reserved that Becky and Sue soon left her to her own devices and set out to amuse themselves in any manner that might offer.
The band played stirring marches and gavottes. Laughter and merriment were everywhere. All stiffness among the guests seemed to have disappeared, for there were games of archery, lawn ten-pins, quoits and various other devices for the amusement of those assembled. Some of the girls had their fortunes told in the tent of a gypsy, while others watched a big paper balloon that was being sent up.
It was nearly seven o’clock when Marion gathered her guests in the banquet tent, and nearly all had found their places and were seated when in rushed Sue Daring, her white gown streaming all down the front with a sticky pink compound, and gasping with horror and despair she flew to her sister Phœbe, who stared in amazement.
“Keep off, Sue — keep off! Good gracious, what has happened to you?” Phœbe asked.
“I w-w-was helping myself to some l-l-l-lemonade, when the b-bowl tipped over an’ ducked me,” was the wailing reply, while Phœbe held her sister at arms’ length to protect her own dress.
There was a shout of laughter, at this, and poor Sue broke down and began to cry.
“I’ll take her home,” whispered Phœbe to Marion.
“Come straight back, then,” pleaded the hostess; “and have Sue come, too, as soon as she has changed her gown. There has been no harm done, except to the poor thing’s own clothing.”
“Yes, there has,” sobbed Sue. “I b-b-broke the bowl!”
Phœbe led her away, and soon Judith was exclaiming at the child’s dreadful plight. It was useless to think of her rejoining the party, however, for there was not another dress in her limited wardrobe that was proper for the occasion.
“Run back, dear,” said Cousin Judith to Phœbe; “your pleasure must not be spoiled, and I’ll look after Sue and comfort her.”
That was not so easy, for Sue’s disappointment was very poignant indeed. She knew it was her own fault, but that did not comfort her for missing the supper and the dance. However, Judith assisted her to exchange her sticky costume for a common gingham, and to wash all traces of the deluge of lemonade from her face and hands. Then she sat in the Little Mother’s window and listened to the shouts of laughter and the music of the band and gazed at the myriad of twinkling lanterns — and was more miserable than she had ever been before in all her life.
Phœbe had soon rejoined the company and was now participating in the fun. Sue’s accident had rather tended to increase the jollity than otherwise, and was soon forgotten. There were pretty favors for each guest, and as a finale to the delicious supper they all ate some of Marion’s birthday cake and wished her many happy returns of the day. Eric made a little speech which was witty enough to set them all laughing, and Marion thanked the company very modestly for their kind expressions of good will.
Donald sat opposite Allerton at the feast, and the two glared at one another viciously, to Becky’s secret delight.
“Al’s getting to be quite decent,” she whispered to her brother. “I wouldn’t be s’prised if he’d really fight.”
After the banquet came the dancing, and when the guests left the tent to indulge in this amusement they found themselves in a veritable fairyland. For the lanterns had all been lighted while they feasted, and the scene was beautiful beyond anything they had ever before witnessed.
The cards had said: “until nine,” but it was quite ten o ‘clock when the Darings returned home, eager and excited, and breathlessly recited their experiences to their smiling Little Mother. Sue had insisted on sitting up to hear all about the affair, and the glowing reports made her more miserable than ever.
“Did you have a good time, Don?” she asked, wistfully.
“Oh, so-so,” he replied. “It was a pretty fair show after I got rid of the mollycoddle.”
“That’s the biggest word Don knows,” laughed Becky; but neither she nor Sue betrayed the boy’s quarrel with Allerton.
CHAPTER XII
A BATTLE ROYAL
That night was another wakeful one for Phœbe. She had thoroughly enjoyed the lawn fête, but it left her too nervous for peaceful slumber until her pulses had calmed down and she was enabled to regain her accustomed composure. She went to bed, but not to sleep, and after the house became quiet she lay thinking over the incidents of the evening.
Gradually peace came to her. She was really tired, and the somnolent thrall of midnight was making her drowsy when she was roused by the movements of old Elaine in the next room.
It had been nearly a week since she had removed the board over the transom and prepared her peephole, but during that time the housekeeper had remained quiet, or at least Phœbe had not heard her. To-night the stealthy sounds began again, and after listening a few moments the girl softly arose, drew the table to a position before the door and mounted upon it.
She tried to be quiet, but probably she made
some sound in these preparations, for scarcely had she slid the corner of the board away, to look into the next room, when the light which faintly illumined it was suddenly extinguished.
Phœbe stood motionless, waiting. Elaine, doubtless alarmed, did not stir for a long time. The old woman may have scented danger without realizing in what manner it threatened her, but her caution was excessive. At last, Phœbe heard her breathe a low sigh and then patter softly across the room to her bed and lie down.
The seance was over for to-night, without doubt. Exercising great care, the girl noiselessly descended from her perch and, tiptoeing to bed, composed herself to slumber.
Next morning, in considering the night’s occurrence, she decided to leave the table where it stood — before the door — and to place a chair beside it so she could mount noiselessly at any moment. It was several days, however, before Elaine recovered from her fright or suspicions, and during that time no unusual sounds came from her room.
It rained the morning after Marion’s party, and Phœbe was curious to know if all the pretty lanterns had been wetted and destroyed. But, on looking across at the lawn she discovered that every trace of last night’s festivities had been removed by the servants. Tents, lanterns, band stand, all had been taken away as soon as the quests had departed, and the Randolph grounds were as trim and orderly as before.
The children resented the rain, for it kept all of them except Phil, who was at work, cooped up in:he house until after dinner. Judith found time,
luring the dreary forenoon, to tell them some stories and to talk over with them once again the adventures of the lawn fête, which still occupied their minds.
When, at last, the rain ceased and the bright July sun came out of the clouds, they greeted it with genuine relief and joyously scattered in all directions.
Don, deserted by Becky, who had to go to Miss Gray’s for her music lesson, walked out to the street and found Allerton promenading up and down the opposite sidewalk, his head bowed and his hands clasped behind his back — as an old man might have strutted. The sight awakened Don’s slumbering wrath and he called out:
“Hello, mollycoddle! What are you up to?”
Allerton straightened up and glanced across the street.
“Oh, it’s you,” he said. “Are you ready for your thrashing?”
“Yes. I dare you to come over here,” responded Don, promptly.
“If you want your punishment, come and get it!”
“You’ re afraid,” sneered Don.
“It isn’t that,” replied Allerton. “I haven’t my gloves here, and I dislike to soil my hands.”
Don glared at his neighbor’s spick and span apparel, and the sight of the “dandy” made him still more combative. Allerton was the biggest and strongest, perhaps; but he was nearly a year younger than Don, who had no thought of his own disadvantage. In that mood he would willingly have fought a giant.
Complete Works of L. Frank Baum Page 335