Wilder was right in his statement that it had always been impossible to induce the cottagers to put any money into public improvements; yet that was because they realized they were asked to pay for things that Easton and Wilder should have done at their own expense. But conditions had now changed. Jarrod could have had a hundred thousand dollars as easily as the thirty required to take up the option. A dozen stood ready to advance the money, but the lawyer selected three of the most public spirited and liberal of the cottagers, and made them popular by letting them advance ten thousand each. The option was taken up, because neither Easton nor Wilder could find a way to legally withdraw from its terms, and the transfer was consummated, all the property being formally deeded to the newly incorporated Tamawaca Association.
Thus ended one of the most amusing financial intrigues on record. The amount involved was insignificant; Tamawaca itself is almost unknown in the great world. Yet the three-cornered game was as carefully planned and played as any of the campaigns of Napoleon, and it was won because each of the partners conspired against the other and was finally content to be a loser by the deal as long as he could cause annoyance to his enemy. Never, in all probability, could the cottagers in any other way have been able to secure control of the beautiful resort where they had built their summer homes.
As for Jarrod, he hid to escape congratulations that were showered upon him from every side, and in the seclusion of his side porch breathed a sigh of relief.
CHAPTER XL.
ROUGH-HOUSING.
Jim speedily found himself upon friendly terms with all the “resorters” at Tamawaca. He worked for Jarrod mornings and in the afternoons and evenings enjoyed himself thoroughly. When “Ragatta Week” arrived — the week of the Yacht Club boat races, when the four yachtsmen competed for the prizes that were donated by the liberal merchants of Kochton and Grand Rapids, and divided the spoils amicably — during that week Jim helped to get up the annual “Venetian Evening,” the one really famous attraction of the year.
On this occasion the entire bay was enclosed with lines of gorgeous Japanese lanterns placed in artistic designs along the shore. The Yacht Club, the hotels at Iroquois Bay and Tamacawa and all the buildings facing the bay were elaborately decorated with bunting and lanterns, while the sail-boats anchored upon the mirror-like surface of the water displayed a like splendor. Bands played on the ferry-boats, bonfires on the neighboring heights glared and twinkled, many launches brilliant with colored lights moved slowly over the bay, while rockets and roman candles sent their spluttering displays into the dim sky overhead. All the world was there to see the sight and the-popcorn and peanut men reaped a harvest.
It has been seriously asserted that Venice in its palmiest days has never been able to compete with Tamawaca on “Venetian Evening.”
During the delightful August weather social functions at the resort reached their acme of enjoyment and followed one another as thickly as the fleeting hours would permit. In some circles these affairs were conducted with much solemn propriety; but many folks who suffered under the imperious exactions of “good form” during the rest of the year revolted from its tyranny while on their summer vacations, and loved to be merry and informal. They were gathered from many cities of the South, East, North and West, and here thrown together in a motley throng whose antecedents and established social positions at home it would be both difficult and useless to determine. So certain congenial circles were formed with the prime object of “having a good time,” and they undoubtedly succeeded in their aim.
Jim, who before he quarrelled with his father had been accustomed to mingle with the 400 of old St. Louis, was greatly amused at some of these entertainments, many of which he attended with demure little Susie.
Rivers, a jolly fellow who owned a lake front cottage — one of the titles to distinction at Tamawaca — organized a “surprise party” on George B. Still (another lake-fronter) one evening. A band of some twenty people assembled at the cottage of a neighbor, all carrying baskets laden with frosted bricks in place of cake, beer-bottles filled with clear spring water but still bearing Budweiser labels, mud-pies with nicely browned crusts, turnips fried to resemble Saratoga chips and other preposterous donations of a similar character.
Then they stole silently to George’s cottage, and when he opened the door in answer to their timid knock built into a sudden flood of merriment that never subsided until after midnight.
The Stills were as pleased as could be, but no one paid much attention to them. Somebody thumped the piano while everybody else danced a two-step regardless of interfering toes or furniture.
Little Drybug, a dapper man who weighed about seventy-six pounds but didn’t look so heavy, cavorted with blushing Mrs. Still who weighed something less than three hundred — but not much — and nearly committed suicide in the attempt. Commodore Diller danced with Grandma Jones, a rosy-cheeked antiquity who blushed as charmingly as a girl of sixteen, and the general mix-up was, about as laughable as could well be.
In the breathless pause that presently ensued as a matter of course, Mr. Idowno, a solemn faced gentleman who had attended the party with his smiling, chubby wife but could not dance a single caper, protested in an audible tone that it was time he must be going. “I have to work for a living, you know,” explained this individual, who was director in several banks and controlled a number of business enterprises and could not get them off his mind.
But the company laughed him to scorn and decided to play “five hundred” for a series of prizes that had not been provided in advance, and were therefore invisible.
So the self-invited guests rigged up card tables and chose partners and fought and quarreled for points until Mrs. Rivers rung a gong and invited all to supper.
Then they jumped up and trooped into an adjoining room, where the frosted bricks and mud pies had been spread for a banquet; and although George R. accepted his donations with good humor the guests began to wonder if the joke was not on themselves, after all, since their jolly exertions had created a demand in their interiors for real food.
“Well, I must be going,” said the solemn Idowno. “I have to work for — ”
“This way, please!” called Mrs. Still, cheerily, and threw open another door, disclosing an enticing array of provender that caused a stampede in that direction.
“How on earth did you happen to have all this on hand?” Susie enquired of Mrs. Still, as she and Jim squeezed themselves into a corner. “Didn’t Mrs. Rivers keep her surprise party a secret?”
“Of course, as secret as she can keep anything,” answered the laughing hostess; “but I had an intuition there’d be a lot of hungry folks here tonight, so we’ve been busy all day getting ready for them.”
After the supper, which consumed two hours in being consumed, Mr. Idowno once more claimed he must be going; but the guests rose up and loudly demanded the prizes they had won at cards. From the size of the hubbub it appeared that nearly every one present was entitled to a prize.
For once the Stills were nonplussed. They really hadn’t thought of “prizes” for their surprise party, and hesitated what to say or do. But their guests settled the matter in their own way.
Mr. Iward took possession of a Japanese screen; Mrs. Rivers grabbed a mantel ornament; Mrs. Jarrod seized upon an antique candlestick she had long coveted and plump Mrs. Diller grabbed a picture off the wall. Mrs. Purspyre found a Bible and appropriated it because she had always had a curiosity to read it. Mr. Bowsir espied a paper-cutter of ivory, which he secured after a struggle with George B., who wanted it himself, while Katherine Pance swiped an embroidered cover from the center-table and Mr. Connover took the table itself.
And so, amid screams and laughter, the pretty room was despoiled of its treasures, for the Stills were greatly outnumbered by their guests and powerless to protect their property.
As the heavily laden company trooped away down the walk, singing as blithely as the forty thieves might have done, Mr. Wright, the author-ma
n, who had really won a prize but found the place stripped when he returned from the dining-room (where he had been to hunt for one last sandwich) gave a sigh and lifted the front door from its hinges, carrying it home with many protests that “it was just about as useful as any prize he had won that year.”
And so ended the “surprise party,” but little Minnie Still said confidentially to her chum next day:
“We had a rough-house at our cottage last night, and they behaved just dreadful! Why, if we young folks ever acted the way those old married people did, my mother would send me back to Quincy in double-quick time.”
Such commentaries by children upon their elders are doubly sad when they happen to be true.
CHAPTER XII.
MRS. HERRINGFORD’s PARTY.
“Jim,” said Colonel Kerry, meeting the young man at the post-office, “that cottage of Grant’s, up near mine, has been rented at last. Thé parties took possession today.”
“Who got it, Colonel?”
“One of the big millionaires of St. Louis, they say; and he’s arrived with his wife and daughters and a whole gang of servants. Jarrod says he’s a capital fellow, but didn’t mention the size of the capital. Money won’t buy health, Jim, and the poor Midas is an invalid and came here to try tQ brace up.”
Jim was white and staring.
“You — you didn’t hear the name, Colonel?”
“Why, yes; it’s Everton.”
The young man gave a low, solemn whistle and walked away with a guilty and disturbed demeanor, while the colonel favored a group that had overheard his remarks with further particulars concerning the new arrival.
There was considerable excitement in quiet Tamawaca over the advent of the Evertons; for while the resort boasted several families of great wealth, none was so marvelously rich or of such conspicuous note as the well known patent medicine man who had won mountains of gold by the sale of his remedies. And when it was understood his own poor health had brought him to this place to seek relief the folks were really shocked, and George B. Still declared he would send the poor man a bottle of “Everton’s Magic Healer” and ask him to read the printed testimonials. The affair was a nine days’ gossip because the people had for the time exhausted the subject of Easton & Wilder and craved excitement.
When Jim went to Susie with a hanging head and told her his father had come to the very place where he had himself taken refuge, the girl counselled with him seriously, and advised him not to run away but rather to meet his family frankly and if possible resume friendly relations with them.
“The only thing that Mr. Carleton urges against our engagement,” she said, “is that you have not treated your parents fairly in this matter. And your poor father is ill, they say, and must be unhappy over the desertion of his only son. How do you feel about it, Jim?”
“Why, I haven’t looked at the matter in that light before, Susie,” he replied. “But I’ll think it over and try to do what is right. What do we do this evening?”
“We’re invited to Mrs. Herringford’s party, and I’m curious to go and see what it will be like. The old lady is the mother of Mrs. Drybug — you remember the Drybugs, don’t you? Both the little dears weigh about as much as a healthy schoolboy, and they remind one of ants because they’re so busy and you have to be careful not to step on them.”
“I remember. If Mrs. Herringford is the mother of the Drybugs she ought to be able to do stunts.”
“Well, let’s go.”
So they went, as curious as every one else who had been invited, and were glad they did not miss the show.
The oldest inhabitant could not remember when Mrs. Herringford had ever entertained before. At the Yacht Club card parties she was always in evidence, and the little lady played such an earnest, strenuous game that the men rather avoided being her partners. Once George B. Still, being caught, “bid” with such desperate recklessness that he set back poor Mrs. Herringford far enough to ruin her game, and she went home broken-hearted. But usually she glared at her partner so fiercely that he played with unusual care and made the game a business and not a diversion. Every one liked her, when she was at some other card table.
Tonight the lady wished to repay all her social obligations in a bunch by giving a party at her cottage. Being rather nervous, she asked Mrs. McCoy and the Widow Marsh to assist her to receive. Mrs. McCoy was a sweet little woman who was everybody’s friend and therefore could refuse Mrs. Herringford nothing that might please her, while the Widow Marsh was possessed of such grace and beauty that she charmed every male heart in spite of her modest ways and made the women with husbands nervous whenever she was around.
With two such drawing cards the Herringford party could scarcely fail of success, yet as the guests slowly arrived the atmosphere of gloom that hung over the place was hard to dissipate. Mr. Idowno, one of the first comers, began to look at his watch and suggest that it was time to go, as “he had to work for a living;” but the Widow Marsh suspected his intention and made him forget his worries by sitting at his side and telling him how young he was growing.
The invited guests were so slow to arrive that some never came at all, but bye and bye there were enough to start the card playing, and then the hostess made them a clever speech.
“I haven’t any prizes for the winners,” she announced, “because I want a very harmonious gathering here tonight and prizes always result in disappointment, malice and envy. Besides, they’re getting expensive. But I hope you’ll all play in a friendly spirit for the honor of winning, and that you’ll have a real good time.”
Instead of applauding this speech, Mr. Idowno looked at his watch, but his wife pinched him and made him put it away and take a seat at one of the card tables.
It is impossible to repress Tamawaca folks when they are out for a good time — which is the only reason they are ever out. “These people,” whispered Lucy Kerry to her neighbor, “would enjoy themselves at a funeral.”
“True,” was the reply; “especially if they could pick the corpse.”
To relieve any chill in the temperature they at once began to laugh and joke with one another, while Mrs. McCoy and the Widow Marsh fluttered around to see that all were properly paired and the cards were rightly sorted. The game began with as much energy as a lack of prizes would warrant, but no effort could make it a whirlwind of joy, so presently they gave up the cards and played blindman’s bluff and puss-in-the-corner. Mrs. Herringford was worried to death lest some one should catch her and kiss her, but no man was so ungentlemanly.
Although these youthful frolics served to while away the front of the evening, there was no temptation to linger very late, so when Mr. Stakes suggested that they all “go home and have a good time” the party was on the verge of breaking up.
“Wait — wait!” cried Mrs. Herringford. “We’re going to have refreshments.”
Being cowed by wonder and made curious by the unexpected revelation, they waited.
The hostess disappeared into the kitchen.
“It hardly seems possible,” murmured Mrs. Purspyre, “but truth is stranger than Mrs. Herringford. We shall see what we shall see. Her grocery bill was twenty-eight cents last week, and she is said to have half a million in government four-per-cents. Perhaps she’s going to open her heart, to prove she’s alive and not a resuscitated Egyptian mummy, as Mr. Wright claims she is. Let’s wait.”
They waited, and waited so long that the Widow Marsh and Mrs. McCoy had hard work to prevent a stampede through the front door. But finally the hostess appeared, bearing two plates and radiant with the joy of generous hospitality.
“Run, Lucy and Grace and Ada and Mary,” she called, “and help me bring in the plates. The refreshments are all ready!”
They ran and brought in the plates. Upon each one was placed with dainty care one soda cracker, one withered ginger-snap and one puffy cracknel. The guests took the “refreshments” in dismal silence and began to gnaw.
“But there’s no plate for you,
my dear,” said Mrs. McCoy to the hostess, in a solicitous tone.
“Never mind,” returned the little lady, cheerfully; “I ain’t hungry, so I guess I can wait till breakfast.”
Mrs. Purspyre choked on the puffy cracknel and was saved to the world by a glass of water. Mrs. Herringford thoughtfully brought water for them all.
“You’ll find it nice and fresh,” she said, with pardonable pride, as she poured the precious fluid with a lavish hand.
“Then it’s different from this ginger-snap,” remarked Mr. Wogie, nursing a jarred tooth.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” announced Mr. Sherlock, getting upon his feet and waving one arm. “Let us thank Mrs. Herringford for her kind entertainment, which will be a red letter event in our calendar of glorious memories. This dissipation is unusual with us all, but I hope in no case will it prove fatal. Once in a while it is good for stagnant humanity to indulge in high life and cracknels — ”
“Bravo!” shouted one of the Naylor girls, who had pocketed her refreshments to carry home as a souvenir.
“Therefore,” concluded the orator, “let us leave the glamour and bewildering gaiety of these festivities and seek a more common-place seclusion. Let us thank Mrs. Herringford once again — and go home.”
“Bravo!” yelled Idowno, jumping up, and instantly the meeting adjourned.
CHAPTER XIII.
RECONCILIATION.
“Mr. Jarrod,” said Jim when he went to work next morning, “father’s here.”
“I’ve just been to call upon him,” returned the lawyer, looking steadily at the young man; “but you haven’t.”
Complete Works of L. Frank Baum Page 766