Next morning, when Nickey brought up the mail, Mrs. Burke looked anxiously over her letters until she came to the one she was expecting. She read it in silence.
The gist of the matter was that Maxwell had been married to the nicest girl in the world, and was looking forward to having Mrs. Burke meet her, and to have his wife know the woman who had been so supremely good to him in the parish. He closed by informing her that they were to return the next day at 123 five P. M., and if it were not asking too much, he hoped that she would take them in for a few days until they could find quarters elsewhere. The letter was countersigned by a pretty little plea for friendship from “Mrs. Betty.”
Mrs. Burke replaced the letter and murmured to herself, smiling:
“Poor little dear! Of course they could come and stay as long as they pleased; but as the rectory is in order, I think that I’ll meet them at the depot, and take them there direct. They’ll be much happier alone by themselves from the start. I’ll have supper ready for ’em, and cook the chickens while they’re unpackin’ their trunks.”
As Mrs. Burke thought it best to maintain a discreet silence as to the time of their arrival, there was no one but herself to meet them at the station when the train pulled in. As Maxwell presented his wife to Mrs. Burke, Hepsey took the girl’s two hands in hers and kissed her heartily, and then, looking at her keenly as the bride blushed under her searching gaze, she remarked:
“You’re a dreadful disappointment, Mrs. Maxwell. I’m afraid it’ll take me a long time to get over it.”
“I am horribly sorry to disappoint you so, Mrs. Burke.” 124
Maxwell laughed, while Mrs. Betty looked puzzled.
“Yes,” Mrs. Burke continued, “you’re a dreadful disappointment. Your picture isn’t half as sweet as you are.” Then turning to Maxwell, she said:
“Why didn’t you tell me? Who taught you to pick out just the right sort of wife, I’d like to know?”
“She did!” Maxwell replied, pointing delightedly to the young woman, who was still smiling and blushing under Hepsey’s inspection.
“But Mrs. Burke,” Mrs. Betty interposed, “can’t you give me a little credit for ‘picking out’ Donald, as you say?”
“Yes; Mr. Maxwell’s pretty fine, though I wouldn’t want to have you tell him so, for anything. But I know, because Durford is calculated to test a man’s mettle, if any place ever was. Now Mrs. Betty, if that’s what I’m to call you, if you’ll get into the wagon we’ll drive home and have some supper. You must be ’most famished by this time, if you stop thinkin’ about Mr. Maxwell long enough to have an appetite. I suppose that we might have had a committee of the vestry down here to bid you welcome to Durford; and Nickey suggested the village band and some hot air balloons, and that the boys of the parish 125 should pull the carriage up to the house after they’d presented you with a magnificent bouquet; but I thought you’d just like to slip in unnoticed and get acquainted with your parishioners one at a time. It’d be simply awful to have a whole bunch of ’em thrown at your head at once; and as for the whole vestry—well, never mind.”
They got into the “democrat” and started out at a smart trot, but when they came to the road which turned toward Thunder Cliff, Mrs. Burke drove straight across the green.
“Why, where are you going, Mrs. Burke?” Maxwell exclaimed.
“Well, I thought that maybe Mrs. Betty would like to get a sight of the town before we went home.”
When they came to the rectory and turned into the yard, the wonderful transformation dawned on Maxwell.
“My gracious, what a change! It’s perfectly marvelous,” he exclaimed. “Why Mrs. Burke, I believe you’ve brought us here to live!”
“Right you are, my friend. This is where you belong.”
“Well, you certainly do beat the Dutch. Who is responsible for all this, I’d like to know? But of course it’s you.” 126
“Well, I had a hand in it, but so did the whole parish. Now walk right in and make yourselves at home.”
Mrs. Burke enjoyed to the full Maxwell’s surprise and delight, as he and Mrs. Betty explored the house like a couple of very enthusiastic children. When they got into the china closet and Mrs. Betty found a silver tea-ball she exclaimed rapturously:
“Look here, Donald! Did you ever see the like of this? Here is a regular tea-ball. We will have tea every afternoon at four, and Mrs. Burke will be our guest. How perfectly delightful.”
This remark seemed to please Hepsey mightily, as she exclaimed:
“Oh, my, no! Do you want to spoil my nervous system? We are not given much to tea-balls in Durford. We consider ourselves lucky if we get a plain old-fashioned pot. Now you get fixed up,” she directed, “while I get supper ready, and I’ll stay just this time, if you’ll let me, and then if you can stand it, perhaps you’ll ask me again.”
Soon they sat down to a little table covered with spotless linen and a pretty set of white china with gold bands. Maxwell did not say much; he was still too surprised and delighted.
“OH WELL, I ALWAYS BELIEVE THAT TWO YOUNG MARRIED PEOPLE SHOULD START OUT BY THEMSELVES, AND THEN IF THEY GET INTO A FAMILY ROW IT WON’T SCANDALIZE THE PARISH”
The broiled chickens and the browned potato balls were placed before Maxwell, who faced Mrs. Betty—Hepsey sitting between them.
“Now this is what I call rich,” Maxwell exclaimed as he carved. “I hadn’t the slightest suspicion that we were to come here and find all these luxuries.”
“However did the house get furnished?” chimed in Mrs. Betty.
“Oh well,” Mrs. Burke replied, “I always believe that two young married people should start out by themselves, you know; and then if they get into a family row it won’t scandalize the parish. The only new thing about the furnishings is paint and varnish. I drove around and held up the parish, and made them stand and deliver the goods, and Jonathan Jackson and I touched it up a little; that’s all.”
“We ought to acknowledge each gift personally,” Maxwell said. “You must tell us who’s given what.”
“Oh, no you won’t. When I took these things away from their owners by force, I acknowledged them in the politest way possible, so as to save you the trouble. You’re not supposed to know where a thing came from.”
“But there must have been a lot of money spent on the rectory to get it into shape,” Maxwell asserted. “Where did it all come from?”
Mrs. Burke grinned with amusement. 128
“Why, can’t you guess? Of course it was that merry-hearted, generous old Senior Warden of yours. Who else could it be? If there is anything you need, just let us know.”
“But the house seems to be very completely furnished as it is.”
“No, not yet. If you look around you’ll see lots of things that aren’t here.”
Mrs. Betty quite raved over the salad, made of lettuce, oranges, walnuts and a mayonnaise dressing. Then there came ice cream and chocolate sauce, followed by black coffee.
“This is quite too much, Mrs. Burke. You must be a superb cook. I am horribly afraid you’ll have spoiled Donald, so that my cooking will seem very tame to him,” Mrs. Betty remarked.
“Well, never mind, Mrs. Betty. If worst comes to worst there are seven pans of soda biscuit secreted around the premises somewhere; so don’t be discouraged. There are lots of things you can do with a soda biscuit, if you know how. Now we’ll just clear the table, and wash the dishes, and put things away.”
When about nine o’clock she arose to go, Maxwell took both Hepsey’s hands in his and said quietly:
“Mrs. Burke, I’m more indebted to you than I can possibly say, for all you have done for us. I wish I 129 knew how to thank you properly, but I don’t.”
“Oh, never mind that,” Mrs. Burke replied, a mist gathering in her eyes, “it’s been lots of fun, and if you’re satisfied I’m more than pleased.” Then, putting her arm around Mrs. Betty’s waist, she continued:
“Remember that we’re not payin’ this nice little wife of yours to do parish work, and if people interfere with her you just tell em to go to Thunder Cliff. Good-by.”
She was turning away when suddenly she stopped, an expression of horror on her face:
“My! think of that now! This was a bride’s dinner-party, and I put yellow flowers on the table, instead of white! What’d city folks say to that!”
Mrs. Betty soon succeeded in winning a place for herself in the hearts of her parishioners, and those who called to look over her “clothes,” and see if she was going to “put on airs” as a city woman, called again because they really liked her. She returned the calls with equal interest, and soon had her part of the parish organization well in hand.
Maxwell’s choice was, in fact, heartily approved—except by Virginia Bascom and the Senior Warden. 131 The former took the opportunity to leave cards on an afternoon when all Durford was busily welcoming Betty at a tea; and was “not at home” when Betty duly returned the call. Virginia was also careful not to “see” either Betty or her husband if, by any chance, they passed her when in town.
Of all of which manœuvres Betty and Donald remained apparently sublimely unconscious.
As a means of making some return for the good-hearted generosity and hospitality of the inhabitants, represented by the furniture at the rectory and many tea-parties under various roof-trees, Mrs. Maxwell persuaded her husband that they should give a parish party.
So invitations were issued broadcast, and Mrs. Burke was asked to scan the lists, lest anyone be omitted. China sufficient for the occasion was supplemented by Hepsey Burke and Jonathan Jackson, and Nickey laid his invaluable services under contribution to fetch and carry—organizing a corps of helpers.
The whole adult village,—at least the feminine portion of it,—young and old, presented themselves at the party, dressed in their best bibs and tuckers, amusing themselves outdoors at various improvised games, under the genial generalship of their host; 132 and regaling themselves within at the tea-tables presided over by Mrs. Betty, whose pride it was to have prepared with her own hands,—assisted by the indefatigable Hepsey,—all the cakes and preserves and other confections provided for the occasion. The whole party was one whole-hearted, simply convivial gathering—with but a single note to mar it; and who knows whether the rector, and still less the rector’s wife, would have noticed it, but for Hepsey Burke’s subsequent “boiling over?”
When the games and feast were at full swing, Virginia Bascom’s loud-voiced automobile drove up, and the door-bell pealed. The guests ceased chattering and the little maid, hired for the occasion, hurried from the tea-cups to answer the haughty summons. Through the silence in the tea-room, produced by the overpowering clatter of the bell, the voice of the little maid,—quite too familiar for the proper formality of the occasion, in Virginia’s opinion,—was heard to pipe out cheerily:
“Come right in, Miss Virginia; the folks has eat most all the victuals—but I guess Mrs. Maxwell’ll find ye some.”
“Please announce ‘Miss Virginia Bascom’,” droned the lady, ignoring the untoward levity of the now cowering maid, and followed her to the door of the 133 room full of guests, where she paused impressively.
“Mrs. Bascom,” called the confused maid, through the solemn silence, as all eyes turned towards the door, “here’s,—this is,—I mean Miss Virginia says Miss Virginia Maxwell––” After which confusing and somewhat embarrassing announcement the maid summarily fled to the kitchen, and left Virginia to her own devices.
Betty at once came forward, and quite ignoring the error, smiled a pleasant welcome.
“Miss Bascom, it is very nice to know you at last. We have been so unlucky, have we not?”
Virginia advanced rustling, and gave Betty a frigid finger-tip, held shoulder-high, and cast a collective stare at hostess and guests through her lorgnette, bowing to Maxwell and ignoring his proffered handshake.
There was an awkward pause. For once even Betty-the-self-possessed was at a loss for the necessary tactics.
A hearty voice soon filled the empty spaces: “Hello there, Ginty; I always did say those auto’s was a poor imitation of a street-car; when they get balky and leave you sticking in the road-side and make you behind-time, you can’t so much as get your fare back and walk. None but royalty, duchesses, and the four-hundred 134 can afford to risk losing their cup o’ tea in them things.”
There was a general laugh at Hepsey’s sally, and conversation again resumed its busy buzzing, and Virginia was obliged to realize that her entry had been something of a frost.
She spent some minutes drawing off her gloves, sipped twice at a cup of tea, and nibbled once at a cake; spent several more minutes getting her hands back into her gloves, fixed a good-by smile on her face, murmured some unintelligible words to her hostess, and departed, annoyed to realize that the engine of the awaiting car—kept running to emphasize her comet-like passage through so mixed an assembly—had become quite inaudible to the company.
“Such an insult!” stormed the lady, as she returned home in high dudgeon. “I might have been a nobody, the way they treated me. Dad shall hear of this; and I’ll see that he puts them where they belong. The impudence! And after his t-treating me s-s-so!” she wept with chagrin, and malice that betokened no good to the rector and his little wife.
Even so, it is doubtful if the host and hostess would have permitted themselves to notice the supercilious rudeness of the leader of Durford “Society,” had Hepsey been able to curb her indignation. 135
As she and Betty and the little maid, assisted by Donald and Nickey and his helpers, were clearing up the fragments that remained of the entertainment, Hepsey broke forth:
“If I don’t set that young woman down in her place where she belongs before I’ve done, I’ve missed my guess: ‘Please announce Miss Virginia Bascom,’ indeed! If that isn’t sauce, I’m the goose.”
“Oh never mind, Mrs. Burke,” soothed Betty in a low voice; “she’ll soon realize that we’re doing things in good old country style, and haven’t brought any city ways with us to Durford. I dare say she thought––”
“Thought nothin’!” replied the exasperated Hepsey. “I’ll thought her, with her high looks and her proud stomach, as the psalmist says. I’d like—oh, wouldn’t I just like to send up a nice little basket of these left-over victuals to Ginty, ‘with Mrs. Maxwell’s regards.’”
She laughed heartily, but Betty was determined not to let herself dwell on anything so trivial, and soon, by way of changing the subject, she was putting Nickey up to the idea of forming a boy-scout corps, which, as she added, could present the village with a thoroughly versatile organization, both useful and ornamental. 136
“Gee,” remarked Nickey, who quickly saw himself captaining a body of likely young blades, “that’d be some lively corpse, believe me. When can we start in, Mrs. Maxwell?”
“You must ask Mr. Maxwell all about that, Nickey,” she laughed.
“But not now,” interposed his mother. “You come along with me this minute, and let Mr. Maxwell have a bit of peace; I know how he just loves these teas. Good night, all!” she called as she departed with her son under her wing.
“Donald! Wasn’t it all fun—and weren’t they all splendid?” Betty glowed.
“More fun than a barrel of Bascoms—monkeys, I mean,” he corrected himself, laughing at Betty’s shocked expression.
Apart from Mrs. Burke, there was no one in the town who so completely surrendered to Mrs. Maxwell’s charms as Jonathan Jackson, the Junior Warden. Betty had penetration enough to see, beneath the man’s rough exterior, all that was fine and lovable, and she treated him with a jolly, friendly manner that warmed his heart.
One day she and Mrs. Burke went over to call on Jonathan, and found him sitting in the woodshed on 138 a tub turned bottom upwards, looking very forlorn and disconsolate.
“What’s the matter, Jonathan? You look as if you had committed the unpardonable sin,” Hepsey greeted him.
“No, it ’aint me,” Jonathan replied; “it’s Mary McGuire that’s the confounded sinner this time.”
“Well, what’s Mary been up to now?”
“Mary McGuire’s got one of her attacks of house-cleanin’ on, and I tell you it’s a bad one. Drat the nuisance.”
“Why Jonathan! Don’t swear like that.”
“Well, I be hanged if I can stand this sort of thing much longer. Mary, she’s the deuce and all, when she once gets started house-cleanin’.”
“Oh dear,” Mrs. Betty sympathized. “It’s a bother, isnt it? But it doesn’t take so long, and it will soon be over, won’t it?”
“Well, I don’t know as to that,” replied Jonathan disconsolately. “Mary McGuire seems to think that the whole house must be turned wrong side out, and every bit of furniture I’ve got deposited in the front yard. Now, Mrs. Betty, you just look over there once. There’s yards and yards of clothes-line covered with carpets and rugs and curtains I’ve been ordered to clean. It’s somethin’ beyond words. The 139 whole place looks as if there was goin’ to be an auction, or a rummage sale, or as if we had moved out ’cause the house was afire. Then she falls to with tubs of boilin’ hot soap-suds, until it fills your lungs, and drips off the ends of your nose and your fingers, and smells like goodness knows what.”
“Jonathan!” Hepsey reproved.
“Are you exaggerating just the least bit?” echoed Betty.
“No ma’am, I’m not. Words can’t begin to tell the tale when Mary gets the fever on. I thought I noticed symptoms of house-cleanin’ last week. Mary was eyein’ things round the house, and givin’ me less and less to eat, and lookin’ at me with that cold-storage stare of hers that means death or house-cleanin’.”
“But, Mr. Jackson,” Betty pleaded, “your house has to be cleaned sometimes, you know.”
“Sure thing,” Jonathan replied. “But there’s altogether too much of this house-cleanin’ business goin’ on to suit me. I don’t see any dirt anywheres.”
“That’s because you are a man,” Hepsey retorted. “Men never see dirt until they have to take a shovel to it.”
Jonathan sighed hopelessly. “What’s the use of bein’ a widower,” he continued, “if you can’t even 140 have your own way in your own house, I’d just like to know? I have to eat odds and ends of cold victuals out here in the woodshed, or anywhere Mary McGuire happens to drop ’em.”
“That’s tough luck, Mr. Jackson. You just come over to dinner with Donald and me and have a square meal.”
“I’d like to awful well, Mrs. Maxwell, but I dasn’t: if I didn’t camp out and eat her cold victuals she’d laid out for me, it’d spoil the pleasure of house-cleanin’ for her. ’Taint as though it was done with when she’s finished, neither. After it’s all over, and things are set to rights, they’re all wrong. Some shades won’t roll up. Some won’t roll down; why, I’ve undressed in the dark before now, since one of ’em suddenly started rollin’ up on me before I’d got into bed, and scared the wits out of me. She’ll be askin’ me to let her give the furnace a sponge bath next. I believe she’d use tooth-powder on the inside of a boiled egg, if she only knew how. This house-cleanin’ racket is all dum nonsense, anyhow.”
“Why Jonathan! Don’t swear like that,” Betty exclaimed laughing; “Mr. Maxwell’s coming.”
“I said d-u-m, Mrs. Betty; I never say nothin’ worse than that—’cept when I lose my temper,” he added, safely, examining first the hone and then the edge of the scythe, as if intending to sharpen it.
Hepsey had gone into the house to inspect for herself the thoroughness of Mary McGuire’s operations; Betty thought the opportunity favorable for certain counsels.
“The trouble with you is you shouldn’t be living alone, like this, Jonathan. You have all the disadvantages of a house, and none of the pleasures of a home.”
“Yes,” he responded, yawning, “it’s true enough; but I ’aint a chicken no more, Mrs. Betty, and I’ve ’most forgot how to do a bit of courtin’. What with cleanin’ up, and puttin’ on your Sunday clothes, and goin’ to the barber’s, and gettin’ a good ready, it’s a considerable effort for an old man like me.”
“People don’t want to see your clothes; they want to see you. If you feel obliged to, you can send your Sunday clothes around some day and let her look at them once for all. Keeping young is largely a matter of looking after your digestion and getting plenty of sleep. Its all foolishness for you to talk about growing old. Why, you are in the prime of life.”
“Hm! Yes. And why don’t you tell me that I look real handsome, and that the girls are all crazy for me. You’re an awful jollier, Mrs. Betty, though I’ll admit that a little jollyin’ does me a powerful lot 142 of good now and then. I sometimes like to believe things I know to a certainty ’aint true, if they make me feel good.”
For a moment Betty kept silent, gazing into the kindly face, and then the instinct of match-making asserted itself too strongly to be resisted.
“There’s no sense in your being a lonesome widower. Why don’t you get married? I mean it.”
For a moment Jonathan was too astounded at the audacity of the serious suggestion to reply; but when he recovered his breath he exclaimed:
“Well, I swan to man! What will you ask me to be doin’ next?”
“Oh, I mean it, all right,” persisted Mrs. Betty. “Here you’ve got a nice home for a wife, and I tell you you need the happiness of a real home. You will live a whole lot longer if you have somebody to love and look after; and if you want to know what you will be asking me to do next, I will wager a box of candy it will be to come to your wedding.”
“Make it cigars, Mrs. Betty; I’m not much on candy. Maybe you’re up to tellin’ me who’ll have me. I haven’t noticed any females makin’ advances towards me in some time now. The only woman I see every day is Mary McGuire, and she’d make a pan-cake griddle have the blues if she looked at it.” 143
Mrs. Betty grasped her elbow with one hand, and putting the first finger of the other hand along the side of her little nose, whispered:
“What’s the matter with Mrs. Burke?”
Jonathan deliberately pulled a hair from his small remaining crop and cut it with the scythe, as if he had not heard Betty’s impertinent suggestion. But finally he replied:
“There’s nothin’ the matter with Mrs. Burke that I know of; but that’s no reason why she should be wantin’ to marry me.”
“She thinks a great deal of you; I know she does.”
“How do you know she does?”
“Well, I heard her say something very nice about you yesterday.”
“Hm! Did you? What was it?”
“She said that you were the most—the most economical man she ever met.”
“Sure she didn’t say I was tighter than the bark on a tree? I guess I ’aint buyin’ no weddin’ ring on the strength of that. Now, Mrs. Betty, you just try again. I guess you’re fooling me!”
“Oh no, really I’m not. I never was more serious in my life. I mean just what I say. I know Mrs. Burke really thinks a very great deal of you, and if you like her, you ought to propose to her. Every 144 moment a man remains single is an outrageous waste of time.”
Jonathan grinned as he retorted:
“Well, no man would waste any time if all the girls were like you. They’d all be comin’ early to avoid the rush. Is Mrs. Burke employin’ your services as a matrimonial agent? Maybe you won’t mind tellin’ me what you’re to get if the deal pulls off. Is there a rake-off anywheres?”
Betty laughed, and Jonathan was silent for a while, squinting at the scythe-edge, first from one angle, then from another, and tentatively raising the hone as if to start sharpening.
“Well, Mrs. Betty,” he said presently, “seein’ I can’t possibly marry you, I don’t mind tellin’ you that I think the next best thing would be to marry Hepsey Burke. She’s been a mighty good friend and neighbor ever since my wife died; but she wouldn’t look at the likes of me. ’Twouldn’t be the least use of proposin’ to her.”
“How do you know it wouldn’t? You are not afraid of proposing, are you?”
“No, of course not; but I can’t run over and propose, as I would ask her to lend me some clothes-line. That’d be too sudden; and courtin’ takes a lot of time and trouble. I guess I ’most forgot how by 145 this time; and then, to tell you the truth, I always was a bit shy. It took me near onto five years to work myself up to the sticking point when I proposed to my first wife.”
“Well, now that’s easy enough; Mrs. Burke usually sits on the side porch after supper with her knitting. Why don’t you drop over occasionally, and approach the matter gradually? It wouldn’t take long to work up to the point.”
“But how shall I begin? I guess you’ll have to give me lessons.”
“Oh, make her think you are very lonely. Pity is akin to love, you know.”
“But she knows well enough I’m mighty lonely at times. That won’t do.”
“Then make her think that you are a regular daredevil, and are going to the bad. Maybe she’ll marry you to save you.”
“Me, goin’ to the bad at my age, and the Junior Warden of the church, too. What are you thinkin’ of?”
“It is never too late to mend, you know. You might try being a little frisky, and see what happens.”
“Oh, I know what would happen all right. She’d be over here in two jerks of a lamb’s tail, and read the riot act, and scare me out of a year’s growth. 146 Hepsey’s not a little thing to be playin’ with.”
“Well, you just make a start. Anything to make a start, and the rest will come easy.”
“My, how the neighbors’d talk!”
“Talk is cheap; and besides, in a quiet place like this it’s a positive duty to afford your neighbors some diversion; you ought to be thankful. You’ll become a public benefactor. Now will you go ahead?”
“Mrs. Betty, worry’s bad for the nerves, and’s apt to produce insomny and neurastheny. But I’ll think it over—yes, I will—I’ll think it over.”
Whereupon he suddenly began to whet his scythe with such vim as positively startled Betty.
The Maxwells were, in fact, effectively stirring up the ambitions of their flock, routing the older members out of a too easy-going acceptance of things-as-they-are, and giving to the younger ones vistas of a life imbued with more color and variety than had hitherto entered their consciousness. And yet it happened at Durford, on occasion, that this awakening of new talents and individuality produced unlocked for complications.
“Oh yes,” Hepsey remarked one day to Mrs. 148 Betty, when the subject of conversation had turned to Mrs. Burke’s son and heir, “Nickey means to be a good boy, but he’s as restless as a kitten on a hot Johnny-cake. He isn’t a bit vicious, but he do run his heels down at the corners, and he’s awful wearin’ on his pants-bottoms and keeps me patchin’ and mendin’ most of the time—‘contributing to the end in view,’ as Abraham Lincoln said. But, woman-like, I guess he finds the warmest spot in my heart when I’m doin’ some sort of repairin’ on him or his clothes. It would be easier if his intentions wasn’t so good, ’cause I could spank him with a clear conscience if he was vicious. But after all, Nickey seems to have a winnin’ way about him. He knows every farmer within three miles; he’ll stop any team he meets, climb into the wagon seat, take the reins, and enjoy himself to his heart’s content. All the men seem to like him and give in to him; more’s the pity! And he seems to just naturally lead the other kids in their games and mischief.”
“Oh well, I wouldn’t give a cent for a boy who didn’t get into mischief sometimes,” consoled Mrs. Betty.
At which valuation Nickey was then in process of putting himself and his young friends at a premium. For, about this time, in their efforts to amuse themselves, 149 Nickey and some of his friends constructed a circus ring back of the barn: After organizing a stock company and conducting several rehearsals, the rest of the boys in the neighborhood were invited to form an audience, and take seats which had been reserved for them without extra charge on an adjoining lumber pile. Besides the regular artists there were a number of specialists or “freaks,” who added much to the interest and excitement of the show.
For example, Sam Cooley, attired in one of Mrs. Burke’s discarded underskirts, filched from the ragbag, with some dried cornstalk gummed on his face, impersonated the famous Bearded Lady from Hoboken.
Billy Burns, wearing a very hot and stuffy pillow buttoned under his coat and thrust down into his trousers, represented the world-renowned Fat Man from Spoonville. His was rather a difficult role to fill gracefully, because the squashy pillow would persist in bulging out between his trousers and his coat in a most indecent manner; and it kept him busy most of the time tucking it in.
Dimple Perkins took the part of the Snake Charmer from Brooklyn, and at intervals wrestled fearlessly with a short piece of garden hose which was labeled on the bills as an “Anna Condy.” This he wound 150 around his neck in the most reckless manner possible; it was quite enough to make one’s blood run cold to watch him.
The King of the Cannibal Islands was draped in a buffalo robe, with a gilt paper crown adorning his head, and a very suggestive mutton-bone in his hand.
Poor little Herman Amdursky was selected for the Living Skeleton, because of the spindle-like character of his nethermost limbs. He had to remove his trousers and his coat, and submit to having his ribs wound with yards of torn sheeting, in order that what little flesh he had might be compressed to the smallest possible compass. The result was astonishingly satisfactory.
The Wild Man from Borneo wore his clothes wrong side out, as it is well known wild men from Borneo always do; and he ate grass with avidity. Wry-mouthed and squint-eyed, he was the incarnation of the cubist ideal.
When all this splendid array of talent issued from the dressing-room and marched triumphantly around the ring, it was indeed a proud moment in the annals of Durford, and the applause from the lumber pile could be heard at least two blocks.
After the procession, the entertainment proper consisted of some high and lofty tumbling, the various 151 “turns” of the respective stars, and then, last of all, as a grand finale, Charley, the old raw-boned farm horse who had been retired on a pension for at least a year, was led triumphantly into the ring, with Nickey Burke standing on his back!
Charley, whose melancholy aspect was a trifle more abject than usual, and steps more halting, meekly followed the procession of actors around the ring, led by Dimple, the Snake Charmer. Nickey’s entree created a most profound sensation, and was greeted with tumultuous applause—a tribute both to his equestrian feat and to his costume.
Nickey had once attended a circus at which he had been greatly impressed by the artistic decorations on the skin of a tattooed man, and by the skill of the bareback rider who had turned somersaults while the horse was in motion. It occurred to him that perhaps he might present somewhat of both these attractions, in one character.
Maxwell had innocently stimulated this taste by lending him a book illustrated with lurid color-plates of Indians in full war paint, according to tribe.
So Nickey removed his clothes, attired himself in abbreviated red swimming trunks, and submitted to the artistic efforts of Dimple, who painted most intricate, elaborate, and beautiful designs on Nickey’s person, 152 with a thick solution of indigo purloined from the laundry.
Nickey’s breast was adorned with a picture of a ship under full sail. On his back was a large heart pierced with two arrows. A vine of full blown roses twined around each arm, while his legs were powdered with stars, periods, dashes, and exclamation points in rich profusion. A triangle was painted on each cheek, and dabs of indigo were added to the end of his nose and to the lobe of each ear by way of finishing touches.
When the work was complete, Nickey surveyed himself in a piece of broken mirror in the dressing-room, and to tell the truth, was somewhat appalled at his appearance; but Dimple Perkins hastened to assure him, saying that a dip in the river would easily remove the indigo; and that he was the living spit and image of a tattooed man, and that his appearance, posed on the back of Charley, would certainly bring the house down.
Dimple proved to be quite justified in his statement, so far as the effect on the audience was concerned; for, as Nickey entered the ring, after one moment of breathless astonishment, the entire crowd arose as one man and cheered itself hoarse, in a frenzy of frantic delight. Now whether Charley was enthused by the applause, or whether the situation reminded 153 him of some festive horseplay of his youth, one cannot tell. At any rate, what little life was left in Charley’s blood asserted itself. Quickly jerking the rope of the halter from the astonished hand of Dimple Perkins, Charley turned briskly round, and trotted out of the yard and into the road, while Nickey, who had found himself suddenly astride Charley’s back, made frantic efforts to stop him.
As Charley emerged from the gate, the freaks, the regular artists, the gymnasts, and the entire audience followed, trailing along behind the mounted tattooed man, and shouting themselves hoarse with encouragement or derision.
As Charley rose to the occasion and quickened his pace, the heat of the sun, the violent exercise of riding bareback, and the nervous excitement produced by the horror of the situation, threw Nickey into a profuse sweat. The bluing began to run. The decorations on his forehead trickled down into his eyes; and as he tried to rub off the moisture with the back of his hand the indigo was smeared liberally over his face. His personal identity was hopelessly obscured in the indigo smudge; and the most vivid imagination could not conjecture what had happened to the boy. It was by no means an easy feat to retain his seat on Charley’s back; it would have been still more difficult 154 to dismount, at his steed’s brisk pace; and Nickey was most painfully conscious of his attire, as Charley turned up the road which led straight to the village. At each corner the procession was reinforced by a number of village boys who added their quota to the general uproar and varied the monotony of the proceeding by occasionally throwing a tin can at the rider on the white horse. When Charley passed the rectory, and the green, and turned into Church Street, Nickey felt that he had struck rock bottom of shameful humiliation.
For many years it had been Charley’s habit to take Mrs. Burke down to church on Wednesday afternoons for the five o’clock service; and although he had been out of commission and docked for repairs for some time, his subliminal self must have got in its work, and the old habit asserted itself: to the church he went, attended at a respectful distance by the Bearded Lady, the Fat Man, the Snake Charmer, the King of the Cannibal Islands, the Living Skeleton, and the Wild Man from Borneo, to say nothing of a large and effective chorus of roaring villagers bringing up the rear.
It really was quite clever of Charley to recall that, this being Wednesday, it was the proper day to visit the church,—as clever as it was disturbing to Nickey 155 when he, too, recalled that it was about time for the service to be over, and that his mother must be somewhere on the premises, to say nothing of the assembled mothers of the entire stock company—and the rector, and the rector’s wife.
Mrs. Burke, poor woman, was quite unconscious of what awaited her, as she emerged from the service with the rest of the congregation. It was an amazed parent that caught sight of her son and heir scrambling off the back of his steed onto the horse-block in front of the church, clad in short swimming trunks and much bluing. The freaks, the regular artists, the gymnasts, and the circus audience generally shrieked and howled and fought each other, in frantic effort to succeed to Nickey’s place on Charley’s back—for Charley now stood undismayed and immovable, with a gentle, pious look in his soft old eyes.
For one instant, Mrs. Burke and her friends stood paralyzed with horror; and then like the good mothers in Israel that they were, each jumped to the rescue of her own particular darling—that is, as soon as she could identify him. Consternation reigned supreme. Mrs. Cooley caught the Bearded Lady by the arm and shook him fiercely, just as he was about to land an uppercut on the jaw of the King of the Cannibal Islands. Mrs. Burns found her offspring, 156 the Fat Man, lying dispossessed on his back in the gutter, while Sime Wilkins, the Man Who Ate Glass, sat comfortably on his stomach. Sime immediately apologized to Mrs. Burns and disappeared. Next, Mrs. Perkins took the Snake Charmer by his collar, and rapped him soundly with the piece of garden hose which she captured as he was using it to chastise the predatory Wild Man from Borneo. Other members of the company received equally unlooked-for censure of their dramatic efforts.
Nickey, meantime, had fled to the pump behind the church, where he made his ablutions as best he could; then, seeing the vestry room door ajar, he, in his extremity, bolted for the quiet seclusion of the sanctuary.
To his surprise and horror, he found Maxwell seated at a table looking over the parish records; and when Nickey appeared, still rather blue, attired in short red trunks, otherwise unadorned, Donald gazed at him in mute astonishment. For one moment there was silence as they eyed each other; and then Maxwell burst into roars of uncontrollable laughter, which were not quite subdued as Nickey gave a rather incoherent account of the misfortune which had brought him to such a predicament.
“So you were the Tattooed Man, were you! Well, 157 I suppose you know that it’s not generally customary to appear in church in red tights; but as you couldn’t help it, I shall have to see what can be done for you, to get you home clothed and in your right mind. I’ll tell you! You can put on one of the choir boy’s cassocks, and skip home the back way. If anybody stops you tell them you were practising for the choir, and it will be all right. But really, Nickey, if I were in your place, the next time I posed as a mounted Tattooed Man, I’d be careful to choose some old quadruped that couldn’t run away with you!”
“Then you aren’t mad at me!”
“Certainly not. I’ll leave that to my betters! You just get home as fast as you can.”
“Gee! but you’re white all right—you know it didn’t say nothing in the book, about what kind of paint to use!”
Maxwell’s eyes opened. “What book are you talking about, Nickey?” he asked.
“The one you let me take, with the Indians in it.”
Maxwell had to laugh again. “So that’s where the idea for this ‘Carnival of Wild West Sports’ originated, eh?”
“Yes, sir,” Nickey nodded. “Everybody wanted to be the tattooed man, but seeing as I had the book, and old Charley was my horse, I couldn’t see any 158 good reason why I shouldn’t get tattooed. Gee! I’ll bet ma will be mad!”
After being properly vested in a cassock two sizes too large for him, Nickey started on a dead run for home, and, having reached the barn, dressed himself in his customary attire. When he appeared at supper Mrs. Burke did not say anything; but after the dishes were washed she took him apart and listened to his version of the affair.
“Nicholas Burke,” she said, “if this thing occurs again I shall punish you in a way you won’t like.”
“Well, I’m awfully sorry,” said Nickey, “but it didn’t seem to feaze Mr. Maxwell a little bit. He just sat and roared as if he’d split his sides. I guess I ’aint goin’ to be put out of the church just yet, anyway.”
Mrs. Burke looked a bit annoyed.
“Never mind about Mr. Maxwell. You won’t laugh if anything like this occurs again, I can tell you,” she replied.
“Now, ma,” soothed Nickey, “don’t you worry about it occurrin’ again. You don’t suppose I did it on purpose, do you? Gosh no! I wouldn’t get onto Charley’s back again, with my clothes off, any more than I’d sit on a hornet’s nest. How’d you like to ride through the town with nothin’ on but your swimmin’ 159 trunks and drippin’ with bluin water, I’d like to know?”
Mrs. Burke did not care to prolong the interview any further, so she said in her severest tones:
“Nicholas Burke, you go to bed instantly. I’ve heard enough of you and seen enough of you, for one day.”
Nickey went.