Rollo in Society: A Guide for Youth

Occasionally the players would stop to rest, while doctors and men with stretchers would rush out on the field and remove the wounded.

“Who is winning?” asked Rollo.

“Nobody knows,” said Anabelle. “No one ever does know at a football game. The only way to find out what is really happening is to read about it in the papers to-morrow.”

This was a great comfort to Rollo, for he gave up trying to understand what was going on and from then on began really to enjoy himself. A few moments later, the whistle blew again, everyone began cheering wildly and the game was over.

“This way,” cried Anabelle as she and Rollo reached the ground outside the Bowl. Rollo followed her and for several minutes they threaded their way among the crowd, squeezing between groups of people and dodging motor cars. Night was falling, and bright headlights were gleaming over the tumbled fields. This way and that they darted, until Anabelle suddenly stopped and said, “Oh, Rollo, where are the others?”

“Anabelle,” replied Rollo, “I verily believe we are lost.”

“I’ll say so,” said Anabelle. “Well, let us sit here until we are found. It is much safer than to go wandering about.”

“You are quite right,” agreed Rollo. “We once lost a fine brindle cow, because she wandered into a swamp and sank in a quagmire. But, hello—what is this?” As he spoke Rollo pulled from his coat pocket a small bottle.

“As I live and breathe, it is a bottle of martini which Jonas has thoughtfully prepared against the cold.”

“Blessings on Jonas!” cried his little companion. “I am almost frozen.”

It was the work of a moment to spread the robe on a grassy knoll, and here Cousin Stella’s chauffeur found them just as Rollo tossed the empty bottle into a coppice.

“Atta-boy!” cried Rollo gaily as they struggled to their feet and ran toward the automobile. It was now quite dark, and when they were snugly tucked among the cushions Rollo began to feel very sleepy. As they rolled homeward through the night, the little boy drowsed off into slumber. Then he seemed to see two bright stars gleaming in the sky, which reminded him of Anabelle’s eyes and it seemed to him that he kissed her. But he may have been dreaming.

“Who won?” asked Jonas when Rollo and Lucy reached the apartment.

“I did,” cried Rollo, “I beat Rupert Hogan all to pieces.”

“But who won the football match?” persisted Jonas.

“How do I know, Dumbbell,” said Rollo. “Look in the papers to-morrow morning!”

ROLLO GOES A-SHOPPING

It was now the merry Yuletide season which, in town and country, falls like a mantle of white snow over the hearts of men and ladies, and you may be sure that little Rollo was among the very first to feel its influence. Although it was but early December, he and his Sister Lucy had long been storing up their pennies, and many an hour had been passed writing the lists of those to whom they wished to give remembrances and from whom they expected to receive them.

Rollo had saved a whole dollar, which was indeed a great task for him, for Rollo’s father was a frugal man and few coins came his children’s way. But, by changing his Sunday-school dime into two nickels, our little hero was able to save five cents a week, and still make a louder noise in the contribution box than ever before. Thus, little by little, the small iron bear, into whose jaws Rollo placed his hoard, became gradually filled, until one day Rollo found to his surprise that no more coins would go in.

“Feel how heavy my Bruin is become,” said Rollo to Jonas. “Now I must open him, for it is time to do my Christmas shopping. How shall I do it, Jonas? Shall I cast him on the stone pavement and so burst him?”

“Ho ho,” laughed Jonas. “That would be a pretty way indeed! But wait a moment.”

Then, repairing to another chamber, Jonas soon returned with a small screw-driver from Rollo’s mother’s sewing-machine. With this he set to work so diligently that there was soon a sharp snap, and Rollo saw that the shaft of the screw-driver had broken off.

“Oh, bother!” cried Jonas crossly, at the same time rapping the bank against the steam radiator with such force that Bruin was split clearly in two from head to tail.

“Thank you! Thank you, Jonas,” shouted Rollo. “How wonderful it must be to be as handy with tools as you are! But now I must go a-shopping, for it is not yet nine o’clock, and the signs all ask us to do our Christmas shopping early.”

On the threshold Rollo met his father, who said cheerfully, “Good-morning, Rollo. And whither are you going so fast?”

“Good-morning to you, sir,” said Rollo, touching his cap politely. “I am about to do my Christmas shopping, sir, and you may believe me, I have a great list. There is Mother, and you, sir, and Lucy and Jonas and Uncle George and Cousin Stella.”

Rollo’s father waited patiently until Rollo had finished speaking before he said, “Rollo, I think I ought to tell you that there are to be no family presents in our household this year. The grain business is most distressing just now, and we can ill afford to waste our funds on such wicked luxuries as presents. Let us wish each other a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year in a suitable and inexpensive manner.”

“I heartily agree with you, sir,” said Rollo, with a cheerfulness which pleased his father.

Now the real reason for Rollo’s happy acquiescence in his father’s plan was that there was one name on his list which he had not mentioned.

Anabelle—for it was indeed she—was a charming girl of about Rollo’s own age, whom he had met on several occasions, and of whom he had thought more than ever since their last meeting at the great football contest between the academies of Yale and Princeton.

“Hurrah!” shouted Rollo to himself as he hurried toward Fifth Avenue, which is the Main Street of New York City. “Hurrah! I can now spend my entire dollar on Anabelle.”

This was Rollo’s first Christmas season in a great city and, although he had begun to feel quite at home in the thoroughfares, he was nevertheless greatly surprised to find so many folk abroad at such an early hour.

He finally found himself in the portal of a magnificent shop in the windows of which were beautiful oil paintings.

“The very thing!” thought Rollo. “Anabelle herself is so beautiful, and she paints, too, herself—a little. It is a merry idea.”

Everything within was very grand and gloomy, particularly the shop attendants, who were tall young gentlemen in immaculate cut-away coats.

“My favourite artist is Rockwell Kent,” said Rollo. “He once painted my father’s barn—in a picture, of course. Have you anything by him which would be suitable for a young lady?”

“I doubt it very much,” said the gentleman, “but we shall see.”

He then showed Rollo several pictures by his favourite artist, one in particular which Rollo greatly admired.

“That is most beautiful!” said Rollo. “And what does it fetch?”

The gentleman looked puzzled before he said, “Oh, you mean the price. Well, that is one of the most reasonable. It is only a thousand dollars.”

Alas! Everywhere Rollo turned he met with the same discouraging reply. A tiny vial of perfume was supposed to fetch ten dollars; even single blossoms of rare flowers were three dollars each.

It was a tired and disheartened Rollo who finally turned his footsteps homeward, his dollar still sagging heavily in his pocket, as his heart sagged heavily within.

And then a most surprising thing happened, for Rollo suddenly found himself before the most beautiful shop he had ever seen, its windows gleaming with brilliant wares and holiday decorations, and its doorways, beneath a handsome red sign, breathing forth odours of the utmost fragrance. But what fascinated our little hero most was a card displayed in many places which stated “Nothing in this store over ten cents.”

“Hurrah!” shouted Rollo.

It was a tired but happy little Rollo who emerged an hour later, clutching his precious purchases in his arms, ten in all, and each to be marked later, “To Anabelle from Rollo, with love and a Merry Christmas.”

For there, if you can believe me, Rollo found all the marvellous things which he had so unsuccessfully endeavoured to purchase before, a beautiful picture called Spring with pink apple-blossoms a-bloom, a string of magnificent pearls, much larger than those he had seen in the other shop, a bright red book entitled Memorandum, a fragrant flower similar to the ones he had seen, but made of cloth and wire so that it could not wither, and a large bottle of most delicious perfume labelled Bay Rum Lotion, a sample of which the amiable young saleswoman squirted on Rollo’s curly locks to his great delight.

Can you not imagine Anabelle’s joy when she opened all these presents on Christmas morning! Surely hers was the brightest, happiest Christmas of any little girl in all this wide land.

THE END OF LITTLE ROLLO

On a bright midwinter morning, Rollo was sitting before the sputtering gas-log, endeavouring to warm himself. Although he had on his red-flannel wristers and the tippet which his Aunt Lucy had given him for Christmas, and his hands were extended over the blue flames, yet he felt cold. Ever and anon he shivered slightly.

“Jonas,” said he, addressing his father’s secretary, who had just entered the room, “why am I so chilly? The room according to the mercury-tube is warm, and yet I shiver.”

“Some one is walking over your grave,” said Jonas cheerfully, “Such tremblings are oft times presentiments of death.” So saying, he passed out of the room whistling a merry funeral march.

This was the one thing necessary to make Rollo feel colder and more disconsolate than ever before. He squirmed round on his green cricket, and seemed to shrink to a smaller size, as he again extended his hands, his expression becoming more and more disconsolate as the picture conjured up by Jonas’s remarks floated before his eyes. He saw himself lying on his trundle bed, his family weeping about him. Among them, he saw in his imagination his little friend Anabelle approaching, sadly, carrying a large wreath of lilies tied with a white ribbon, marked “Rollo.” At this thought, two large tears rolled slowly down Rollo’s cheeks. It was more than he could bear. And thus his mother found him when she entered the room.

Now the reasons for our little hero’s depression were three. I wonder if any of my young readers can guess them!

First, there was the natural reaction to the gay Holiday season, which always plunges the world into profound gloom; secondly, Rollo was by nature inclined to be rather bilious; and thirdly,—well,—I shall wait before I tell you the third reason and perhaps you may divine it for yourselves, and will not that be fun!

“Great news, Rollo,” cried his mother, brightly but not so loudly as to be unladylike, “great news! Your Uncle George is to be married and to whom do you think?”

Rollo thought of several of the gay ladies whom he had met during his evening parties with Uncle George, but, having lived in the city now for nearly a half-year, he had learned that it is not best to express one’s thoughts too frankly at all times, and therefore answered, “To whom, Mother? I am sure I cannot guess.”

“Why, to Anabelle’s mother,” was the reply. “Her first husband was a very wicked man, and Anabelle’s mother was forced to leave him. She has just returned from visiting her folks in Reno, Nevada. The wedding is to be in her apartment on Park Avenue, and your Uncle writes to say that he hopes that you and Anabelle will be page and flower-girl on that occasion. Anabelle is to be allowed to come home from school for the great event.”

At these glad tidings, Rollo’s depression vanished in a trice. All thought of dying was swept away by the realization that he was soon to see Anabelle again! And now perhaps you have some idea of what the third reason for his low spirits had been.

From that time on, events moved at a rapid pace, each more exciting than the last. First came the Bachelor Dinner, one of the strangest meals which Rollo had ever attended. Rollo’s father did not approve of Uncle George’s marriage, though when he learned that Anabelle’s mother was very wealthy he said, “Well, I shall voice no objection. George has made his bed; let him lie in it.”

Rollo thought this a coarse remark, but kept silent as his father continued, “As for this Bachelor Dinner, I do not approve of Rollo’s attendance.”

“But there are to be handsome gifts,” said Rollo’s mother. “George informs me that everyone at the table is to receive a jewelled scarf pin, a splendid cravat, and a pair of gloves.”

“I do not wish to offend George,” said Rollo’s father. “The boy may as well go, but let him surely be home by nine o’clock. Do you remember what my glove size is, Mother?”

And so it was arranged.

It was, as I say, the strangest dinner Rollo had ever attended. It was served in a private room of the handsome edifice owned by Mr. Ritz, and the menu or bill-of-fare was most elaborate, consisting of beautiful, ornamental dishes which were whisked before Rollo’s eyes in rapid succession. Each course was accompanied by a different beverage, and toward the end the serving gentlemen filled large tumblers with a most delicious sparkling cider, which Rollo vowed the best he had ever tasted.

Such fun as they had! The guests were eight in number, with Rollo making the ninth, and never had he seen such merry companions. Very few of rare viands were actually eaten, quite an amazing quantity being spilled, or thrown from one guest to another, and Rollo could not keep from thinking with some dismay of his bib at home which Lucy had cross-stitched for him with the words “Waste not, want not.” He was comforted, however, by the assurance of a Mr. Stewart who sat next him, that the food would be scraped up in the morning and sent to the starving women of Mesopotamia.

Then the strangest thing happened. The cider-goblets having been filled, a Mr. Weaver, who was called the best-man, cried loudly,—“Bottoms up! To the bride.” At this shocking remark, everyone drained his portion of cider and then cast the goblet at the wall or ceiling or floor so that the handsome Brussels carpet was covered with broken glass.

“Well, I declare!” thought Rollo, “if Mr. Weaver is the best man, I wonder what the others are like!” and partly to hide his confusion, partly to restore order, he rose and said, “Gentlemen, with your kind permission, I will read a poem.”

“’Ray, ’ray,” shouted Uncle George, “Squiet, please, squiet.”

Then Rollo read as follows:

Rollo’s poem was a great success and after that a Mr. Bishop and a Mr. Benchley sang many duets, while the others made speeches, to which Uncle George replied, sitting on the floor and making gestures over the edge of the table.

The sun was shining when Rollo reached home and placed his cravat and gloves at his father’s door, keeping the scarf pin for himself, but the little fellow was delighted to see that it was only half after seven by the parlour clock, so that he had obeyed his father’s instructions and got home before nine after all.

The next day was the wedding and you may be sure Rollo was up betimes, after a refreshing sleep of ten minutes. He dressed himself with particular care, his heart pounding with excitement, for to-day he was to see Anabelle, who had arrived from her seminary the evening before!

All the family were early astir, and there was much scrubbing and inspection of finger nails and ears, and rustling of starchy garments, and at promptly half after eleven, the entire family set forth, except Jonas, who had gone before in his squeakiest shoes, for he was to guard the wedding gifts lest some of the guests should steal them.

The apartment was large but the company was larger and, as many had already arrived, Rollo soon found himself in a dense crowd in which he could catch no glimpse of Anabelle, but had only a view of the elbows and waist-lines which were on a level with his eyes. Just as he was feeling quite faint and stunned from bumping his head against the gentlemen’s hip-pockets, he was rescued by Mr. Stewart and dragged into a room where the ushers were forming the nuptial procession.

Suddenly, from a veritable forest of rubber-plants, the strains of Mendelssohn’s Wedding March smote the air, the hum of conversation died down and the lovely bride, preceded by Anabelle, and accompanied by her aged father in a wheel-chair, moved majestically down an aisle which Jonas had cleared. Rollo was propelled forward into his place, and, blushing furiously, marched by Anabelle’s side until they reached the arch of smilax and roses beneath which stood Dr. Ordway, the minister.

It was a beautiful sight, the bride in a lovely lavender dress, the dignified old father and the ushers, their red faces contrasting handsomely with their white carnations and gray cravats.

But all this was a dream to Rollo, who had eyes only for Anabelle, bewitchingly fairy-like with her pale-blue dress and basket of flowers. It made Rollo’s head swim to look at her and as the words of the ceremony came to him indistinctly a vague resolve formed itself in his mind. At the words “And with all my worldly goods,” he thought of his own possessions and wondered what Anabelle would think of his knife and of the decorated clam-shell which his Uncle had brought him from Atlantic City.

“It is not much,” thought Rollo, “but one cannot give more than all, and oh! how beautiful she is——!”

And now they had reached the solemn part of the service where Dr. Ordway asked if there was anyone present who had any objection to the wedding. One of the gentlemen coughed rather loudly, but no one said anything and soon the ceremony was over and everyone was laughing and talking and congratulating the happy pair.

Then for the first time Rollo had an opportunity to speak to Anabelle and you may be sure he lost no time in gaining her side. They were soon chatting merrily.

“Let’s eat,” said Rollo, for his father had instructed him that he must be sure to get his luncheon at the wedding.

When they had regaled themselves with the lavish collation, they joined the grown-up company who were dancing to the soft strains of three saxophones and a bass drum.

“That was lovely,” said Rollo politely when the dance ended,—“but do you not think the party is getting a little rough?”

“So it is,” agreed Anabelle. “Let us sit on the stairs, where we can see without being seen.”

“Yuppy,” said Rollo, and soon they were comfortably seated just beyond the landing with Anabelle quite close to Rollo and her brown eyes looking up into his blue ones.

Now Rollo did not know it, but sitting on a stairway with a young lady is an almost certain way of bringing about a proposal. Why this is we do not know, but so it is, and so it has been since stairs were first invented.

All things seemed to conspire to bring to the surface a declaration of Rollo’s great love for Anabelle. The wedding had stirred him deeply, and Anabelle’s beauty, the dancing, and now this quiet corner with the sound of the saxophones softened by the distance.

His hands were very cold and his voice trembled slightly as he said, with more originality than one would have expected—“Anabelle, I have something to say to you.”

“Yes,” said Anabelle.

“Yes,” repeated Rollo, “and this is what it is. I should like to marry you, Anabelle. But for several reasons I may not be able to do so. My worldly goods, to which Dr. Ordway referred, are of very little value, and moreover, from something Jonas said to me this morning I fear I may not be long for this world.”

“Oh, Rollo,” cried the little girl, and put her hand over his.

“But as I understand it,” continued Rollo, “we must first be engaged, and perhaps we should not take but one step at a time. Shall we be engaged, Anabelle?”

“Let’s,” she answered.

“I regret,” said Rollo, “that I have no engagement ring, but perhaps for the present another piece of jewelry will serve.”

So saying, he drew from his pocket the scarf pin which Uncle George had given him.

As he went forward to fasten it in Anabelle’s dress she leaned toward him. It was as if two roses had been brought together by a breeze straying through a garden. Through Rollo’s heart spread a shivering thrill which carried no presentiment of an untimely end, but a feeling that he should live forever.

“Oh, Anabelle,” he whispered through her hair. “This must be the ending which Jonas prophesied—but what a happy ending it is!”

“It is only the beginning,” said Anabelle weeping.

Transcriber’s Note:

Minor changes have been made to correct typesetters’ errors; otherwise, every effort has been made to remain true to the author’s words and intent.