CHAPTER IV
HALLOWE’EN FUN
“Come away,” whispered Margy. “That isn’t Jess.”
But it was Jess. The rolling figure sat up and stared at them with Jess’s own brown eyes.
“Hello!” said Jess, none too cordially.
“What in the world are you doing?” asked Margy, more frankly than politely.
“I’m busy,” answered Jess.
“You’re a sight—isn’t she, Polly?” said Margy.
Polly didn’t wish to agree, but the truth was that Jess was the most remarkable looking girl she had ever seen. She seemed to be covered with feathers—her hair and face and hands. They were on her shoes, her stockings, and parts of her dress. There was almost as much dirt and dust mixed with the feathers as there was flour paste, and that had evidently been used in liberal quantities.
“What are you doing?” asked Polly, helplessly.
“Well, if you must know,” said Jess, “I’m making my Hallowe’en costume. Only these mean old feathers aren’t much good,” she added fretfully. “They won’t stay stuck.”
She went on to explain that she had cut a chicken out of newspapers—“both sides and sewed it in the middle”—and had spread the paste over this. The plan was to roll in the feathers with this on and in this way the pattern would be covered with feathers which would dry on. Then, with the addition of the turkey wings, Jess would be ready for the party.
“I have a pair of bright yellow stockings I never wore, and I am going to paint my shoes yellow, too,” she announced, in a burst of confidence.
Polly wanted to laugh, but she was afraid of hurting Jess’s feelings.
“It looks pretty messy just now,” said Polly. “But perhaps when it dries it will be all right. You’re taking a lot of trouble, aren’t you, Jess?”
“Well, I like things to be right,” admitted Jess. “I think it will be fun to have animals at the party. Margy, will you stick a handful of feathers on that bare place? Here, put some more paste on first.”
Margy didn’t want to put her hands in the feathers, so Polly had to come to the rescue. Then she helped Jess take the paper off, which was difficult, for it was wet and heavy with paste and easily torn.
“You mustn’t wear it again till the night of the party,” Polly cautioned the designer. “You’ll wear it out, if you’re not careful.”
“I won’t touch it till Hallowe’en,” promised Jess. “But now you’ve seen mine, I think you ought to tell me what you’re going to wear,” she declared.
“I’m going to be a leopard,” said Polly, instantly. “It’s because we had some spotted flannel in the house.”
“And Mother is going to lend me her old astrakhan coat, so I can be a lamb,” said Margy. “I think lambs are lovely. I wouldn’t want to be any kind of homely animal, even for fun.”
Jess’s dark eyes grew round with curiosity.
“What do you suppose the boys are going to wear?” she asked.
But no one knew, and up to the night of the party no one had found out. It had been agreed among the six friends that each was to go alone to the Williamson house, so it happened that the three girls and Mr. and Mrs. Williamson were already in the big, roomy kitchen, where the party was to be, when some one knocked at the door.
“That’s Fred! I know it is!” exclaimed Margy. “I just heard him go down the front stairs and out. He’s come around to the back door.”
Margy was wearing her mother’s woolly coat, and with her shiny black shoes and black silk gloves—to represent the forefeet—made a very cunning and attractive little lamb—till one’s glance reached her face. Her false-face was that of an old witch, and the contrast between this grinning old-woman face and the woolly young lamb was too much for Mr. Williamson. He had gone into fits of laughter as soon as he saw Margy.
The arrival of Polly, in spotted flannel that covered her hands and feet much as a sleeping garment would, her face hidden behind a “Brownie” false-face, made Mr. Williamson laugh, too. But when Jess arrived, Mrs. Williamson was really alarmed about him. He laughed so hard he had to take out his handkerchief and wipe his eyes.
Even Polly and Margy had to laugh at Jess. She wore her feather suit, as she called the paper and feather costume, and she had rigged up the turkey wings with string so that they flapped—sometimes—when she pulled the string. As the nearest thing to a chicken’s head she could get in a false-face, she had chosen a mask with an extremely long and hooked nose that, she fondly hoped, looked like a chicken’s beak. She had taken an old pair of shoes and covered them with bright yellow paint, buttons and all.
Mr. and Mrs. Williamson were only waiting to greet the guests before going over to spend the evening at the Larue house. Answering the knock at the door, Mr. Williamson opened it and a kangaroo leaped into the room. For a moment the girls were startled, and then they saw that it was Fred.
“I think that’s a fine costume, Fred,” said Polly. “Did you make it?”
“Mother helped,” replied Fred, hopping around the kitchen the better to show off his brown flannel suit and long tail. It covered his head and eyes so that he didn’t need a mask, and when he crouched in a sitting position, Polly assured him that he looked exactly like the pictures of kangaroos they had seen in their school geographies.
Rat-a-tat-tat! went a knock on the door.
“Bet that’s Artie,” said Fred, confidently.
“Ward, more likely,” declared Jess. “He was getting ready when I started to come.”
Mr. Williamson opened the door, and they all leaned forward to look.
First a long, long neck stretched itself into the kitchen, then an ungainly, rather square body, mounted on four legs, followed. This queer-looking creature was spotted in circles, and had a long, thin tail.
“A giraffe!” cried Jess, guessing first.
“Artie and Ward! Well, what do you know about that!” shouted Fred. “Why didn’t you tell a fellow?”
“Wanted to surprise you,” croaked the giraffe. “Guess we did it.”
And to Fred’s amazement, the long neck twisted several times around his own neck in what was meant to be an affectionate embrace.
“Here—let go of me—get out!” cried Fred, trying to back away. “What kind of a neck have you, a rubber one?”
The girls giggled and Mr. Williamson untangled the long neck carefully.
“Don’t let it rip,” begged the giraffe. “If it comes unsewed the whole thing will be spoiled. That’s the old rubber hose in that neck.”
“So that’s what you’ve been doing so long,” said Polly. “I see! That’s why you were shaking the ceiling.”
“A GIRAFFE!” CRIED JESS, GUESSING FIRST.
“Well, if you think it’s easy to walk in this, you ought to try it,” said Artie’s voice. “Ward had to be the front because he is taller, and I’m the back legs. At first we walked into each other and couldn’t turn corners without making a mess of it. But how we do fine.”
“I don’t know whether it is safe to leave this menagerie or not, Mother,” said Mr. Williamson, smiling. “But we won’t be so far away that we can’t get back if we’re needed. Now, youngsters,” he added to the children, “go as far as you like and have all the fun you want. But don’t go off the grounds and don’t set the house on fire. Fred, I trust your good sense to know when to stop.”
“Good-bye,” cried the animals, crowding to the door. “Good-bye. We’re going to have a lovely party.”
Mr. and Mrs. Williamson looked back and laughed. The light from the kitchen streamed through the doorway and showed a wild-looking group on the porch.
“I’m glad they didn’t want any others,” said Mrs. Williamson, as they reached the Larue house. “They get on so well together that they do not really need any more to make a party.”
Left alone, Margy and Fred, as host and hostess, announced that the games would begin at once. Of course the false-faces had to come off and the gloves, too, and Fred had to fold back his brown hood, while Artie and Ward had to step “out of their skin,” as they put it, to duck for apples.
This was not Ward’s favorite pastime, for it always made him gasp dreadfully; but he wouldn’t beg off, and manfully went groping about under the water till he nearly choked. He never succeeded in getting hold of an apple, but Fred brought up two and Polly one, while Jess and Artie each lifted one by the stem, merely to drop it before it reached the surface.
Then they tackled the swaying marshmallow on the string, and most of them were liberally coated with the snowy powder before Margy grasped the mallow in her strong little white teeth and swallowed it and nearly swallowed the string, too.
“Now the plate of flour,” commanded Fred, when the marshmallow was gone. “Put your hands behind you, every one, and do your best.”
Ward made a desperate effort, but, unfortunately, opened his eyes when his face was buried in the flour and coughed and sputtered so much as he tried to wink them clear again, that Fred pulled him out in great alarm.
“Let me try,” begged Artie.
He took a deep breath, shut his eyes, and ducked into the flour for the hidden ring. Alas, he had found the ring and was ready to take it in his teeth when he found he could not hold his breath another minute. He let it out in one great rush, and the flour flew in all directions, most of it landing on the interested five standing near.
“Never mind,” said Margy, kindly, for Artie looked distressed. “We have plenty more flour, and Mother said she didn’t care how much mess we made in the kitchen. It’s easy to clean.”
So the ring was hidden in the flour again, and Jess tried and failed to find it. Polly was the one who finally brought it to light.
“And now I guess it is time we had the riddles,” said the president of the club. “Each girl is to ask a boy a riddle and then each boy is to do the same thing to a girl. Jess, you can start if you want to.”
“All right. Artie, what word may be pronounced quicker by adding a syllable to it?”
“That’s a real hard one,” grumbled Artie. “Why didn’t you make it easier?”
“I know that one,” shouted Ward.
“Guess, Artie,” said Polly. “Hurry, we don’t want to lose time over the riddles.”
“I guess it’s fast, because you add E-R and then it’s faster.”
“Almost right,” replied Jess. “The word is quick. Add E-R and you have quicker.”
“I’ve one for you, Ward,” said Margy. “Why is an egg like a young colt?”
“Oh, I’ve got you, Margy! The answer is because neither can be used until broken.”
“What do you mean—broken?” asked Jess. “I mean of a colt?”
“Why, a colt is broken to harness,” explained Margy, impatiently. “They are of no account until they’re broken.”
“Now it’s my turn,” said Polly. “Fred, here is a real mannish riddle: What is the best bet made—one covering everything?”
“Gee, that’s some bet—to cover everything. Must be the heavens.”
“Is that your guess?”
“Yes.”
“Well, you’re wrong. The best bet that covers everything is the alphabet.”
“Huh! Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Now you boys must ask us girls. Fred, go ahead.”
“I’ll ask you, Polly. Here is a stinger: What’s the difference between a brand new ten-cent piece and an old-fashion quarter?”
“The difference is exactly fifteen cents,” replied Polly, placidly.
“Wow! I guess you read the same riddle book I did.”
“Here is one for you, Margy,” said Artie. “Why is a lollipop like a horse?”
“When he’s the same color,” said Margy, quickly.
“No, that isn’t the answer. A lollipop is like a horse because the more you lick it the faster it goes.”
“Now, Ward, you ask the last riddle,” said Polly. “Then we’ll go on with our Hallowe’en fun.”
“Well, Jess, what is the ugliest hood ever brought to light?”
“Ugly hood? Oh, lots of them are ugly. Sadie Drew has a hood that is a sickly green and has bright red——”
“Never mind all that. What is positively the ugliest hood ever thought of?”
“I don’t know. What hood is it?”
“A falsehood,” cried Ward, triumphantly.
“Oh, well, I guess that’s right.”
“Now everybody has asked a riddle, let us go on with our Hallowe’en stunts,” said Polly. “Let us start on the wishes.”
“Everybody make a wish,” directed Artie. “Then we’ll go upstairs and down and around the summerhouse and the real house. Remember, nobody is to say a word.”
They made their wishes hurriedly and silently, and then, Fred leading the way, they started. They kept rather close together, for each time they went up- and downstairs—and they had to do that twice—their shadows made such queer shapes on the wall that they looked positively spooky.
Artie and Ward clumped along in the giraffe suit, and the leopard and kangaroo looked almost real. Each one wanted to say to some one else, “Oh, doesn’t it make you feel jumpy?” but that, of course, would have broken the spell.
When they had been up and down the stairs twice, Fred led the way outdoors. Then, indeed, they did keep close together, for the moon was crossed by scudding clouds and the dry leaves, rattling over the dried grass, made funny, little scratching noises. Polly said afterward that she would not have been surprised to have seen a witch come jumping out at her from behind the summerhouse.
Around the house they trailed, and around the summerhouse, in perfect silence. Back to the house they went and into the brightly lighted kitchen.
“Well!” said Margy, in great relief. “I guess our wishes are coming true. No one said a word.”
“I almost did, though,” declared Jess. “I nearly yelled. Didn’t you see something back of the summerhouse?”
“Oh, Jess, you’re getting nervous,” said Fred. “There wasn’t anything there. We walked all around it.”
“It was inside,” replied Jess, glancing fearfully over her shoulder.
“There wasn’t a thing there—not a thing,” insisted Fred. “You imagined it. Come on now, let’s go pull up the cabbages and see if we’re going to be rich or poor. Then we’ll have the eats.”
“Jess,” whispered Polly, as they streamed out again, headed for the garden patch, “I thought I saw something in the summerhouse, too.”