Читать книгу: «The Corner House Girls in a Play», страница 7

CHAPTER XIII
NEALE SUFFERS A SHORTENING PROCESS

Naturally, Neale O'Neil stopped at the old Corner House on his way home with his new suit of clothes, to display them to Agnes and the others. In spite of Ruth's pronounced distaste for boys, she could not help having a secret interest in Neale O'Neil, and Agnes and Mrs. MacCall were not the only inmates of the Stower mansion that wanted to see the new suit on the boy, to be sure, before he appeared at church in it the next Sunday, that it fitted him properly.

"There!" exclaimed the housekeeper, the moment Neale came back from the bathroom where he had made the change, and she saw how the gray suit looked. "I never knew that Merriefield, the clothier, to sell a suit but what either the coat was too big, the vest too long, or the pants out o' kilter in some way. Look at them pants!" she added, almost tragically.

"Wha – what's the matter with them?" queried Neale, somewhat excited, and trying to see behind him. He was quite an acrobat, but he could not look down his spinal column. "Are they torn?"

"Tore? No! Only tore off a mile too long," snorted Mrs. MacCall.

"I declare, Neale," chuckled Agnes, "they are awfully long. They drag at the heel."

"And I've got 'em pulled up now till I feel as though I was going to be cut in two," complained the boy.

"Made for a man – made for a man," sniffed Aunt Sarah, who chanced to be in the sitting room. She did not often take any interest in Neale O'Neil – or appear to, at least. But she eyed the too long trousers malevolently. "Ought to be cut off two inches."

"Yes; a good two inches," agreed Mrs. MacCall.

"Leave the pants here, Neale, and some of us will get time to shorten them for you before next Sunday. You won't want to wear them before then, will you?" said Ruth.

"Oh, no," returned Neale. "I'm not going to parade these to school, first off – just as Agnes does every new hair-ribbon she buys."

"Thank you, Mr. Smartie. Hair-ribbons aren't like suits of clothes, I should hope."

"If they were," chuckled the boy, "I s'pose you'd have a pair of my trousers tied on your pigtail and hanging down your back."

For that she chased him out of the house and they had a game of romps down under the grape-arbor and around the garden.

"Dear me!" sighed Ruth, "Neale makes Aggie so tomboyish. I don't know what to do about it."

"Sho, honey!" observed the housekeeper. "What do you care as long as she's healthy and pretty and happy? Our Aggie is one of the best."

"Of course she is," rejoined the oldest Corner House girl. "But she's getting so big – and is so boisterous. And see what trouble she has got into about that frolic last spring. She can't play in this show that the others are going to act in."

"That's too bad," said Mrs. MacCall, threading her needle. "If ever there was a girl cut out to be a mimic and actress, it's Aggie Kenway."

"Don't for pity's sake tell her that!" cried Ruth, in alarm. "It will just about make her crazy, if you do. She is being punished for raiding that farmer's field – and it's right she should be punished – "

"Mean man!" snapped Aunt Sarah, suddenly. "Those gals couldn't have eat many of his old berries."

"Oh! I don't think Mr. Bob Buckham is mean," Ruth observed slowly, surprised to see Aunt Sarah take up cudgels for Agnes, whom the old lady often called "hare-brained." "And he is not punishing the girls of the basket ball team. Mr. Marks is doing that."

"How did Mr. Marks know about it?" put in Aunt Sarah again.

"Well, we suppose Mr. Buckham told him. So Mr. Marks said, I believe."

"Mean man, then!" reiterated the old lady.

That was her only comment upon the matter. But once having expressed her opinion of the strawberry man, nothing on earth could have changed Aunt Sarah's mind toward him.

Agnes herself could not hold any hard feeling toward Mr. Buckham. Not after listening to his story, and being forgiven so frankly and freely her part in the raid on the strawberry patch.

However much her sisters and the rest of the family felt for Agnes, the latter suffered more keenly as the week went by. The teachers in each grade took half an hour a day to read the synopsis of The Carnation Countess to their pupils and to explain the part such pupils would have in the production. Also the training of those who had speeches or songs began. Of course, the preliminary training for the dance steps was left to the physical culture teachers on Friday afternoon.

Agnes and her fellow culprits had to sit and listen to it all, knowing full well that they could have no part in the performance.

"But just think!" Myra Stetson said, as they came out of school on Thursday. "Just think! Trix Severn is going to be Innocent Delight, that awfully nice girl who appears in every act. Think of it! She showed me the part Professor Ware gave her. Think of it —Innocent Delight!"

"Oh! oh! oh!" gasped the chorus of unhappy basket ball players.

"And she is every bit as guilty as we are," added Eva Larry.

"Hush!" commanded Agnes. "Somebody'll hear you."

"What if?"

"We don't want Trix to say that we dragged her into our trouble when she was lucky enough to escape."

"And I'd just like to know how she did escape," murmured Myra.

"I think Mr. Marks is just as mean!" exclaimed Mary Breeze. "Miss Lederer said I had a good chance to be Bright Thoughts – she would have picked me for that part. And now I can't be in the play at all!"

"Goodness, no! We can't even 'carry out the dead,' as my brother calls it," said another girl. "The door is entirely shut to us."

"We all ought to have had a bright thought and have stayed out of that farmer's field," growled Eva. "Mean old hunks!"

"Who?" cried Agnes.

"That Buckham man."

"No, he isn't!" said the Corner House girl, stoutly. "He's a fine old man. I've talked with him."

"Oh, Agnes!" cried Myra. "Did you see him and try to beg off for us?"

"No. I didn't do that. I didn't see that that would help us. Mr. Marks has punished us, not Mr. Bob Buckham."

"I bet she did," said Mary Breeze, unkindly. "At least, I bet she tried to beg off for herself."

"Now, Mary, you know you don't believe any such thing," Eva said. "We know what kind of girl Agnes Kenway is. She would not do such a thing. If she asked, it would be for us all."

"No," said Agnes, shortly. "I did not do that. I just told Mr. Buckham how sorry I was for taking the berries."

"Oh! What did he say, Aggie?" asked another girl.

"He forgave me. He was real nice about it," Agnes confessed.

"But he told on us. Otherwise we wouldn't be in this pickle," Mary Breeze said. "I don't call that nice."

Agnes had it on her tongue to say that she did not believe Mr. Bob Buckham had sent the list of the culprit's names to Mr. Marks. Although she had said nothing more to Neale O'Neil about it, she knew that the boy was confident that the list of girls' names reached the principal of the Milton High through some other channel than that of the farmer. Agnes herself was assured that Mr. Buckham could not write. Nor did he and his wife seem like people who would do such a thing. Besides, how had the farmer obtained the girls' names, in the first place?

Like Neale, too, Agnes had a feeling that Trix Severn somehow held the key to the mystery. But the Corner House girl would not say so aloud. Indeed, she had refused to acknowledge this belief to Neale.

So now she kept still and allowed the other girls to do the talking and surmising.

"Well, say what you may," Myra Stetson said at last. "Trix is one lucky girl. But she'll make a fine Innocent Delight – "

"I don't think!" finished Eva. "Aggie is the one for that. A blonde. Who ever but Professor Ware would think of giving such a part to a dark girl?"

"Let's not criticise," Agnes said, with a sigh. "We can't be in it, but we mustn't knock."

"Right-oh!" said Myra, the cheery one. "We can go to the show and root for the others."

"Well!" gasped Eva, "I'd like to see myself applaud Trix Severn as Innocent Delight! I – guess – not!"

Although Ruth Kenway had not been selected for one of the speaking parts, she was quite as excited, nevertheless, as those who had been thus chosen. To keep one's mind upon lessons and The Carnation Countess at the same time, was difficult even for the steady-minded Ruth.

Dot went "buzzing" about the house like a veritable bee, singing the song that was being taught her and her mates. Tess' class were to be butterflies and hummingbirds. And – actually! – Tess had been given a part to speak.

It was not very long, but it was of some importance; and her name, Theresa Kenway, would appear on the programme, as Swiftwing.

It really was a mystery how Tess came to be chosen for the part. She was such a quiet, unobtrusive child that she never would be noticed in a crowd of other children of her age. But when Professor Ware, the musical director, came around to Miss Pepperill's class to "look the talent over," as he expressed it, he chose Tess without the least hesitancy for Swiftwing, the hummingbird.

"You lucky dear!" Agnes said. "Well! at least the Kenways will be represented on the programme, if I can't do anything myself."

Others, besides her immediate girl friends, said abroad that Agnes Kenway should be Innocent Delight. She was just fitted for the part. Miss Shipman, Agnes' old teacher, joined Miss Lederer in petitioning that the second oldest Corner House girl be given the part instead of Trix Severn. Trix, as a very pronounced brunette, would much better be given a part like Tom-o'-Dreams or Starlight.

But Mr. Marks was obdurate. None of the girls who had entered into the reprehensible prank on the way back from the basket ball game at Fleeting could have any part in the performance of The Carnation Countess.

"The farmer wrote me of their stealing the berries in such a strain that I fear he may take legal action against the parents of the foolish girls. It would be a lasting disgrace for any of the names of these girls to appear on our programme and in court proceedings at the same time," added the principal, though smiling at this conceit. "I do not see how I can change my ruling."

But Agnes could not understand Mr. Bob Buckham. His letter to Mr. Marks must have been really vindictive; yet he did not seem to be at all the sort of person who would be so stern and uncompromising.

Just what Neale had done toward getting his girl chum out of "the mess," as he called it, Agnes did not know. At this time Neale suffered something which quite took up his attention.

Those trousers that were too long!

Saturday of this very busy week came, and Agnes, in dusting the sitting-room, found Neale's new gray trousers, neatly folded, on Ruth's sewing-table.

"Oh, Ruthie!" she said. "You never fixed these pants."

"I'm going to," her sister replied, and sat right down, there and then, carefully ripped the hem at the bottom of each trouser-leg, cut off two inches and stitched a new hem very carefully, putting back the stiffening and sewing on the "heel-strap" in a very workmanlike manner.

Agnes ran to the kitchen for an iron and pressed the bottom of the trouser-legs to conform with the tailor's creases. "There! that's done," she said, "and done right."

It most certainly was done, whether right or not, the sequel was to show. After supper Neale started for home and Agnes gave him the new trousers.

"I suppose you'll want to wear that fancy suit of yours to church to-morrow morning," she said.

"Bet you!" he replied cheerfully. "Did you cut 'em down?"

"Ruthie did," said Agnes.

"Good for her! Tell her 'Thanks'!"

As he went through the front hall Aunt Sarah put her head over the balustrade and asked:

"Did you get them pants, boy?"

She never by any possibility called Neale by his right name, and her voice now was just as sharp as ever.

"Yes, ma'am – thank you," Neale said politely.

In the kitchen Mrs. MacCall said, with a smile: "The pants all right, Neale?"

"Sure they are," he declared, as he went out. Then he thought: "Dear me! seems as though everybody has a lot of interest in my new clothes."

In the morning, early, when he put the suit on to display it to the old cobbler with whom Neale lived, the boy experienced a sudden and surprising interest in the trousers himself.

The Corner House girls were at breakfast when, with a great clatter, Neale rushed in at the back door, through the kitchen, and into the dining room. He had on his new jacket and vest, but around his waist was tied a voluminous kitchen apron that Mr. Con Murphy wore when he cooked, which covered Neale to his insteps.

"Dear me! what is the matter, Neale?" asked Ruth, with some vexation.

"Matter? Matter enough!" cried the white-haired boy, very red in the face. "Look what you did to my pants!"

He lifted the apron and displayed a wealth of blue yarn sock above his shoe-tops, and hose supporters as well.

"For the good Land o' Goshen!" ejaculated Aunt Sarah.

"I never– in all my life!" cried Mrs. MacCall.

"Ma soul an' body!" chuckled Uncle Rufus from the background. "Somebody done sawed off dat boy's pants too short, for suah!"

"Dear suz!" added the housekeeper. "I'm sure I never did that."

"You can't tell me 'twas me done it," snapped Aunt Sarah.

"Oh, Neale!" wailed Ruth. "I didn't cut off but two inches."

"You, Niece Ruth?" exclaimed Aunt Sarah.

"That's what I done."

"Oh, oh!" sharply cried Mrs. MacCall. "I cut 'em off, too!"

Uncle Rufus almost dropped the dish of ham and eggs he was serving. Agnes shouted:

"Oh, my heart alive! Six inches off the bottom of those trousers! You have gone back into short pants, Neale O'Neil, that's sure!"

CHAPTER XIV
THE FIRST REHEARSAL

So Neale O'Neil did not parade his new grey suit to church on that particular Sunday. Before the next came around Ruth had purchased another pair of trousers that fitted the white-haired boy, and the much cut-down pair was saved for patches.

Something quite as interesting to him and the Corner House girls as a new suit, appeared at the First Church, however, which they all attended. Mr. Bob Buckham was at the morning service.

The girls and Neale did not see the farmer till after the sermon. Then it was Agnes who first spied him, and she hurried back to where the old man was shaking hands with two or three of the elderly members of the congregation, who knew him.

Mr. Buckham in his Sunday clothes looked no more staid and respectable than he did at home; and his eyes twinkled as merrily and his smile was just as kind as on week-days.

"Hullo! here's one of my smart little friends," he exclaimed, welcoming Agnes. "How's your mind now, miss? Quite calm and contented?"

"I feel better than I did," confessed Agnes. "But I'm paying for my wrong-doing just the same. You know, Mr. Buckham, you said you thought we almost always got punished for our sins right here and now. We are. We girls who stole from you, you know."

"Sho'! didn't I tell you to say no more about that?" cried the farmer.

"But Mr. Marks, our principal, is punishing us," Agnes told him.

"You don't mean it!" exclaimed Mr. Buckham, innocently.

"Eva and Myra and Mary and a lot of them, as well as myself, are forbidden to take any part in the play that is going to be given for the benefit of the Women's and Children's Hospital."

"Wal, that's what I call rough!" the farmer admitted. "To my mind the berries weren't worth all this catouse over 'em. No, sir!"

"But what did you suppose he would do to us?" asked the Corner House girl, desperately.

"Who?"

"Mr. Marks."

"Why – I dunno," said the puzzled farmer. "It re'lly is too bad he l'arned about you gals playin' that prank, ain't it?"

Agnes stared at him. She could not understand this at all. And immediately Mr. Buckham went on to say: "The Women's and Children's Hospital, eh? That's where your friend, Mrs. Eland, is matron, isn't it?"

"She is Tess' and Dot's friend," explained Agnes.

"Wal! I come inter town pertic'lar to-day to see her. I got kind of a funny letter from her this week."

"From Mrs. Eland?"

"Yep. Marm said I'd better answer it in person. Word o' mouth ain't so ha'sh as a letter, ye know. And I ain't no writer myself."

Had he said this to Ruth, for instance, she would doubtless have been interested enough to have asked some questions, and so discovered what trouble Dot's busy tongue had started. Agnes, however, only listened perfunctorily to the farmer's speech. Her mind was too perplexed about the letter which had reached Mr. Marks purporting to come from Mr. Buckham, in which he had complained of the girls stealing his berries. Mr. Buckham spoke as though he had no knowledge of the information lodged with the principal of the high school.

Now Tess and Dot saw "the eagle man" and they came clamoring about him. Ruth came, too; and Neale followed. The boy had had no opportunity of talking to the farmer alone the day of the chestnutting party. Now he invited Mr. Buckham to go home with him to Mr. Con Murphy's for dinner, and the old farmer accepted.

"That pretty, leetle gal's mighty bothered about her and her friends playin' hob in my berry patch last May," Mr. Bob Buckham said, as he and Neale crossed the Parade Ground. "How'd that school teacher l'arn of it? Too bad! I reckon the gals didn't mean no harm."

"Why," cried Neale, flushing, and looking at the old man curiously. "Somebody told on them."

"Told the teacher, you mean?"

"Yes. Wrote a letter to Mr. Marks giving all their names."

"Sho! ain't that a shame?" said Mr. Buckham, calm as a summer sea.

"Pretty mean I think myself, sir," Neale said warmly. "It stirred Mr. Marks all up. He says he thinks you may intend making the girls pay for the berries they took."

"What's that?" demanded the farmer, stopping stock still on the walk.

"He says your letter sounds as though you would do just that."

"My letter?"

"Mr. Marks says the letter came from you."

"Why, Neale, you know I ain't no writest," gasped the farmer. "It ain't possible he thinks I'd write him about a peck or two of strawberries? They was some of my best and earliest ones, and I was mad enough about it at the time; but, shucks! old Bob Buckham ain't mean enough to harry a pack of gals about sech a thing, I should hope!"

Neale stared at him with a look of satisfaction on his face.

"Don't mean to tell me that Pretty thinks that of me, do ye?" added the old gentleman, much worried.

"Yes, sir. She thinks you sent the letter."

"Wal! she treats me mighty nice, then. I'd des-arve snubbin' – I most surely would – at her han's if she thinks I am that mean. She's a mighty nice gal."

"She's the best little sport ever, Aggie is!" declared the boy, enthusiastically. Then he added: "I knew it wasn't like you to do such a thing, and it's puzzled me. But somebody wrote in your name and listed all the girls that raided your berry patch —but one."

"All but one gal?"

"Yes, sir. One girl's name was left off the list," Neale said confidently.

"Oh, dear me! Dear, dear me!" murmured the old farmer, pursing his lips and eyeing Neale very gravely.

"And that particular girl is going to have one of the best parts in the show they are giving for the hospital benefit," Neale pursued.

"You don't say so?" said old Bob Buckham, still seriously.

"And that very part is just what would be given our Aggie if she were not in disgrace – yes, sir!"

"Not little Pretty?" demanded the farmer.

"Yes, sir."

"My! my!"

"This one girl whose name did not reach Mr. Marks was just as guilty as the others. That's right, Mr. Buckham. And she's got out of it – "

"Hi!" exclaimed the farmer, sharply. "You're accusin' her of makin' all the trouble for her mates."

"If you didn't, Mr. Buckham," said Neale, boldly.

"I most sartainly didn't!" exclaimed Mr. Buckham. "You know I wouldn't, Neale O'Neil; don't you?"

"I never did think you did so mean a thing," declared Neale, frankly.

"But somebody told your teacher."

"Wrote him."

"And he thinks I done it?"

"Whoever it was must have signed your name to the letter."

"Nobody but marm does that," said the old man, quickly. "'Strawberry Farm' – that is what we call the place, you know, Neale."

"Yes, sir."

"An' I got it printed on some letter paper, and marm always writes my letters for me on that paper. Then, if it's a very pertic'lar one, I sign it myself. But you know, Neale, I ain't no schollard. I handle a muck-fork better'n I do a pen."

"I know – yes, sir," agreed the boy.

"Now," continued the farmer, vigorously, "you find out if this here letter that was writ, and your teacher received, was writ on one of our letterheads. Of course, marm never done it; but – p'raps – Wal! you find out if it re'lly did come from Strawberry Farm, and if Bob Buckham's name is onto it. That's all."

And Mr. Buckham refused to discuss the matter any further at that time.

The busy fall days were flying. It was already the middle of October. Hallowe'en was in prospect and Carrie Poole, who lived in a modernized farmhouse out of town on the Buckshot Road, planned to give a big Hallowe'en party. Of course the two Corner House girls and Neale O'Neil were invited.

Looking forward to the party divided interest among the older girls with the preparations for the performance of The Carnation Countess.

A full fortnight before the thirty-first of October, came the first general rehearsal of the musical play. It could not be rehearsed with the scenery, of course, nor on the Opera House stage. The big hall of the high school building had a large stage and here the preliminary rehearsals were to be conducted.

That was a Saturday afternoon eagerly looked forward to. Although the boys claimed to have much less interest in the play than the girls, even they were excited over the rehearsal. Few of the boys had speaking parts in The Carnation Countess, but all who had good voices were drafted by Professor Ware for the choruses.

"And even those fellows whose voices are changing, and sound more like bullfrogs than anything human," chuckled Neale O'Neil, "have got to help swell the 'Roman populace' or carry out the dead."

"Now, Neale O'Neil! you know very well," said Tess, reprovingly, "that the Romans aren't in this play at all, and there will be no dead to carry out."

"Buzz! buzz! buzz-z-z-z!" crooned Dot, rocking her Alice-doll to sleep.

"Somebody'll slap at that bumblebee and try to kill it, if it doesn't look out," promised Agnes, pouting. "I wish you folks wouldn't talk about the old play. You – make – me – feel – so – bad!"

"You'll feel worse when you see that Trix Severn trying to play Innocent Delight," sniffed Eva Larry, who chanced to be present in the Corner House sitting-room where the discussion was going on.

"I don't suppose she is really bad in it, Eva," Ruth said.

"Not bad? She's – worse!" proclaimed the boisterous one. "Just wait. I know Miss Lederer is heart-broken over her."

"She'll spoil the play, won't she?" asked Tess, the anxious. "I hope I won't spoil it, with my Swiftwing part."

"Oh, you're all right, honey," Agnes assured her. "You know your part already, don't you?"

"Oh, yes. It's not nearly so hard to remember as the sovereigns of England. And that's how I come to get the part of Swiftwing, I guess."

"What is the way?" asked Ruth, curiously.

"She means the reason," Agnes put in, who had lately begun to criticise the family's use of English.

"The reason I got the part?" queried Tess, gravely. "'Cause I could recite the sovereigns of England so well. I guess Miss Pepperill told Professor Ware, and so he gave me the part in the play."

"Of course!" whispered Neale. "Of course, it couldn't be that they gave a certain person her part because, if it hadn't been for her, nobody would ever have thought of having a play for the benefit of the hospital."

"I hope they gave it to her because they believed she was best fitted for the part," said Ruth, placidly.

"Well, believe me!" exclaimed the slangy Eva, "Trix Severn is not fitted for her part. Wait till to-morrow afternoon!"

"I have a good mind not to go to the rehearsal at all," sighed Agnes.

But she did not mean that. If she could not be one of the performers herself, she was eager to see her fellow-pupils try their talents on the stage.

There was no orchestra, of course; but the pianist gave the music cues, and the stage-manager lectured the various choruses and dancers, while Professor Ware put them through their musical parts. Most of the song numbers had become familiar to the young performers. Even Dot Kenway's class went through with their part quite successfully. And if they had all been "buzzing" as indefatigably as the smallest Corner House girl at home and abroad, it was not surprising that they were letter perfect.

The dancing was another matter entirely. To teach a few pupils at a time certain steps, and then to try to combine those companies in a single regiment, each individual of which must keep perfect time, is a greater task than the inexperienced would imagine.

The training of the girls and boys to whom had been assigned the rôles of the more or less important characters in the play, was an unhappy task in some instances. While most children can be taught to sing, and many take naturally to dancing, to instruct them in the mysteries of elocution is a task to try the patience of the angels themselves.

None of the professional principals in the cast were present at this rehearsal save the gracious lady who was to represent The Carnation Countess. She was both cheerful and obliging; but she did lose her temper in one instance and spoke sharply.

A certain portion of the first act had been gone over and over again. It had been wrecked each time by one certain actor. They had left it and gone on with further scenes, and had then gone back to the hard part again. It was no use; the girl who did not express her part properly balked them all.

"I declare, Professor," the professional said tartly, "you must have selected this Innocent Delight with your eyes shut. In the first place, why a brunette when the part calls for a blonde, if any part ever called for one? It distresses me to say it, but if this Innocent Delight is a sample of what your Milton girls can do in a play, you would much better change your plans and put on Puss in Boots, instead of a piece like The Carnation Countess. The former would compass the calibre of your talent, I should say."

"What did I tell you?" hissed Eva in Agnes' ear. "Trix Severn will spoil the whole show!"