The Corner House Girls Growing Up

by Grace Brooks Hill

  CHAPTER XXII

  THE GREEN UMBRELLA AGAIN

  "Boom! Boom! Boom-te-boom!" rolled the solemn drums, and Scalawag in asort of decorous dance, keeping perfect time, insisted upon followingthe procession.

  "My goodness me, Sammy Pinkney!" gasped Tess. "This is awful!Everybody's laughing at us! _Can't_ you turn him around?"

  "Oh, dear! He won't turn around, or do anything else, till that bandstops," declared Sammy. "This is what Neale meant. He thinks he's in thecircus again and that he must march to the music."

  "I do declare," murmured Dot, "this pony of ours is just as hard to make_stop_ as Mrs. Heard's Jonas-pony is hard to make _go_. I wish it wasJonas we had here now, don't you, Tess? He'd be glad to stop."

  "And Ruthie told us to come right back 'cause there's going to beice-cream, and we can scrape the paddles," moaned Tess. "Dear me! we'llbe a _nawful_ long time going out to this fun'ral!"

  The situation was becoming tragic. The thought of the pleasures ofscraping the ice-cream freezer paddles was enough to make Sammy turn todesperate invention for release.

  "Here, Tess," he commanded. "You hold these reins and don't you let 'emget under Scalawag's heels."

  "Oh, Sammy! what are you going to do?" queried Tess excitedly, butobeying him faithfully.

  "I'm going to slide out behind and run around and stop him."

  "Oh, Sammy! You can't!" Dot cried. "He'll just walk right over you. Seehim!"

  Everybody along the street was laughing now. It really was a funny sightto see that solemnly stepping pony right behind the line of carriages.Sammy would not be deterred. He scrambled out of the phaeton and ranaround to Scalawag's head.

  "Whoa! Stop, you old nuisance!" ejaculated the boy, seizing the bridleand trying to halt the pony.

  But the latter knew his business. He had been taught to keep up hismarch as long as the band played. If it had suddenly changed to a livelytune, Scalawag would have stood right up on his hind legs and pawed theair!

  Therefore, the pony had no idea of stopping while the band played on. Hepushed ahead and Sammy had to keep stepping backward or be trod on. Itwas a funny sight indeed to see the small boy try to hold back the fatpony that plowed along just as though Sammy had no more weight than afly.

  "Oh Sammy! he'll step on you," Tess cried.

  "Oh, Sammy! he'll--he'll bite you," gasped Dot.

  "Oh, Sammy!" bawled a delighted youngster from the sidewalk, "he'llswaller you whole!"

  "Look out for that pony, boy!" called an old man.

  "What's the kid trying to do--wrastle him?" laughed another man.

  Tess' cheeks were very, very red. Sammy wished that the street mightopen and swallow him. Dot was too young to feel the smart of ridiculequite so keenly. She hugged up the Alice-doll to her bosom and squealedjust as loud as she could.

  After all, Dot was the one who saved the situation. Her shrill cry washeard by an old gentleman in the last carriage. He was a very grandlooking old gentleman indeed, for when he stood up to look down upon theobstinate pony and the small boy struggling with him, as well as the twolittle girls in the basket phaeton, they saw that he had medals andribbons on his breast and a broad sash across the front of his coat.

  "Halt!" commanded General MacKenzie, and although he was at the rear ofthe procession instead of the front, the word was passed swiftly alongto the band, and everybody stood still, while the droning of theinstruments ceased.

  Instantly Scalawag stopped keeping time, and shook his head and coughed.Sammy had pulled at his bit so hard that it interfered with the pony'sbreathing.

  "What under the sun's the matter with that little pony?" demanded theveteran officer, putting on his eyeglasses the better to see Scalawagand the whole outfit.

  "If you pl-please, sir," stammered Sammy, "he belongs to a circusand--and he just can't make his feet behave when he hears a band."

  "And do you children belong to a circus, too?" asked the old gentlemanin vast surprise.

  "Oh, no, sir," Tess put in. "And Scalawag doesn't belong to one now. Buthe can't forget. If you'll have your band wait, please, until we candrive up this other street, Scalawag will forget all about it."

  "Please do, sir," begged Dot. "For we don't really want to go to theseminary; we go to school here in Milton," which peculiar association ofideas rather stagged General MacKenzie.

  However, amid the subdued hilarity of the people on the sidewalks, Sammymanaged at last to turn Scalawag's head and drive him up Buchan Terrace,and out of hearing of the droning of the band when the funeralprocession started again. But it certainly was a memorable occasion forthe little mistresses of Scalawag and for Sammy.

  Thereafter, when they were driving out, they were continually on thewatch for a band, or any other music; and Dot even feared that the oldman on the corner who attracted attention to his infirmities, as well asto the pencils he sold, with a small organette, would play some tunethat would remind Scalawag of his circus days.

  Neale O'Neil would sometimes bring the pony around to the front of thehouse and have Agnes start a band record on the music machine in theparlor. Immediately Scalawag would try to go through his old tricks tothe delight of the neighborhood children.

  "Well! it doesn't much matter, I suppose," Ruth sighed. "Every day iscircus day at the old Corner House. We have gained a reputation fordoing queer things, and living not at all like other folks. I wonderthat nice people here in Milton allow their children to play with ourlittle girls."

  "Hech!" exclaimed Mrs. MacCall. "I should like to know why not? They'rethe best behaved bairns anywhere, if their heids are fu' o' maggots,"using the word, however, in the meaning of "crotchets" or "queer ideas."

  Ruth was no "nagger." She was strict about some things with the smallerones; but she never interfered with their plays or amusements as long asthey were safe and did not annoy anybody. And with their multitude ofpets and toys, to say nothing of dolls galore, Tess and Dot Kenway wereas happy little girls as could be found in a day's march.

  Besides, there was always Sammy Pinkney to give them a jolt of surprise;although Sammy's mother said he was behaving this term almost like anangel and she feared a relapse of the fever he had suffered the springbefore.

  Neale O'Neil felt of the boy's shoulder blades solemnly and pronouncedno sign yet of sprouting wings.

  "You are in no danger of dying young because of your goodness strikingin, Sammy," he said. "Don't lose heart."

  "Aw--_you_!" grunted Sammy.

  Ruth, seeing the practicability of it, was taking lessons in driving theautomobile and was to get a license shortly. Agnes felt quite put outthat she was not allowed to do likewise; but to tell the truth the olderfolk feared to let the fly-away sister handle the car without Neale, orsomebody more experienced, in the seat with her.

  "I don't care, Neale has killed a hen, scared innumerable dogs sleepingin the road-dust, and come near running down Mrs. Privett. You know hehas! I believe I wouldn't do _much_ worse."

  Ruth pointed out that she need not do much worse in Mrs. Privett's caseto have a very bad accident indeed.

  "The difference between almost running a person down, and actuallyhitting him, can be measured only before a magistrate," the oldersister said.

  Ruth took her lessons from the man at the garage after luncheon, for shedid not attend school in the afternoon this term, taking the few studiesshe desired in the morning.

  One afternoon she drove over to Mr. Howbridge's house for tea, and asthe car jounced over the railroad crossing at Pleasant Street shesuddenly spied a familiar looking object bobbing along the sidewalk. Itwas a huge green umbrella, and beneath it was the rather shamblingfigure of the old gentleman whom she had saved from possible accident atthis very crossing some weeks before.

  He was dressed quite as he had been when Ruth first saw him. If he sawher, the car passed so rapidly that she did not see him bow. At Mr.Howbridge's house she lingered for some time, for the lawyer alwaysenjoyed these little visits of his oldest ward.


  Ruth did not return to the old Corner House until almost time for thechildren to come home from school. Mrs. MacCall was in an excited statewhen the oldest Corner House girl appeared.

  "Hech, ma lassie!" cried the housekeeper. "Ye hae fair missed thecrankiest old body I've set my eyes on in mony a day!"

  "Whom do you mean, Mrs. Mac?" asked Ruth, in surprise.

  "Let me tell 't ye! I should be fu' used to quare bodies coomin' here,for 'tis you bairns bring 'em. But this time 'twas ane o' _your_friends, Ruthie--"

  "But who was he?"

  "Fegs! He'd never tell 't me," Mrs. MacCall declared, shaking her head."He juist kep' sayin' he had a reason for wishin' tae see ye. Ye couldnae tell from lookin' into his winter-apple face, whether 'twas guidnews or bad he brought."

  "Oh, Mrs. Mac!" cried Ruth suddenly, "did he carry a green umbrella!"

  "He did juist that," declared the woman, vigorously nodding. "And a mostdisreputable umbrella it looked tae be. 'Gin ye judged the mon by hisumbrella, ye'd think he was come tae buy rags."

  "Isn't he a character?" laughed Ruth.

  "He's as inquisitive as a chippin'-sparrow," said the housekeeper, withsome disgust. "He wanted tae know ev'rything that had happened tae yesince ye was weaned."

  "Oh, dear! I'm rather glad I wasn't here then."

  "Aw, but fash not yerself he'll nae be back. For he wull."

  "No!"

  "Yes, I tell 't ye. I seen it in the gleam of his hard eye when he went.I gave him nae satisfaction as tae when ye might be home, not knowin'who he was nor what he wanted o' ye."

  "Oh, Mrs. MacCall, don't you remember?" and Ruth recounted the incidentat the railroad crossing nearly a month before.

  "Huh, that's why he was so cur'ous, then. You saved his life," went onthe housekeeper dropping the broad Scotch burr, now that her excitementwas cooling.

  "I don't know that I did. But perhaps he came to thank me for what Itried to do."

  "It seems as though he must want to know every little thing about you,"the housekeeper declared. "And how he could corner you with hisquestions! He should ha' made a lawyer-body. He made me tell him morethan I should about the family's private affairs, I have no doot."

  "Oh, Mrs Mac! what do you suppose he wants!"

  "To see you, belike. And he'll be back again."

  "Goodness! I'm not sure I want to talk with him. He looked very odd tome that day I met him. And so cross!"

  "No doot of it. He's an ugly looking man. And from his speech it's easyto see he's no friend of womenkind."

  "He must be like that Neighbor Cecile was telling us about," sighed Ruthand with that dropped the subject of the strange old man with the greenumbrella.

  Ruth had heard from Cecile Shepard since she had gone back to thepreparatory school--in fact, had received two letters. They were notsuch bright epistles as Cecile usually wrote; but they were full of herbrother. Not that Cecile mentioned Luke's differences with Neighbor, orthe reason thereof; but she seemed unable to keep from writing aboutLuke.

  Ruth was secretly as anxious to hear about the young man as his sisterwas to write about him.

  Ruth was heart-hungry. She felt that Luke might have taken her into hisconfidence to a greater degree; and yet she suspected why he had notdone so.

  Mr. Howbridge's talk of dowries for the sisters was always in Ruth'smind. Of course, she knew that the Stower estate was rapidly increasingin value. In a few years property that Peter Stower had purchased for asong would be worth a fortune. The Kenways were likely to be very rich.

  What if Luke Shepard had no money when he graduated from college? Thatseemed a very small thing to Ruth. She would have plenty when she cameof age, and why could not her money set Luke up in some line of businessthat he was fitted for?

  Yet, there was a whisper in her heart that told Ruth that was not theright way to begin life. If Luke was ambitious he must find a betterway. Nor could she help him, it seemed, in the least, for the young manhad given her no right to do so.

  "Oh, dear me," Ruth finally decided, "it is awfully hard being agirl--sometimes!"

  No such questions and doubts troubled Agnes and Neale. Their coursethrough life seemed a smooth road before them. They told each othertheir aspirations, and everything they planned to do in the future--thatglorious future after school should end--had a part for each in it.

  Neale O'Neil did not hope to do anything in life which would shut Agnesout; and the girl's thought marched side-by-side with his intentions.Everything hereafter was to be in partnership.

  "For you know, Neale, no matter what Ruth says, I really couldn't getalong without you."

  "Crickey!" exclaimed the boy, "this old world certainly would be whatUnc' Rufus calls 'de valley ob tribulation' if you weren't right herewith me."

  She smiled upon him gloriously, and used that emphatic ejaculation thatalways horrified Ruth:

  "You bet!"

  "You're a good pal, Aggie," said the boy, with feeling.

  "And since that morning I first saw you and we both tumbled out of thepeach tree," Agnes declared solemnly--"do you remember, Neale?"

  "I should say I did!"

  "Well, I _thought_ you were awfully nice then. _Now_, I know you are."

  So, perhaps Agnes and Neale were growing up, too.