Kitabı oku: «Donald and Dorothy», sayfa 6
CHAPTER XII.
A DAY IN NEW YORK
On the next morning, when Donald and Dorothy, very much to their surprise, were advised by their uncle not to go to the Danbys' for the present, Dorry exclaimed, tragically:
"Not even to the Danbys', Uncle! Why, what have they done?"
His reply was far from satisfactory to the young lady.
"Done? Nothing at all, my girl. We'll not keep you in close confinement very long, so you must try to bear your captivity with fortitude. There are worse things, Dot, than being obliged to stay within one's own domain for a few days."
"I know it, Uncle!" said Dorry; then, resolving to be brave and cheerful, she added, with a mischievous laugh: "Wouldn't it be a good plan to tether us in the lot, with Don's pony?"
"Excellent!" replied Uncle. "But, by the way, we need not tether you quite yet. I have business in the city to-morrow, and if you and Donald say yes, it shall be a party of three."
"Oh, indeed we say yes," cried the now happy Dorry. "Shall you be there all day, Uncle?"
"All day, my dear. We shall have plenty of time for sight-seeing."
"Good! good!" and off she ran to tell the glad news to Lydia. "Only think, Liddy! Donald and I are to be all day in New York. Oh, we'll have such a nice time! and I'll buy you the prettiest white apron you ever wore in all your life!"
The new morning, skipping across the sparkling lake, climbed up to Dorry's window and wakened her with its sunny touch.
"Get up, Don," called Dorry, at the same time tapping briskly on her wall. "It's a glorious day!"
No answer. She tapped again.
A gruff, muffled sound was the only response. In a few moments, however, Dorry heard Don's window-blinds fly open with spirit, and she knew that her sisterly efforts to rouse him had not been in vain.
Uncle George was fond of giving pleasant surprises; so, when later they all three were comfortably settled in the rail-car, he remarked carelessly to Dorothy that he thought her idea an excellent one.
"What idea, please, Uncle?"
"Why, don't you remember expressing a wish that you and Don could make Dr. Lane a present before his departure?"
"Oh, yes, Uncle; but I didn't know that you heard me."
Well, the three talked the matter over quite confidentially under the friendly racket of the train, and finally it was decided to present to the good tutor a nice watch, with his name and "From his grateful pupils, Donald and Dorothy," engraved on the inside of the case. Donald had proposed a seal-ring, but Mr. Reed said heartily that while they were about it they might as well make it a watch; and Dorry, in her delight, came near jumping up and hugging her uncle before all the passengers. It is true, she afterwards expressed a wish that they could give Dr. Lane the price of the watch instead; but, finally, they agreed that a gift of money might hurt his feelings, and that after so many months of faithful service some sort of souvenir would be a more fitting token of respect and affection. Yes, all things considered, a watch would be best.
"He hasn't any at all, you know," said Dorry, earnestly, looking from one to the other, "and it must be an awful – I mean a great– inconvenience to him; especially now, when he'll have to be taking medicines every two hours or so, poor man."
Donald smiled; the remark was so like Dorry! But he looked into her grave yet bright young face, with his heart brimful of love for her.
The day in town passed off pleasantly indeed. As Uncle George's business took him to a banker's in Wall Street, the D's enjoyed a walk through that wonderful thoroughfare, where fortunes are said to come and go in an hour, and where every one, in every crowded room of every crowded building, and on almost every foot of the crowded sidewalk, thinks, speaks, and breathes, "Money, money, money!" from morning till night. But Uncle's business was soon despatched; the anxious crowds and the "clerks in cages," as Dorry called the busy workers in the banks, were left behind. Then there were fresh sights to be seen, purchases to be made, and above all, the watch to be selected, – to say nothing of a grand luncheon at Delmonico's, where, under their busy appetites, dainties with Italian and French names became purely American in an incredibly short space of time.
Uncle George delighted in the pleasure of the D's. The more questions they asked, the better he liked it, and the more sure he became that his Don and Dot were the brightest, most intelligent pair of young folk under the sun. In fact, he seemed to enjoy the holiday as heartily as they did, excepting when Dorothy, toward the latter part of the afternoon, surprised him with a blank refusal to go nearly three hundred feet above the street.
You shall hear all about it:
They were homeward bound, – that is to say, they were on their way to the down-town ferry-boat that would carry them to the railroad station, – when Donald suddenly proposed that they should stay over till a later train.
"And suppose we walk on down to Wall Street, Uncle," he continued, "and go into Trinity Church. There's a magnificent view from the spire."
"Yes," was his uncle's rather frightened comment. "But the spire is more than two hundred and eighty feet high. What are you going to do about that?"
"Why, climb up, sir, of course. You know there's a good stairway nearly to the top, perhaps all the way. Anyhow, we can get up there, I know; and Ed Tyler says the view is perfectly stupendous."
"So I've heard," said Uncle, half ready to yield; "and the climb is stupendous too."
"Yes, but you can look down and see the city, and the harbor, and all the shipping, and the East River, and everything. There's an hour to spare yet. We can take it easy. What say you, Uncle?"
"Well, I say yes," said Uncle, with forced heartiness, for he dearly loved to oblige the twins.
Then they turned to Dorry, though it seemed hardly necessary; she always was ready for an adventure. To their surprise, she responded emphatically:
"And I say, please let me wait somewhere till Uncle and you come down again. I don't care to go up."
"Why, Dot, are you tired?" asked her uncle, kindly.
"Oh, no, Uncle, not a bit. But whenever I stand on a high place I always feel just as if I must jump off. Of course, I wouldn't jump, you know, but I don't wish to have the feeling. It's so disagreeable."
"I should think as much," said Donald; but Mr. Reed walked on toward the ferry, silently, with compressed lips and a flushed countenance; he did not even mention the steeple project again.
Meantime the noble old church on Broadway stood calmly overlooking the bustle and hurry of Wall Street, where the "money, money, money" chorus goes on day after day, ceasing only on Sundays and holidays, and when the clustering stars shed their light upon the spire.
"Uncle thinks I'm a goose to have such silly notions," pondered Dorry, taking very long steps so as to keep up with her companions, who, by the way, were taking very short steps to keep pace with Dorry. "But I can't help my feelings. It really is true. I hate to stand on high places, like roofs and precipices." Finally, she spoke:
"Uncle George, didn't you ever hear of other persons having that feeling?"
"What feeling, Dorothy?"
How sternly Mr. Reed said it! Surely he could not blame the poor girl for asking so natural a question as that? No. But the incident had saddened him strangely, and he was unconscious of the severity of his tone, until Dorothy's hesitating manner changed the current of his thoughts.
"Why – why, the – " she began, adding: "Oh, it doesn't matter, Uncle. I suppose I am foolish to ask such questions. But Don is ever so much steadier-headed than I am – aren't you, Don? I do believe he'd like to stand on the top of that telegraph-pole, if he could get there."
"There's no 'if' about that," said Donald, jokingly. "It's a mere question of time. Provided a fellow can climb a pole at all, a little more height makes no difference. Why, if I hadn't on my crack suit, I'd ask you and Uncle to wait and let me have a try at it."
"Oho!" laughed Dorry: "'crack' suit is slang; so is 'have a try'. Five cents apiece. That's ten cents fine for you, sir! Well, we ought to be thankful he hasn't on his old clothes, Uncle! Ahem! The 'crack' would be in the head then, instead of the suit, I'm afraid."
"Poor joke!" retorted Don; "ten cents fine for you, young lady."
Thus the party walked on, the light-hearted D's bantering each other with many laughing sallies, feeling confident that their uncle enjoyed it exceedingly.
And so he did; yet all the while he was thinking:
"Strange! Every day something new – something that reminds me of poor Kate. Now it's this dread of standing on high places; what will it be to-morrow? And yet, as the child herself intimates, many other persons have the same feeling. Now I think upon it, it's the commonest thing in the world."
CHAPTER XIII.
DONALD AND DOROTHY ENTERTAIN FANDY
In a few days after the visit to town, Mr. Reed received a letter, very dingy on the outside and very remarkable within. It was brought by one of the little Danby boys, and it read as follows:
"George Reed Esquir.
"Dear Sir: I take my pen to say that the border left yesterday without notis owin us fur the hole time. He hadent a portmanter nor any luggage except paper collars, which enabeled him to go off without suspition. A tellygram which he forgot and my wife afterward pikt it up said for him to go right to Pensivania old Squir Hinson was dying. It was from a party caling himself Janson K. The border as I aught to enform you has told my children inclooding Francis Ferdinand who bares this letter a cockanbull story about bein related to your honered self by witch we know he was an imposture. I write insted of calling at the house as I am laim from cuttin my foot with an ax yesterday and it dont apear quite cuncistunt to send you a verble message.
"Yours respecfully,"Erasmus Danby.
"Saturday."
"Good!" exclaimed Mr. Reed, drawing a deep sigh of relief as he folded the missive. Then, conscience-smitten at his indifference to the Danby interests, and resolved that, in the end, Mr. Danby should be no loser by "the boarder," he looked toward Master Danby. That young gentleman, dressed in a made-over Sunday suit, still stood hat in hand in the library doorway.
"Is your father badly hurt, my little man?"
"No, sir," repeated Fandy, rapidly, and with a solemn countenance. "His thick boot saved him. The axe fell and cut through down to his skin, and it bled a sight, and 'Mandy 'most fainted, and Ma bandaged it up so tight he hollered a bad word."
"What?"
"Yes, sir. He said 'blazes!' And Ma said for him not to forget hisself if he was hurt, and he said he wouldn't again. And Ma devised him, as Sunday was comin' so soon, to take Saturday, and so give his foot two days to heal, and he's doin' it."
"But 'blazes' isn't a very, very bad word, is it?"
"No, sir, not very wicketly bad. But Pa and Ben mean it instead of swearin' words, and Ma's breaking them of it. Ma's very partic'lar."
"That's right," said Mr. Reed. "So, Master Francis Ferdinand," referring to the letter, "the boarder told you that he was a relation of mine, did he?"
"Yes, sir, but we knew better. He was a bad lot, sir."
"A very bad lot," returned Mr. Reed, much amused.
"Ma said I could stay, sir, if I was asked."
"Very well," said Mr. Reed, smiling down upon the little midget. "You probably will find Donald and Dorothy in the garret."
"Yes, sir!" and off went Fandy with nimble dignity through the hall; then soberly, but still lightly, up the stairs to the landing at the first turn; then rapidly and somewhat noisily across the great square hall on the second story, to the door of the enclosed stair-way, and, finally, with a shrill "whoop!" leaping up two steps at a time, he found himself in the open garret, in the presence of – the family cat!
No Donald or Dorothy was to be seen. Only the cat; and she glared at him with green eyes. Everything up there was as still as death; grim shadows lurked in the recesses and far corners; the window was shaded by some limp garments hanging near it, and now stirring drearily Fandy could chase angry cattle and frighten dogs away from his little sisters, but lonely garrets were quite another matter. Almost any dreadful object could stalk out from behind things in a lonely garret! The boy looked about him in an awe-struck way for an instant, then tore, at break-neck speed, down the stairs, into the broad hall, where Donald, armed like a knight, or so it seemed to the child, met him with a hearty, "Ho, is that you, Fandy Danby? Thought I heard somebody falling. Come right into my room. Dorry and I are practising."
"Praxin' what?" panted the relieved Fandy, hurrying in as he spoke, and looking about him with a delighted, "Oh my!"
Dorothy was a pretty girl at any time, but she certainly looked very pretty indeed as she turned toward the visitor – her bright hair tumbled, her face flushed with exercise, her eyes sparkling merrily. She held a fencing-mask in one hand, and a foil, lightly upraised, in the other.
"Oh, Fandy!" she said, "you are just the one we want. Don is teaching me to fence, and I can't half see how he does it, because I have to wear the mask. Here, let me put it on you – that's a good boy," and she suited the action to the word, laughing at the astonished little face which Fandy displayed through the wire network.
"Now, take the foil! – No, no. In your right hand, so." Then, addressing Donald, she added: "Now he's ready! Fall to, young man!"
"Yes! fall to-o!" shouted Fandy, striking an attitude and catching the spirit of the moment, like the quick little fellow he was. "Fall to-o!"
Donald laughingly parried the small child's valiant but unscientific thrusts, while Dorry looked on in great satisfaction, sure that she now could "catch the idea" perfectly.
No armed chieftain at the head of his clan ever appeared more desperately valiant than Fandy on this occasion.
Fortunately cats can tell no tales.
A very active youngster of eight, with a long foil in his strong little hand, striking right and left regardless of consequences, and leaping from the ground when making a thrust at his opponent's heart, or savagely attempting to rival the hero of Chevy Chase who struck off his enemy's legs, is no mean foe. Donald was a capital fencer; and, well skilled in the tricks of the art, he had a parry for every known thrust. But Fandy's thrusts were unknown. Nothing more original or unexpected could be conceived; and every time Dorry cried "foul!" he redoubled his strokes, taking the word as a sort of applause. For a while, Donald laughed so much that he scarcely could defend himself; but, whenever he found that he was growing short of breath, he would be in earnest just long enough to astonish his belligerent foe. At the moment when that lively young duellist flattered himself that he was doing wonders, and pressing the enemy hard, Donald would stop laughing for a second, make a single sudden pass toward Fandy, with a quick turn of his wrist, and, presto! the eight-year-old's foil, much to his amazement, would leave his hand as if by magic, and go spinning across the floor. But Fandy, utterly unconscious that this unaccountable accident was a stroke of art on Donald's part, was not in the least disconcerted by it.
"Hello!" he would shout, nothing daunted, "I've dropped my soword! Wait a minute. Don't hit me yet!" And then, picking up his weapon, he would renew the attack with all his little might.
At last, Donald, wearying of the sport, relieved himself of his mask and consulted his watch, a massive but trusty silver affair, which had been worn by his father when a boy.
Was Fandy tired? Not a bit. Practice had fired his soul. "Come on, Dorothy!" he cried. "Pull to-o! I mean, fall to-o!"
But Dorry thanked him and declined; whereat a thought struck the young champion. His expression grew fierce and resolute as, seizing the foil with a sterner grip, he turned to Donald.
"There's a cat up stairs. I guess it's a wild-cat. D' YOU WANT IT KILLED?"
"Oh, you little monster!" cried Dorry, rushing to the door and standing with her back against it. "Would you do such a thing as that?"
"I would to d'fend myself," said Fandy, stoutly. "Don't hunters kill tigers?"
"But this isn't a tiger, nor even a wild-cat. It's tame. It's our Nan!"
"Let him go try," spoke up Donald. "He'll get the worst of it."
"Indeed I'll not let him try, either," cried Dorry, still holding her position.
But Fandy already was beginning to cool down. Second thoughts came to his rescue.
"I don't believe in hurtin' tame animals," said he. "It's naughty," and the foil and mask were laid carefully upon the table.
"Who taught you to fight with these things?" he asked Donald in an off-hand way, as though he and Don were about equal in skill, with the great difference that his own power came to him by nature, while Donald's undoubtedly was the result of severe teaching.
"Professor Valerio."
"Oh, did he? I've heard 'Manda talk about him. She says he's the – the – somethingest man in the village. I forget now what she called him. What's those things?" Here the visitor pointed to Don's boxing-gloves.
At any other time Don would have taken them from the wall and explained their use, but it was nearly three o'clock, and this was his fencing-lesson day. So he merely said, "They're boxing-gloves."
"Do you wear 'em?" asked Fandy, looking in a puzzled way, first at the huge things, then at Donald's hands, as if comparing the sizes.
"Yes, when I'm boxing," returned Donald.
"What will you do about your fencing-lesson, Don?" said Dorry. "Do you think Uncle will let you go? We're prisoners, you know."
"Of course he will," replied Donald, taking his hat (he had a mask and foil at the professor's) and preparing to start. "I'm to call for Ed Tyler at three. We'll have rare times to-day; two fellows from town are to be there, – prime fencers, both of them, – and we are to have a fencing match."
"You'll win," said Dorry. "You always do. Ed Tyler says you are the finest fencer he ever saw, excepting Professor Valerio, and he says you beat even the professor sometimes."
"Nonsense!" said Donald, severely, though his face betrayed his pleasure. "Ed Tyler himself's a match for any one."
"What a mutual-admiration society you two are!"
Dorry said this so good-naturedly that Donald could not resent it, and his good-nature made her add:
"Well, I don't care. You're both splendid, if I do say it; and, oh, isn't the professor handsome! He's so straight and tall. Uncle says he's a standing argument against round shoulders."
Dorry had taken a photograph from the table, and had been talking partly to it and partly to Donald. As she laid the picture down again, Fandy stepped up to take a look.
"Who is it?" he asked.
"It's Professor Valerio, Don's fencing-master."
"Whew! See his soword!" exclaimed the small boy, looking at the picture in great admiration. "My, wouldn't I like to fight him!"
"There goes Don," said Dorothy, who by this time was looking out of the window; "Uncle must have consented."
"Consented!" echoed Fandy. "Why, can't Donald go out 'thout askin'? Ben can, and Dan David, too; so can 'Mandy and – Hello, Charity, I'm a-comin'."
This last remark was shouted through the open window, where Dorothy stood waving her hand at the baby.
"Can you come up, Charity?" she cried out.
"No, thank you. Mother said I must hurry back. She wants Fandy."
CHAPTER XIV.
UNCLE GEORGE'S HAPPY THOUGHT
Dr. Lane, made proud and happy by the affection of his bright young pupils, as well as by their beautiful gift, bade farewell to Mr. Reed and the D's, with repeated promises to write in due time and tell them how he liked the sunny South, and how it fared with him.
"I shall like it, I know," he assured them, "and the climate will make me strong and well. Good-by once more, for you see" (here he made a playful show of consulting his watch as he took it proudly from his vest-pocket) "it is precisely six and three-quarter minutes after three, and I must catch the 4.20 train to town. Good-by." But there were more good-byes to come; for Jack had brought the light top-wagon to the door, and Donald and Dorothy insisted upon driving with him and Dr. Lane to the station.
Upon their return, they found their uncle and Liddy engaged in consultation.
The evening came on with change of wind, a dull gray sky and all the unwelcome signs of a long storm.
"I have been thinking," remarked Mr. Reed, while he and the D's were waiting for supper, "that it would be a good idea to have a little fun between times. What say you, my dears?"
The dears looked at each other, and Don asked, "Between what times, Uncle?"
"Why, between the going of our good friend Dr. Lane and the coming of that awful, but as yet unknown personage, the new tutor."
"Oh, yes, Uncle!" cried Dorothy, clapping her hands, "I'm ready for anything. But then," she added, half-playfully, "you forget we're prisoners, like the princes in the Tower!"
"Not prisoners at all now," he exclaimed, "unless the storm should prove your jailer. Circumstances have changed; and you are free as air."
"Let me see, what shall we have," he went on, taking no notice of the D's' surprise at this happy turn of affairs, and speaking slowly and deliberately – just as if he had not settled that matter with Liddy some days ago! – "Let me see. What shall it be? Ah, I have a happy thought! We'll try a house-picnic!"
"What's that, Uncle?" asked Dorry, half-suspiciously.
"You don't know what a house-picnic is!" exclaimed Uncle George with pretended astonishment. "Well, upon my word!"
It did not occur to him to mention that the idea of a house-picnic was purely an invention of his own; nor did he suspect that it was one which could have found favor only in the brain of a doting and rich bachelor uncle.
"Now, Uncle, do – don't!" coaxed Dorry; and Don echoed, laughingly: "Yes, Uncle, do – don't!" But he was as eager as she to hear more.
"Why, my dears, a house-picnic means this: It means the whole house thrown open from ten in the morning till ten at night. It means fun in the garret, music and games in the parlor, story-telling in odd corners, candy-pulling in the kitchen, sliding-curtains, tinkling bells, and funny performances in the library; it means almost any right thing within bounds that you and about thirty other youngsters choose to make it, with the house thrown open to you for the day."
"No out-of-doors at all?" asked Donald, doubtfully, but with sparkling eyes.
"Oh, yes, a run or two when you wish, for fresh air's sake; but from present appearances, there'll be drizzling days all the week, I suspect, and that will make your house-picnic only the pleasanter."
"So it will! How splendid!" cried Dorry. "Jack can take the big covered wagon and go for the company, rain or not, while Don and you and I plan the fun. We'll try all sorts of queer out-of-the-way things. Good for the house-picnic!"
"Good for the house-picnic!" shouted Donald, becoming almost as enthusiastic as Dorry.
"Oh, Uncle," she went on, "you are too lovely! How did you happen to think of it?"
"Well, you see," said Uncle, with the glow-look, as Liddy called it, coming to his face, "I thought my poor princes in the Tower had been rather good and patient under the persecutions of their cruel Uncle Gloucester, and so Liddy and I decided they should have a little frolic by way of a change."
"Has he gone from the neighborhood, I wonder?" thought Donald (strange to say, neither he nor Dorry had known that the Danbys' boarder and the "long, lank man" were the same), but he said aloud: "We're ever so glad to hear it, Uncle. Now, whom shall we invite?"
"Oh, do hear that 'whom'!" exclaimed Dorry, in well-feigned disgust, while Don went on gayly:
"Let's have plenty of girls this time. Don't you say so, Dorry?"
"Oh, yes, let's have fifteen girls and fifteen boys. Let's invite all the Danbys; may we, Uncle? It would be such a treat to them; you know they never have an opportunity to go to a party."
"Just as you please, my girl; but will not ten of them be rather a large proportion out of thirty?"
"Oh, no, Uncle dear. They can't all come – not the very littlest ones, any way. At any rate, if Don's willing, I'd like to ask them."
"Agreed!" assented Don.
"The ayes have it!" said Uncle George. "Now let us go to supper."
Dorry ran on ahead, so as to have a word with Liddy on the delightful subject of house-picnics; but Don, lingering, startled his uncle with a whispered:
"I say, Uncle, has Jack thrashed that fellow?"
"I have heard nothing to that effect," was the reply. "The man was called away suddenly."
"Oh," said Donald, in a disappointed tone, "I hoped you had given him his walking papers."
"I have, perhaps," returned Mr. Reed, smiling gravely, "but not in the way you supposed."
Don looked up, eagerly, hoping to hear more, but his uncle, without another word, led the way into the supper-room.
