Part 11 (1/2)

What is it?”

”What's the reason we can't get little Judy a dress over to Louisville? Us old men can all chip in an' it wouldn't amount to mor'n a good nights losin' at poker.”

”She's right proud. Do you reckon she'd get her back up and decline to accept it?” asked Judge Middleton.

”Not Judith. She's not the kind to be hunting slights, but suppose we send it to her anonymous like and pretend her fairy G.o.dmother had something to do with it,” suggested Pete.

”And who's gonter buy it? We don't want any of the Ryeville women in on this,” said Colonel Crutcher.

”I got another idee,” said Pete. ”Let's get the motormen to get their wives down at the other end to shop for us. I was talkin' to one only this mornin' an' he said Miss Judy cooked the best dinner he ever et an' I'm pretty sure they'd be glad to help us out.”

”But they might help us out too gaudy like.”

”Gee, they couldn't go wrong if we told them it must be white--white with a blue sash.”

”I'd like it to be white tarlatan or something thinnish and gauzy like and kind of stand-outy without being stand-offish.”

”And I think a few gold beads, kind of tr.i.m.m.i.n.g it up, would be becoming to our debutante.”

”And we ought to get her slippers and stockings to match.”

”How about the size?”

That was a stumper until Pete Barnes had another idee, and that was that old Otto Schmidt, the trusty shoe repairer of Ryeville, might know. He did. In fact, even then he had a pair of Judith's shoes to be half soled.

”She's schlim and long,” said Otto, ”five and a half touble A.”

So five and a half double A it was. ”And make 'em gold,” suggested the Colonel.

The motorman approached was delighted to undertake the commission. ”My wife's pretty grateful not to have to be worrying herself to death about my supper and she'll be tickled stiff to have a chance to go spend some money even if it isn't for herself. She used to be saleslady in the biggest shop in Louisville, before she married me.

She's just about Miss Buck's size, too,” he said.

Minute directions were given the kindly motorman as to the dress being white and thinnish and standoutish, with a blue sash and gold bead tr.i.m.m.i.n.g, the slippers long and slim and gold.

”A blue ribbin for her hair, if you don't mind, too,” said Pete Barnes. ”I been always a holdin' that there ain't anything so tasty as a blue ribbin in a gal's hair.”

”They don't wear ribbons in their hair any more,” said Major Fitch. ”I believe they all are using tucking combs nowadays.”

”Well, then, I give in. Our gal must be stylish, but I'd sure like a blue ribbin in her hair. Get her a good tuckin' comb then.”

The ball was to be on Friday. Judith's mind was so full of it she found it difficult to attend to her many self-imposed duties.

”Actually, Mumsy, I tried to sell anti-kink to a bald-headed white man. I really believe I shall have to give up my peddling job until after the ball is over,” she said.

Mrs. Buck had entered only half-heartedly into the plan of going to the ball, and had agreed to go only because Judith had pleaded so earnestly with her. Her best and only black silk must be taken out and sunned and aired and pressed.

”I declare, I've had it so long the styles have caught up with it again,” she exclaimed.

”Well, I wish I could say the same for my white muslin,” sighed Judith. ”I've a great mind to wear it hind part before, to make a little change in it. Anyhow, I intend to have just as good a time in it as though it were white chiffon, embroidered in gold beads. My white pumps aren't so bad looking. I'll take time to-morrow to shampoo my hair. Do you know, Mumsy, Cousin Ann Peyton's wig is just the color of my hair. Poor old lady! Pity she can't lose it!”

It was Thursday night. The day's work was over, the last dish from the motormen's supper washed and put away and Mrs. Buck and her daughter were having a quiet chat, seated on the side porch. It was a pleasant spot, homelike and comfortable. It was on this porch that the summer activities of the farm were carried on. Here they prepared fruit for preserving and even preserved, as a kerosene stove behind a screen in the corner gave evidence. Here they churned, in a yellow cradle churn, and worked the b.u.t.ter.