Part 1 (2/2)
”No need, no need,” he objected. ”This here co't don't leak a mite.
Finest yarn-no more of this kind. I fetched it clear from Syracuse,” he announced almost reverently.
”But you had better come inside,” warned Aunt Mary, ”the rain gets in here when the wind turns.”
”Just as you say, Miss Allen. Fact is, I never say no to a sit in the parlor. I say to the boys, boys I say; if you want a real good comfortable chin, in a chair that's big enough for you, make it over at Henry Allen's place.”
Graciously acknowledging the compliment, Aunt Mary and Jane led the old man into the living room he was wont to call the parlor.
”You are always welcome, Uncle Todd,” said the lady.
”How about the boys, Auntie?” teased Jane. ”Especially the one who plays the uke. I think he is wonderful. You should see him performing in the corral the other night. My, but he did swing that la.s.so!”
”You mean the fellar with the long, lanky build? He looks like he's been stretched out when he was wet!” put in Uncle Todd. ”Yes, I heard him with that there fiddle box. 'Tain't more'n a mite of a box, with a couple of strings, but it kin keep a fellar awake, I tell you. There's a tree near my hut with a regular rickin' chair, made right in it, and them there boys like that place for their evenin's. Well, Uncle Todd goes to bed earlier than the young fellars and-well, the chap with the fiddle sure does love to tune up,” and the usual chuckle ended his quaint statement.
”But I really want to know about the auction, Uncle Todd,” interrupted Miss Allen. ”I am so sorry Welche's folks had to give the old place up at last. Did they sell everything?”
”Couple times over. Never see such shouting and jumpin'. Why the Deeny girls, them old maids as never twisted their stiff necks to bow to man or beast in these parts, them was the wurst. They just seemed to want to buy every thin' and carry it away in their old barouche.” The old man pounded his cane on the buffalo rug in sheer contempt. ”Like as if they was goin' to set up a first cla.s.s boardin' house hotel.”
”Oh, you know, Uncle,” enlightened Aunt Mary. ”They are related to the Welches.”
”Eggzactly. I recall. More reason why they should act decent like.
There was Mother Welch, out back in the barn, her ap.r.o.n most pokin' her eyes out at every yell from old Sheriff Nailor.”
”Now, I am just going to leave you two and the auction,” spoke up Jane, ”while I devour the delectable news in my letter. Did you ever have a letter too good to read, Uncle Todd?”
”Yes, girl, I know that feelin'. Like you hate to have it over because you want to have it on. Well, go to it, Janie, and don't swallow too much of that yellar paper. Looks poison like to me.”
Jane crushed the yellow envelope to her breast, in sheer delight. Then she snapped up a knitting needle to open the cherished missive.
”You know, Auntie,” she whispered, ”this will tell us who won dadykin's scholars.h.i.+p.” Then raising her voice to Uncle Todd's inquiring eyes, ”Daddy gave a scholars.h.i.+p to my college, Unk,” she told him. ”Do you suppose some very nice, prim, prudy, who took the home correspondence course between making sister Julia pinafores and Jacob's jumpers, has won it? Of course, I respect home cooking girls, and particularly admire the devotees of domestic science, but Grade B from the Branchville would be all out of luck in the Wellington routine. Bye-bye now, and be good. Uncle Todd, don't make Aunt Mary envious with your report of auction bargains. She is always and ever objecting to catalogue prices.”
With a gay wave of the letter, in which delight was momentarily suppressed, Jane flitted from the room to the porch, where now the last drops of the afternoon shower were reluctantly counting their totals.
She dropped into the big wicker chair near the wisteria arch, and curled up like a kitten, in the way girls have of ”fairly eating” a letter.
While she is thus perusing this perfectly private communication let us present Jane Allen formally to our readers.
In the first volume, ”Jane Allen of the Sub-Team,” we met her as a girl Solitaire. She had been reared on a ranch, without girl companions, and had never realized that tolerance which is necessary in the big world of boys and girls. But once at the Eastern college we like her best in her brave battles against the limits of conventions she finds there, and we cannot but admire the spirit with which she holds out, just long enough, and gives in just in time, to save situations. Perhaps the true deep affection, so soon shown for Jane by her cla.s.smates of the freshmen, is the best testimonial to her glory as Jane Allen Sub. Jane had for a time ignored the tame basketball sport, delighting in her stolen rides on Firefly (for her indulgent father had sent the saddle horse to school too with Jane as he expressed it), but finally acknowledging there was something worth while in the game Jane fought for a place on the team, and she won it triumphantly. The opposition tried many turns both fair and foul to defeat her, but Jane won out; with an interesting flourish.
Not less attractive was she as Jane Allen, Right Guard, in the second volume of the series. Girls can be very small sometimes, even behind the sheltering walls of important colleges, and in this story we were introduced to a set of ”peculiars” commonly called ”sn.o.bs,” who spent a lot of perfectly good time trying to spoil Jane's ever-growing popularity at Wellington. Just how flatly they failed makes a rather thrilling tale. Haven't you read it? You will love the way Jane rescues Norma, the girl working her way through college, putting down scheme after scheme, concocted just to embarra.s.s the poorer girl. Jane found a legitimate outlet for her talent as a joy maker, and a gloom crusher.
Even taking it moderately, one is enthralled with her genius in making and keeping the best of friends, and Judith Stearns her ”best,” runs a close second with Jane in the popularity contest of the second volume.
CHAPTER II-TELLTALE TIDINGS
The letter which Jane had so counted on, had just now shed its delightful news, and at last she knew who had won the scholars.h.i.+p.
Winding herself tighter still in the big wicker chair, so that she seemed a veritable circle of pink organdie, she snuggled the yellow pages closer in her prettily browned hands, read a few lines over for the n'th time and finally, with a spring and a sprint, made her way back to the living room.
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