Part 15 (1/2)
”It isn't quite fair,” said good Miss Craydocke. ”We were to go back to the old, simple fas.h.i.+ons of things; and here you are beginning over again already with sumptuous inventions. It's the very way it came about before, till it was all spoilt.”
”No,” said Uncle t.i.tus, stoutly. ”It's only 'Old _and_ New,'--the very selfsame good old notions brought to a little modern perfection. They're not French flummery, either; and there's not a drop of gin, or a flavor of prussic acid, or any other abominable chemical, in one of those contrivances. They're as innocent as they look; good honest mint and spice and checkerberry and lemon and rose. I know the man that made 'em!”
Helena Ledwith began to think that the first person, singular or plural, might have a good time; but that awful third! Helena's ”they” was as potent and tremendous as her mother's.
”It's nice,” she said to Hazel; ”but they don't have inch things. I never saw them at a party. And they don't play games; they always dance. And it's broad, hot daylight; and--you haven't asked a single boy!”
”Why, I don't know any! Only Jimmy Scarup; and I guess he'd rather play ball, and break windows!”
”Jimmy Scarup!” And Helena turned away, hopeless of Hazel's comprehending.
But ”they” came; and ”they” turned right into ”we.”
It was not a party; it was something altogether fresh and new; the house was a new, beautiful place; it was like the country. And Aspen Street, when you got down there, was so still and shady and sweet smelling and pleasant. They experienced the delight of finding out something.
Miss Craydocke and Hazel set them at it,--their good time; they had planned it all out, and there was no stiff, shy waiting. They began, right off, with the ”m.u.f.fin Man.” Hazel danced up to Desire:--
”O, _do_ you know the m.u.f.fin Man, The m.u.f.fin Man, the m.u.f.fin Man?
O, _do_ you know the m.u.f.fin Man That lives in Drury Lane?”
”O, yes, I know the m.u.f.fin Man, The m.u.f.fin Man, the m.u.f.fin Man, O, yes, I know the m.u.f.fin Man That lives in Drury Lane.”
And so they danced off together:--
”Two of us know the m.u.f.fin Man, The m.u.f.fin Man, the m.u.f.fin Man, Two of us know the m.u.f.fin Man That lives in Drury Lane.”
And then they besieged Miss Craydocke; and then the three met Ada Geoffrey, just as she had come in and spoken to Diana and Mrs.
Ripwinkley; and Ada had caught the refrain, and responded instantly; and _four_ of them knew the m.u.f.fin Man.
”I know they'll think it's common and queer, and they'll laugh to-morrow,” whispered Helena to Diana, as Hazel drew the lengthening string to Dorris Kincaid's corner and caught her up; but the next minute they were around Helena in her turn, and they were laughing already, with pure glee; and five faces bent toward her, and five voices sang,--
”O, _don't_ you know the m.u.f.fin Man?”
And Helena had to sing back that she did; and then the six made a perfect snarl around Mrs. Ripwinkley herself, and drew her in; and then they all swept off and came down across the room upon Mr.
Oldways, who muttered, under the singing, ”seven women! Well, the Bible says so, and I suppose it's come!” and then he held out both hands, while his hard face unbent in every wrinkle, with a smile that overflowed through all their furrowed channels, up to his very eyes; like some sparkling water that must find its level; and there were eight that knew the m.u.f.fin Man.
So nine, and ten, and up to fifteen; and then, as their line broke away into fragments, still breathless with fun, Miss Craydocke said,--her eyes br.i.m.m.i.n.g over with laughing tears, that always came when she was gay,--
”There, now! we all know the 'm.u.f.fin Man;' therefore it follows, mathematically, I believe, that we must all know each other. I think we'll try a sitting-down game next. I'll give you all something.
Desire, you can tell them what to do with it, and Miss Ashburne shall predict me consequences.”
So they had the ”Presentation Game;” and the gifts, and the dispositions, and the consequences, when the whispers were over, and they were all declared aloud, were such hits and jumbles of sense and nonsense as were almost too queer to have been believed.
”Miss Craydocke gave me a b.u.t.ter firkin,” said Mrs. Ripwinkley. ”I was to put it in the parlor and plant vanilla beans in it; and the consequence would be that Birnam Wood would come to Dunsinane.”
”She gave me a wax doll,” said Helena. ”I was to buy it a pair of high-heeled boots and a chignon; and the consequence would be that she would have to stand on her head.”
”She gave me,” said Mr. Oldways, ”an iron spoon. I was to deal out sugar-plums with it; and the consequence would be that you would all go home.”