Little Men: Life at Plumfield With Jo's Boys
sanded, the molasses watered, the butter mixed with lard, and things of
that kind, and labored under the delusion that it was all a proper part
of the business. His stock in trade was of a different sort, but he made
as much as he could out of every worm he sold, and always got the
best of the bargain when he traded with the boys for string, knives,
fish-hooks, or whatever the article might be. The boys who all had
nicknames, called him “Skinflint,” but Jack did not care as long as the
old tobacco-pouch in which he kept his money grew heavier and heavier.
He established a sort of auction-room, and now and then sold off all the
odds and ends he had collected, or helped the lads exchange things with
one another. He got bats, balls, hockey-sticks, etc., cheap, from one
set of mates, furbished them up, and let them for a few cents a time to
another set, often extending his business beyond the gates of Plumfield
in spite of the rules. Mr. Bhaer put a stop to some of his speculations,
and tried to give him a better idea of business talent than mere
sharpness in overreaching his neighbors. Now and then Jack made a bad
bargain, and felt worse about it than about any failure in lessons or
conduct, and took his revenge on the next innocent customer who came
along. His account-book was a curiosity; and his quickness at figures
quite remarkable. Mr. Bhaer praised him for this, and tried to make his
sense of honesty and honor as quick; and, by and by, when Jack found
that he could not get on without these virtues, he owned that his
teacher was right.
Cricket and football the boys had of course; but, after the stirring
accounts of these games in the immortal “Tom Brown at Rugby,” no feeble
female pen may venture to do more than respectfully allude to them.
Emil spent his holidays on the river or the pond, and drilled the elder
lads for a race with certain town boys, who now and then invaded
their territory. The race duly came off, but as it ended in a general
shipwreck, it was not mentioned in public; and the Commodore had serious
thoughts of retiring to a desert island, so disgusted was he with his
kind for a time. No desert island being convenient, he was forced
to remain among his friends, and found consolation in building a
boat-house.
The little girls indulged in the usual plays of their age, improving
upon them somewhat as their lively fancies suggested. The chief and
most absorbing play was called “Mrs. Shakespeare Smith;” the name
was provided by Aunt Jo, but the trials of the poor lady were quite
original. Daisy was Mrs. S. S., and Nan by turns her daughter or a
neighbor, Mrs. Giddygaddy.
No pen can describe the adventures of these ladies, for in one short
afternoon their family was the scene of births, marriages, deaths,
floods, earthquakes, tea-parties, and balloon ascensions. Millions of
miles did these energetic women travel, dressed in hats and habits never
seen before by mortal eye, perched on the bed, driving the posts like
mettlesome steeds, and bouncing up and down till their heads spun. Fits
and fires were the pet afflictions, with a general massacre now and then
by way of change. Nan was never tired of inventing fresh combinations,
and Daisy followed her leader with blind admiration. Poor Teddy was a
frequent victim, and was often rescued from real danger, for the excited
ladies were apt to forget that he was not of the same stuff their
longsuffering dolls. Once he was shut into the closet for a dungeon, and
forgotten by the girls, who ran off to some out-of-door game. Another
time he was half drowned in the bath-tub, playing be a “cunning little
whale.” And, worst of all, he was cut down just in time after being hung
up for a robber.
But the institution most patronized by all was the Club. It had no other
name, and it needed none, being the only one in the neighborhood. The
elder lads got it up, and the younger were occasionally admitted if
they behaved well. Tommy and Demi were honorary members, but were always
obliged to retire unpleasantly early, owing to circumstances over
which they had no control. The proceedings of this club were somewhat
peculiar, for it met at all sorts of places and hours, had all manner
of queer ceremonies and amusements, and now and then was broken up
tempestuously, only to be re-established, however, on a firmer basis.
Rainy evenings the members met in the schoolroom, and passed the time in
games: chess, morris, backgammon, fencing matches, recitations, debates,
or dramatic performances of a darkly tragical nature. In summer the barn
was the rendezvous, and what went on there no uninitiated mortal
knows. On sultry evenings the Club adjourned to the brook for aquatic
exercises, and the members sat about in airy attire, frog-like and cool.
On such occasions the speeches were unusually eloquent, quite flowing,
as one might say; and if any orator's remarks displeased the audience,
cold water was thrown upon him till his ardor was effectually quenched.
Franz was president, and maintained order admirably, considering the
unruly nature of the members. Mr. Bhaer never interfered with their
affairs, and was rewarded for this wise forbearance by being invited now
and then to behold the mysteries unveiled, which he appeared to enjoy
much.
When Nan came she wished to join the Club, and caused great excitement
and division among the gentlemen by presenting endless petitions, both
written and spoken, disturbing their solemnities by insulting them
through the key-hole, performing vigorous solos on the door, and
writing up derisive remarks on walls and fences, for she belonged to
the “Irrepressibles.” Finding these appeals in vain, the girls, by the
advice of Mrs. Jo, got up an institution of their own, which they called
the Cosy Club. To this they magnanimously invited the gentlemen whose
youth excluded them from the other one, and entertained these favored
beings so well with little suppers, new games devised by Nan, and other
pleasing festivities, that, one by one, the elder boys confessed a
desire to partake of these more elegant enjoyments, and, after much
consultation, finally decided to propose an interchange of civilities.
The members of the Cosy Club were invited to adorn the rival
establishment on certain evenings, and to the surprise of the gentlemen
their presence was not found to be a restraint upon the conversation
or amusement of the regular frequenters; which could not be said of all
Clubs, I fancy. The ladies responded handsomely and hospitably to these
overtures of peace, and both institutions flourished long and happily.
CHAPTER IX. DAISY'S BALL
“Mrs. Shakespeare Smith would like to have Mr. John Brooke, Mr. Thomas
Bangs, and Mr. Nathaniel Blake to come to her ball at three o'clock
today.
“P.S. Nat must bring his fiddle, so we can dance, and all the boys must
be good, or they cannot have any of the nice things we have cooked.”
This elegant invitation would, I fear, have been declined, but for the
hint given in the last line of the postscript.
“They have been cooking lots of goodies, I smelt 'em. Let's go,” said
Tommy.
“We needn't stay after the feast, you know,” added Demi.
“I never went to a ball. What do you have to do?” asked Nat.
“Oh, we just play be men, and sit round stiff and stupid like grown-up
folks, and dance to please the girls. Then we eat up everything, and
come away as soon as we can.”
“I think I could do that,” said Nat, after considering Tommy's
description for a minute.
“I'll write and say we'll come;” and Demi despatched the following
gentlemanly reply,
“We will all come. Please have lots to eat. J. B. Esquire.”
Great was the anxiety of the ladies about their first ball, because if
every thing went well they intended to give a dinner-party to the chosen
few.
“Aunt Jo likes to have the boys play with us, if they are not rough;
so we must make them like our balls, then they will do them good,” said
Daisy, with her maternal air, as she set the table and surveyed the
store of refreshments with an anxious eye.
“Demi and Nat will be good, but Tommy will do something bad, I know he
will,” replied Nan, shaking her head over the little cake-basket which
she was arranging.
“Then I shall send him right home,” said Daisy, with decision.
“People don't do so at parties, it isn't proper.”
“I shall never ask him any more.”
“That would do. He'd be sorry not to come to the dinner-ball, wouldn't
he?”
“I guess he would! we'll have the splendidest things ever seen, won't
we? Real soup with a ladle and a tureem [she meant tureen] and a little
bird for turkey, and gravy, and all kinds of nice vegytubbles.” Daisy
never could say vegetables properly, and had given up trying.
“It is 'most three, and we ought to dress,” said Nan, who had arranged a
fine costume for the occasion, and was anxious to wear it.
“I am the mother, so I shan't dress up much,” said Daisy, putting on a
night-cap ornamented with a red bow, one of her aunt's long skirts, and
a shawl; a pair of spectacles and large pocket handkerchief completed
her toilette, making a plump, rosy little matron of her.
Nan had a wreath of artificial flowers, a pair of old pink slippers, a
yellow scarf, a green muslin skirt, and a fan made of feathers from the
duster; also, as a last touch of elegance, a smelling-bottle without any
smell in it.
“I am the daughter, so I rig up a good deal, and I must sing and dance,
and talk more than you do. The mothers only get the tea and be proper,
you know.”
A sudden very loud knock caused Miss Smith to fly into a chair, and fan
herself violently, while her mamma sat bolt upright on the sofa, and
tried to look quite calm and “proper.” Little Bess, who was on a visit,
acted the part of maid, and opened the door, saying with a smile, “Wart
in, gemplemun; it's all weady.”
In honor of the occasion, the boys wore high paper collars, tall
black hats, and gloves of every color and material, for they were an
afterthought, and not a boy among them had a perfect pair.
“Good day, mum,” said Demi, in a deep voice, which was so hard to keep
up that his remarks had to be extremely brief.
Every one shook hands and then sat down, looking so funny, yet so sober,
that the gentlemen forgot their manners, and rolled in their chairs with
laughter.
“Oh, don't!” cried Mrs. Smith, much distressed.
“You can't ever come again if you act so,” added Miss Smith, rapping Mr.
Bangs with her bottle because he laughed loudest.
“I can't help it, you look so like fury,” gasped Mr. Bangs, with most
uncourteous candor.
“So do you, but I shouldn't be so rude as to say so. He shan't come to
the dinner-ball, shall he, Daisy?” cried Nan, indignantly.
“I think we had better dance now. Did you bring your fiddle, sir?” asked
Mrs. Smith, trying to preserve her polite composure.
“It is outside the door,” and Nat went to get it.
“Better have tea first,” proposed the unabashed Tommy, winking openly
at Demi to remind him that the sooner the refreshments were secured, the
sooner they could escape.
“No, we never have supper first; and if you don't dance well you won't
have any supper at all, not one bit, sir,” said Mrs. Smith, so sternly
that her wild guests saw she was not to be trifled with, and grew
overwhelmingly civil all at once.
“I will take Mr. Bangs and teach him the polka, for he does not know it
fit to be seen,” added the hostess, with a reproachful look that sobered
Tommy at once.
Nat struck up, and the ball opened with two couples, who went
conscientiously through a somewhat varied dance. The ladies did well,
because they liked it, but the gentlemen exerted themselves from more
selfish motives, for each felt that he must earn his supper, and labored