CHAPTER II.
THE BIRTHDAY PARTY.
"Tickets, please!" this from the Pullman conductor, a tall, soldierlylooking person with a very grim mouth.
He punched all of us in sober silence. Harvie and Zebedee had not hadtime to buy Pullman seats, as they had been so taken up with the robingof Brindle. At the last minute Harvie had rushed to the ticket windowand secured their tickets but they had to pay for their seats on thetrain. In making the change the conductor dropped some silver, and instooping for it he and Zebedee bumped heads. Then the official wasthrown by a lurching of the train against our precious baby's feet. Thiswas too much for the patient Brindle and he emitted a low and ominousgrowl. The conductor looked much startled. We sat electrified. The evertactful Dee arose to the occasion.
"Why, honey, Mother didn't tell you to go like a bow wow. I thought myprecious was asleep." Turning to the mystified conductor she continued,"He has so many cunning little tricks and we never know when he is goingto get them off. He can go moo like a cow, and mew like a kitty, and cangrunt just like a piggy wiggy," and what should that dog, with humanintelligence, do but give a most astounding lifelike grunt. Theconductor's grim mouth broke into a grin and we went off into suchshouts of laughter that if Brindle had not been a very well-behavedperson he would certainly have barked with us.
Zebedee followed the man to the end of the car and with the aid of oneof his very good and ever ready cigars, and a little extra payment offare, persuaded him to let our whole crowd move into the drawing-room,explaining that we were to lunch on the train. When we were once settledin the drawing-room with a little table ready for the spread to whichall of us were prepared to contribute (remembering from the year beforethe meagre bill of fare the buffet on that train offered), Dum disclosedthe contents of the precious big box which she carried. It was awonderful Lady Baltimore cake. A single pink candle was tucked in theside of the box and this was stuck in the centre of the delectableconfection.
"Whose birthday is it? I didn't know it was anybody's," I said.
"Why, this is the birthday of our friendship, yours and Annie's and theTuckers'," tweedled the twins.
"We felt like commemorating it somehow," explained Zebedee. "You see, itis one of the best things that ever happened to us."
"Me, too!" chimed in Annie and I. And so it was.
When, the year before, Annie and I had been sitting in the stationwaiting for the train to Gresham, Annie was as forlorn a specimen oflittle English girl as could be found in America, I am sure; and while Iwas not forlorn, just because I never am forlorn as my interest inpeople is so intense that I am always sure something exciting is goingto happen in a moment, no doubt I looked almost as forlorn as Annie,alone and friendless. The Tuckers, ever charming and delightful, camebounding into our presence, and they have been doing it ever since. Theyalways come with some scheme for fun and frolic and their ever ready witand good humour has an effect on all with whom they come in contact.Annie was certainly made over by a year's friendship with them. Some ofthe teachers at Gresham thought I had worked the change in Annie, but Ijust know it was the twins.
As for Mr. Tucker--Zebedee--he was next to my father in my regard, andso different from my father that they could go along abreast withouttaking from each other. There was never such a man as Mr. Tucker.Thirty-seven himself and the father of twins of sixteen, he seemed tohave bathed in the fountain of eternal youth,--and yet I have seen him,when occasion demanded it, assume the dignity of a George Washington.
Occasion did not demand it at that birthday party and so he "frisked andhe frolicked" very like the little rabs in the Uncle Remus story. Onecould never tell where he would be next. I knew a great deal of his gleewas assumed to keep up the spirits of his dear Tweedles as the time forthe arrival at the fateful junction was slowly but surely approaching.
It was very early for luncheon but have it we must before Harvie andZebedee left us. Mammy Susan had as usual put up enough food for aregiment in my lunch box. But enough food for a regiment seems to vanishbefore a mere squad if it happens to be as good food as my dear oldMammy Susan was sure to provide.
What fun we had! The little table groaned with good things to eat. Eventhe baby's blue veil was carefully removed and he was allowed a largeslice of Lady Baltimore, which he gobbled up in most unseemly haste. Thelittle pink candle burned merrily and the toasts were most sincere:that there would be many, many happy returns of the day, as many, infact, as there were to be days. Our friendship, now only a year old, wasto live as long as we did, and we determined then and there to celebrateevery year that we could. September fifteenth was to be a red letter daywith us wherever we might be.
The Junction was imminent and it meant telling good-bye to Zebedee,Harvie and Brindle. Dum grumbled a little about the loss of her veil butBrindle had to make his return trip in the same role of baby, andAnnie's petticoat and Dum's veil had to be sacrificed. Zebedee promisedto return them in short order. The pain of parting was much lessened bythe amusement caused by the appearance of man and baby. He held theinfant with great and loving care and Brindle chortled and gurgled withsatisfaction.
The Pullman conductor said nothing as Zebedee disembarked but his eyeshad an unwonted twinkle and his grim mouth was twitching at the corners.I believe he knew all the time but could not bear to break up ourpleasant party by consigning Brindle to the baggage car. The trainconductor was in a broad grin and the porter looked dazed.
"Is you partin' from yo' baby, lady?" he said to Dee.
"Yes!" wept Dee with real Tucker tears, "he has to go back with hisgrandfather."
"Grandpaw? That there ain't no grandpaw, that young gent."
"Yes, he is," sobbed Dee. "He is just as much Jo Jo's grandfather as Iam his mother, and I am certainly all the mother he has, poor lamb," andthe kindly coloured man looked very sorry for the grieving young mother.
"Is you fo'ced by circumstantials over which you ain't got controlmentto abandon yo' offspring?" he questioned.
"Yes," blundered Dee, something rare with her, "I have to go to boardingschool and they don't allow do----babies there."
"Well, well, too bad! Too bad! It pears like a pity you couldn't a gotstudyin' off'n yo mind befo' you indulged in matrimonial venturesomes.When a young lady gits married, she--"
"Oh, I'm not married!" The porter's eyes turned white, he rolled them upso far. Dee saw her break and hastened to her own rescue. The rest of uswere petrified with suppressed merriment. "That is, I'm not to say muchmarried; you see, my husband is dead."
"Oh! Sorrow is indeed visited you early. But grieve not. One so young asyou is kin git many husbands, perhaps, befo' the day of recognitionarrives."
We were glad when his duties called him off because the laugh in us wasobliged to come out. Our train backed up to get on the other track andthe last we saw of Zebedee and Harvie they were standing in dejectedattitudes, Zebedee grasping a squirming Brindle firmly in his arms whileHarvie, acting as train-bearer, gracefully held aloft the trailingpetticoat. Brindle had espied through the blue veil a possible canineacquaintance and was struggling with all his might to get down and makeeither a friend or enemy as the case might prove.
Dee simply had to stop crying; in fact, she had stopped long before shefelt that she should. She was forced to squeeze tears out to keep up thedeception she had begun.
"Oh, what a tangled web we weave, When first we practice to deceive."
"You came mighty near making yourself your own grandmother, you got somixed up," laughed Dum. "Brindle is so pedigreed I don't believe hewould thank you for the bar sinister you put on him."