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  CHAPTER VI

  PLAYING HAROLD BOTH WAYS

  Anyway, they came bunched, and that was some comfort. Eh? Well, first offthere was the lovers, then there was Harold; and it was only thecombination that saved me from developin' an ingrowin' grouch.

  You can guess who it was accumulated the lovers. Why, when Sadie comesback from Bar Harbor and begins tellin' me about 'em, you'd thought she'dbeen left something in a will, she's so pleased.

  Seems there was these two young ladies, friends of some friends of hers,that was bein' just as miserable as they could be up there. One wasvisitin' the other, and, as I made out from Sadie's description, theymust have been havin' an awful time, livin' in one of them eighteen-roomcottages built on a point juttin' a mile or so out into the ocean, withnothin' but yachts and motor boats and saddle horses and tennis courtsand so on to amuse themselves with.

  I inspected some of them places when I was up that way not longago,--joints where they get their only information about hot waves byreadin' the papers,--and I can just imagine how I could suffer puttin' ina summer there. Say, some folks don't know when they're well off, dothey?

  And what do you suppose the trouble with 'em was? Why, Bobbie and Charliewas missin'. Honest, that's all the place lacked to make it a suburb ofParadise. But that was enough for the young ladies; for each of 'em wassportin' a diamond ring on the proper finger, and, as they confides toSadie, what was the use of havin' summer at all, if one's fiance couldn'tbe there?

  Bobbie and Charlie, it appears, was slavin' away in the city; one tryin'to convince Papa that he'd be a real addition to Wall Street, and theother trainin' with Uncle for a job as vice president of a life insurancecompany. So what did Helen and Marjorie care about sea breezes andpicture postal scenery? Once a day they climbed out to separate percheson the rocks to read letters from Bobbie and Charlie; and the rest of thetime they put in comparin' notes and helpin' each other be miserable.

  "Ah, quit it, Sadie!" says I, interruptin' the sad tale. "Do you want tomake me cry?"

  "Well, they were wretched, even if you don't believe it," says she; "so Ijust told them to come right down here for the rest of the season."

  "Wha-a-at!" says I. "Not here?"

  "Why not?" says Sadie. "The boys can run up every afternoon and havedinner with us and stay over Sunday, and--and it will be just lovely. Youknow how much I like to have young people around. So do you, too."

  "Yes, that's all right," says I; "but----"

  "Oh, I know," says she. "This isn't matchmaking, though. They're alreadyengaged, and it will be just delightful to have them with us. Now won'tit?"

  "Maybe it will," says I. "We ain't ever done this wholesale before; so Iain't sure."

  Someway, I had a hunch that two pair of lovers knockin' around thepremises at once might be most too much of a good thing; but, as long asI couldn't quote any authorities, I didn't feel like keepin' on with thedebate.

  I couldn't object any to the style of the young ladies when they showedup; for they was both in the queen class, tall and willowy and sweetfaced. One could tease opera airs out of the piano in great shape, andthe other had quite some of a voice; so the prospects were for a fewweeks of lively and entertainin' evenin's at the McCabe mansion. I hadthe programme all framed up too,--me out on the veranda with my heels onthe rail, the windows open, and inside the young folks strikin' up themelodies and makin' merry gen'rally.

  Bobbie and Charles made more or less of a hit with me too when they firstcalled,--good, husky, clean built young gents that passed out the cordialgrip and remarked real hearty how much they appreciated our greatkindness askin' 'em up.

  "Don't mention it," says I. "It's a fad of mine."

  Anyway, it looked like a good game to be in on, seein' there wa'n't anyobjections from any of the fam'lies. Made me feel bright and chirky, justto see 'em there, so that night at dinner I cut loose with some real cutejoshes for the benefit of the young people. You know how easy it is to behumorous on them occasions. Honest, I must have come across with some ofthe snappiest I had in stock, and I was watchin' for the girls to pink upand accuse me of bein' an awful kidder, when all of a sudden I tumbles tothe fact that I ain't holdin' my audience.

  Say, they'd started up a couple of conversations on their own hook--kindof side issue, soft pedal dialogues--and they wa'n't takin' the slightestnotice of my brilliant efforts. At the other end of the table Sadie ishavin' more or less the same experience; for every time she tries to cutin with some cheerful observation she finds she's addressin' eitherMarjorie's left shoulder or Bobbie's right.

  "Eh, Sadie?" says I across the centerpiece. "What was that last ofyours?"

  "It doesn't matter," says she. "Shall we have coffee in the library,girls, or outside! I say, Helen, shall we have---- I beg pardon, Helen,but would you prefer----"

  "What we seem to need most, Sadie," says I as she gives it up, "is atable megaphone."

  Nobody hears this suggestion, though, not even Sadie. I was lookin' forthe fun to begin after dinner,--the duets and the solos and thequartets,--but the first thing Sadie and I know we are occupyin' thelibr'y all by ourselves, with nothing doing in the merry music line.

  "Of course," says she, "they want a little time by themselves."

  "Sure!" says I. "Half-hour out for the reunion."

  It lasts some longer, though. At the end of an hour I thinks I'll put inthe rest of the wait watchin' the moon come up out of Long Island Soundfrom my fav'rite corner of the veranda; but when I gets there I findsit's occupied.

  "Excuse me," says I, and beats it around to the other side, where there'sa double rocker that I can gen'rally be comfortable in. Hanged if Ididn't come near sittin' slam down on the second pair, that was snuggledup close there in the dark!

  "Aha!" says I in my best comic vein. "So here's where you are, eh? Finenight, ain't it?"

  There's a snicker from the young lady, a grunt from the young gent; butnothing else happens in the way of a glad response. So I chases back intothe house.

  "It's lovely out, isn't it?" says Sadie.

  "Yes," says I; "but more or less mushy in spots."

  With that we starts in to sit up for 'em. Sadie says we got to becausewe're doin' the chaperon act. And, say, I've seen more excitin' games. Iread three evenin' papers clear through from the weather forecast to thebond quotations, and I finished by goin' sound asleep in my chair. Idon't know whether Bobbie and Charlie caught the milk train back to townor not; but they got away sometime before breakfast.

  "Oh, well," says Sadie, chokin' off a yawn as she pours the coffee, "thiswas their first evening together, you know. I suppose they had a lot tosay to each other."

  "Must have had," says I. "I shouldn't think they'd have to repeat thatperformance for a month."

  Next night, though, it's the same thing, and the next, and the next."Poor things!" thinks I. "I expect they're afraid of being guyed." So,just to show how sociable and friendly I could be, I tries buttin' in onthese lonely teeter-tates. First I'd hunt up one couple and submit somesamples of my best chatter--gettin' about as much reply as if I wasringin' Central with the wire down. Then I locates the other pair, dragsa rocker over near 'em, and tries to make the dialogue three handed. Theystands it for a minute or so before decidin' to move to another spot.

  Honest, I never expected to feel lonesome right at home entertainin'guests! but I was gettin' acquainted with the sensation. There's nomusical doings, no happy groups and gay laughter about the house; nothingbut now and then a whisper from dark corners, or the creak of the porchswings.

  "Gee! but they're takin' their spoonin' serious, ain't they?" says I toSadie. "And how popular we are with 'em! Makes me feel almost like Iought to put on a gag and sit down cellar in the coalbin."

  "Pooh!" says Sadie, makin' a bluff she didn't mind. "Do let them enjoythemselves in their own way."

  "Sure I will," says I. "Only this chaperon business is gettin' on mynerves. I don't feel like a host here; I feel more like a second storyman dodgi
n' the night watchman."

  There wa'n't any signs of a change, either. When they had to be aroundwhere we was they had hardly a word to say and acted bored to death; andit must have taxed their brains, workin' up all them cute little schemesfor leavin' us on a siding so they could pair off. Course, I've seenengaged couples before; but I never met any that had the disease quite sohard. And this bein' shunned like I had somethin' catchin' was new to me.I begun to feel like I was about ninety years old and in the way.

  Sunday forenoon was the limit, though. Sadie had planned to take 'em allfor a motor trip; but they declines with thanks. Would they rather go outon the water? No, they didn't care for that, either. All they seems towant to do is wander round, two by two, where we ain't. And at that Sadieloses some of her enthusiasm for havin' bunches of lovers around.

  "Humph!" I hears her remark as she watches Bobbie and Marjorie sidestepher and go meanderin' off down a path to the rocks.

  A little while later I happens to stroll down to the summerhouse with theSunday paper, and as I steps in one door Charlie and Helen slip out bythe other. They'd seen me first.

  "Well, well!" says I. "I never knew before how unentertainin' I couldbe."

  And I was just wonderin' how I could relieve my feelin's without eatin' afuzzy worm, like the small boy that nobody loved, when I hears footstepsapproachin' through the shrubb'ry. I looks up, to find myself bein'inspected by a weedy, long legged youth. He's an odd lookin' kid, withdull reddish hair, so many freckles that his face looks rusty, and a pairof big purple black eyes that gazes at me serious.

  "Well, son," says I, "where did you drop from?"

  "My name is Harold Burbank Fitzmorris," says he, "and I am visiting withmy mother on the adjoining estate."

  "That sounds like a full description, Harold," says I. "Did you strayoff, or was you sent?"

  "I trust you don't mind," says he; "but I am exploring."

  "Explore away then," says I, "so long as you don't tramp through theflowerbeds."

  "Oh, I wouldn't think of injuring them," says he. "I am passionately fondof flowers."

  "You don't say!" says I.

  "Yes," says Harold, droppin' down easy on the bench alongside of me. "Ilove Nature in all her moods. I am a poet, you know."

  "Eh!" says I. "Ain't you beginning sort of young?"

  "Nearly all the really great men of literature," comes back Harold asprompt as if he was speakin' a piece, "have begun their careers bywriting verse. I presume mine might be considered somewhat immature; butI am impelled from within to do it. All that will pass, however, when Ienter on my serious work."

  "Oh, then you've got a job on the hook, have you!" says I.

  "I expect," says Harold, smilin' sort of indulgent and runnin' hisfingers careless through his thick coppery hair, "to produce my firstnovel when I am twenty. It will have a somber theme, something after themanner of Turgenieff. Do you not find Turgenieff very stimulating?"

  "Harold," says I, "all them Hungarian wines are more or less heady, and akid like you shouldn't monkey with any of 'em."

  He looks almost pained at that. "You're chaffing me now, I suppose," sayshe. "That sort of thing, though, I never indulge in. Humor, you know, isbut froth on the deep seas of thought. It has never seemed to me quiteworth one's while. You will pardon my frankness, I know."

  "Harold," says I, "you're a wizard. So it's nix on the josh, eh?"

  "What singular metaphors you employ!" says he. "Do you know, I can hardlyfollow you. However, colloquial language does not offend my ear. It isonly when I see it in print that I shudder."

  "Me too," says I. "I'm just as sore on these foreign languages as anyone.So you're visitin' next door, eh? Enjoyin' yourself?"

  That was a plain cue for Harold Burbank to launch out on the story of hislife; but, say, he didn't need any such encouragement. He was a willin'and ready converser, Harold was; and--my!--what a lot of classy words hedid have on tap! First off I wondered how it was a youngster like himcould dig up so many; but when I'd heard a little more about him I couldaccount for it all.

  He'd cut his teeth, as you might say, on the encyclopedia. Harold'sfather had been a professor of dead languages, and I guess he must havedied of it. Anyway, Mother was a widow, and from things Harold dropped Ijudged she was more or less frisky, spendin' her time at bridge andchasin' teas and dinner parties. It was clear she wa'n't any highbrow,such as Father must have been. All of which was disappointin' to Harold.He made no bones of sayin' so.

  "Why pretend to approve of one's parent," says he, "when approval isundeserved?"

  There was a lot of other folks that Harold disapproved of too. In fact,he was a mighty critical youth, only bein' able to entertain a goodopinion of but one certain party. At any other time I expect he'd havegiven me an earache; but I'd been handed so much silence by our doubleRomeo-Juliet bunch that most any kind of conversation was welcome justthen. So I lets him spiel away.

  And, say, he acts like he was hungry for the chance. Why, he gives me hisideas on every subject you could think of, from the way Napoleon gothimself started on the toboggan, to the folly of eatin' fried ham forbreakfast. He sure was a wonder, that kid! Two solid hours we chinnedthere in the summerhouse, and it was almost by main strength I broke awayfor a one o'clock dinner.

  Then, just as I'd got settled comf'table on the veranda in the afternoon,he shows up and begins again. There was nothin' diffident or backwardabout Harold. He didn't have any doubts about whether he was welcome ornot, and his confidence about bein' able to entertain was amazin'.

  It didn't do any good to throw out hints that perhaps he was bein' missedat home, or to yawn and pretend you was sleepy. He was as persistent as amosquito singin' its evenin' song, and most as irritatin'. Twice I getsup and pikes off, tryin' to shake him; but Harold trails right along too.Maybe I'd yearned for conversation. Well, I was gettin' it.

  At last I grows desp'rate, and in about two minutes more he would havebeen led home to Mother with the request that she tether him on her sideof the fence, when I sees two of the lovers strollin' off to find a nookthat wa'n't preempted by the other pair. And all of a sudden I has thisrosy thought.

  "Harold," says I, "it's most too bad, your wastin' all this flossy talkon me, who can't appreciate its fine points as I should, when there gosome young people who might be tickled to death to have you join 'em.Suppose you try cheerin' 'em up?"

  "Why," says Harold, "I had not observed them before. Thank you for thesuggestion. I will join them at once."

  Does he? Say, for the next couple of hours I had the time of my lifewatchin' the maneuvers. First off I expect they must have thought himkind of cute, same as I did; but it wa'n't long before they begun tryin'to lose him. If they shifted positions once, they did a dozen times, fromthe summerhouse to the rocks, then up to the veranda and back again, withHarold Burbank taggin' right along and spoutin' his best. He tacklesfirst one pair, and then the other, until fin'lly they all retreats intothe house. Harold hesitates a little about walkin' through the door after'em, until I waves my hand cordial.

  "Make yourself right to home, Harold," says I. "Keep 'em cheered up."

  Not until he drives the girls off to their rooms and has Bobbie andCharles glarin' murderous at him, does he quit the sport and retire forsupper.

  "Come over again this evenin'," says I. "You're makin' a hit."

  Harold thanks me some more and says he will. He's a great one to keep hisword too. Bobbie and Marjorie have hardly snuggled up in one end of ahammock to watch the moon do things to the wavelets before here isHarold, with a fresh line of talk that he's bent on deliverin' while themood is on.

  Gettin' no answer from his audience didn't bother him a bit; for passin'out the monologue is his strong suit. Not to seem partial, he trails downCharlie and Helen and converses with them too. Course, all this occurrin'outside, I couldn't watch everything that took place; but I sits in thelib'ry with Sadie a lot more contented than I'd been before that week.

  And when Marjorie d
rifts in alone, along about nine o'clock, and goes todrummin' on the piano, I smiles. Ten minutes later Helen appears too; andit's only when neither of the boys show up that I begins wonderin'. Iasks no questions; but goes out on a scoutin' trip. There's nobody on theveranda at all. Down by the waterfront, though, I could hear voices, andI goes sleuthin' in that direction.

  "Yes," I could hear Harold sayin' as I got most to the boat landin', "thephosphorescence that ignorant sailors attribute to electricity in the airis really a minute marine animal which----"

  I expect I'll never know the rest; for just then there's a break in thelecture.

  "One, two, three--now!" comes from Bobbie, and before Harold can let outa single squeal they've grabbed him firm and secure, one by the heels andthe other by the collar, and they've begun sousin' him up and down offthe edge of the float. It was high tide too.

  "Uggle-guggle! Wow!" remarks Harold between splashes.

  "That's right," observes Charles through, his teeth. "Swallow a lot ofit, you windbag! It'll do you good."

  Course, these young gents was guests of mine, and I hadn't interferedbefore with their partic'lar way of enjoyin' themselves; so I couldn'tbegin now. But after they was through, and a draggled, chokin',splutterin' youth had gone beatin' it up the path and over towards thenext place, I strolls down to meet 'em as they are comin' up to thehouse.

  "Hope you didn't see what happened down there just now, Professor," saysBobbie.

  "Me?" says I. "Well, if I did I can forget it quick."

  "Thanks, old man!" says both of 'em, pattin' me friendly on theshoulder.

  "The little beast!" adds Charles. "He had the nerve to say you had puthim up to it. That's what finally earned him his ducking, you know."

  "Well, well!" says I. "Such a nice spoken youngster too!"

  "Huh!" says Bobbie. "I suppose there'll be no end of a row about thiswhen he gets home with his tale; but we'll stand for it. Meanwhile let'sgo up and get the girls to give us some music."

  Say, I don't believe Harold ever mentioned it to a soul. It's a funnything too, but he hasn't been over here since. And someway, gettin'better acquainted with the boys in that fashion, made it pleasanter allround.

  But no more entertainin' lovers for us! Harolds ain't common enough.