  Labor Day was, of course, on Monday, and the Saturday before Betty received this letter:
“Isn’t it fine, Mother?” said Betty, as she read the letter aloud. “I’ve never been up the Hudson either, and it will be such fun to go with Dorothy.” “Yes, it will, deary. I’m sure you’ll have a lovely trip. You’ll have to scurry out early, though, if you’re to take that seven-thirty train. You’ll want to take some luncheon, won’t you?” “Oh, yes; I think I ought to. Ellen will cook some of her lovely fried chicken for me. And I might take some stuffed eggs or some jelly tarts. I’ll talk it over with Ellen.” Now, Ellen was by nature what is called “a good provider.” And so it happened that when Betty came down-stairs at half-past six on Monday morning Ellen was already packing into a big box the good things which she had risen before daylight to prepare. “For mercy’s sake, Ellen!” cried Betty, “do you think I’m going to feed the whole excursion?” “Arrah, Miss Betty,” returned Ellen, placidly, “it’s a fine appetite ye’ll get on the water, and yer city folks’ll be glad to eat yer country fixin’s.” Ellen was wrapping delicious-looking bits of golden-brown fried chicken daintily in oiled paper, and tucking them into place in the big box. Then in one corner she placed a smaller box of stuffed eggs, which, in their individual frills of fringed white paper, formed a pretty picture. Another partition held jelly tarts, with flaky crusts and quivering red centers, and somehow Ellen found room for a few sandwiches, through whose thin bread showed the yellow of mayonnaise. Everything was carefully protected with white paper napkins, and the whole box was a most appetizing display of skilled culinary art. “But it’s so big, Ellen,” repeated Betty, laughing. “I simply can’t carry so much stuff.” “Niver you mind, Miss Betty,” said the imperturbable cook, going on with her work of wrapping the big box in neat brown paper and tying it with stout twine. “You’ve not to walk at all, at all, and ye can get a porther to lift it off the thrain. An’ sure Pat’ll put it on safely fer ye.” So Betty submitted to the inevitable, realizing that she wouldn’t have to carry the box at all, and proceeded to eat her breakfast. “It is an awfully big box,” said Mrs. McGuire, as the carriage came to the door; “but if your party can’t eat all the things, you can give them to some children on the boat.” “Oh, it’ll be all right,” said Betty, and kissing her mother good-by, she jumped into the carriage, and Pat drove her to the train. There were few passengers at that early hour, and so there was ample room for the box on the seat beside her. Though Betty went often to New York, she rarely went alone, but as Dorothy and her aunt’s family were to meet her, she felt no responsibility as to traveling. In Jersey City the conductor lifted the box out for her, and a convenient porter carried it to the ferry-boat. “Hold it level,” Betty admonished him, and he touched his red cap and said “Yes’m,” and then carried the box with greatest care. Betty went by the Twenty-third Street Ferry, and in the ferry-house on the New York side she was to meet Dorothy, “under the clock.” This tryst was a well-known one, for it made a definite place to meet in the crowded room. Betty always enjoyed the long ferry, and she sat outside, with her precious box reposing on the seat beside her. The morning was delightful, but it was growing warm and bade fair to be a very warm day. Betty watched with interest the great steamer piers, and the traffic on the river, rejoicing to think that soon she would be sailing farther up the stream, where the banks were green and wooded, and the expanse of water unmarred by freight-boats and such unpicturesque craft. The ferry-boat bumped into its dock at Twenty-third, Street, and Betty picked up her box and started off with it. A porter met her at the gangplank, and she gave it to him with an injunction to hold it quite level. For it would be a pity to tumble the neat arrangement of Ellen’s goodies into an unappetizing mass. Down-stairs they went, and into the waiting-room, where Betty paused “under the clock.” Dorothy hadn’t arrived, but Betty remembered, with a smile, that she was nearly always late, so, remunerating the porter, she sat down to wait, with her box beside her. She had on a suit of embroidered blue linen, and a broad-brimmed straw hat trimmed with brown roses. The big hat suited Betty’s round face and curly hair, and, all unconsciously, she made a pretty picture as she sat there waiting. Before she had time to feel anxious about Dorothy’s non-appearance, a messenger-boy in uniform came toward her. “Is this Miss McGuire?” he said, touching his cap respectfully. “Yes,” said Betty, wondering how he knew her. “Then this is for you. The lady told me how you looked, and said I’d find you right here. No answer.” The boy turned away, and in a moment was lost in the crowd, leaving Betty in possession of a note addressed in Dorothy’s handwriting. She tore it open and read:
Betty smiled at Dorothy’s postscript, and then she read the note over again. On the whole, she didn’t much care that the plans were changed, for a luncheon at a fine hotel and a matinÉe afterward seemed quite as attractive on a hot day as a sail on a crowded excursion-boat. Also, she was not at all afraid! She laughed at the idea. She would telephone Dorothy, and then she would really enjoy taking a taxicab and driving up to the hotel all alone. It made her feel decidedly grown-up. So she went to the telephone booth and called up Dorothy. “Indeed, I don’t mind the change of plans a bit,” she said, in answer to her friend’s query. “I’m awfully sorry for your aunt, but I think we’ll have a better time on land than on the water to-day. It’s getting very warm.” “Is it?” said Dorothy. “It seems cool here.” “Well, it’s hot out in the sun all right. I’ll take a taxi, and I’ll be with you in less than half an hour.” “Yes, come right here, and we’ll be waiting for you. My cousins Fred and Tom want to see you, and Aunt Evelyn says perhaps we can go for a drive in the Park before luncheon.” “Oh, that reminds me, Dorothy. I’ve a big box of luncheon with me. What shall I do with it? I can’t walk into the Waldorf with that!” “Gracious, Betty, I should say not! But it’s a shame to throw it away. Just give it to some poor person, can’t you?” “Yes, that’s a good idea; I will. Well, good-by, till I see you.” “Good-by. Hurry up here,” said Dorothy, and Betty hung up the receiver. As she picked up her box to start toward the taxicab rank, the thought occurred to her that it might be well to dispose of the box before she took the cab. Acting on this idea, she stepped out of the ferry-house and looked about her. It was rapidly growing much warmer, and the glare on the hot paving-stones was unpleasant, but Betty determined to bestow the wholesome food on some grateful poor person before she started up-town. “I want to find some one really worthy,” she said to herself; “it would be too bad to waste all these good things on an ungrateful wretch.” She looked at the newsboys who were crying their papers, but it seemed impracticable to expect them to carry a large, heavy box in addition to their burden of papers. She wandered along the street until she saw a poor-looking old woman in a news-booth. The papers and magazines were piled up tidily and the old news-vender herself sat comfortably knitting, now and then looking out over her spectacles for a possible customer. She was certainly thrifty, Betty thought, and would be greatly pleased with a present of good food. “I’d like to give you this,” said Betty, resting the box on a pile of morning papers; “it’s some food—nice bits of cold chicken and eggs.” The old woman glared at her. “Bits of food, is it?” she exclaimed. “Broken bits ye’re offerin’ to me! Well, ye may be takin’ ’em back! Nobody need dole out food to Bridget Molloy! I takes nobody’s charity! I earns me honest livin’! More shame to them as doesn’t!” “Oh, I didn’t mean to offend you,” cried Betty, greatly distressed at having hurt the old woman’s feelings. “It’s a very nice luncheon that I brought for myself and some friends.” But Mrs. Molloy would not listen. “Take it away,” she said; “take yer cold victuals to some one as is too lazy to work for a honest livin’! I asks no charity fer me or mine!” Greatly chagrined and a little angry, Betty picked up her box and walked away. It had been an unfortunate occurrence, but surely it would be easy enough to find some one more reasonable than the old newswoman. Before she had gone a block Betty saw a ragged urchin who was, she decided, a worthy case. He was not selling papers; indeed, he was doing nothing, but leaning against a high board fence, digging his bare toes into the dust. “Poor little thing,” thought Betty; “I’ve no doubt he’s hungry.” Then she said: “Good morning, little boy. Are you one of a large family?” The boy looked suspiciously at Betty, then, in a whining voice, replied: “Ten brudders an’ ten sisters ma’am; an’ me fadder is sick, an’ me mudder is out o’ work.” “Oh, you poor child!” exclaimed Betty, and as he held out a grimy little paw, as if for coin, she offered him the box. “You’re just the boy I’m looking for. Here is a quantity of nice food for you and your brothers and sisters.” Quickly the grimy little paw was withdrawn, and with both hands behind him, the boy winked rudely at Betty and said: “Aw, g’wan! Quit yer kiddin’.” “I don’t know what you mean,” said Betty, who couldn’t help laughing at the impudent little fellow. “I’m offering you some good food.” “Good food nothin’!” said the strange child. “Take yer box away, lady; I wouldn’t swap yer me college pin fer it!” Betty had to laugh at this, but since the boy was so indifferent, she didn’t care to give him the lunch anyhow; so she went on to find some one else. “It does seem queer,” she thought, “that there’s nobody about who is just the right one to give this to. There are men working at the road, but I don’t like to offer it to them, they look so—so untidy.” But at last she spied a little girl. Though somewhat gaudily dressed, the child was evidently poor, for her frock was faded and torn. She wore a string of bright beads round her neck, and a big bow on her black hair, and she walked with a mincing step. But she was thin and looked ill nourished, so Betty thought that at last she had found just the right beneficiary. “Where do you live?” she said, by way of opening the conversation, as she paused in front of the little girl. “You ain’t a settlement teacher,” said the child. “Comes a settlement teacher, and I tell my name. But you ain’t one.” “No,” said Betty, smiling kindly, “I’m not a settlement teacher, but I want to give you something—something very nice.” “What is it nice you wants fer to give me?” The child did not look receptively inclined, but Betty held out the big box toward her and said: “It’s this box of lovely luncheon, fried chicken and little pies! Take it home to your mama.” The girl turned on Betty like a little fury. Her black eyes snapped, and her whole little body shook with indignation as she cried: “Think shame how you says! My mama wouldn’t let me to take whole bunches of lunch from a lady! It ain’t for ladies to give lunches off on the street!” With a flirt of her shabby little skirts, the child turned her back on Betty and walked haughtily away. It was Betty’s first experience with that peculiar type of dignity and self-respect, and she was bewildered at the sudden fury of the indignant child. But the box was still to be disposed of, and Betty looked around for another opportunity. She was tempted to throw it away, but the thought of Ellen’s dainty morsels being wasted was so disappointing that she resolved to try once more anyhow. THE GIRL TURNED ON BETTY LIKE A LITTLE FURY THE GIRL TURNED ON BETTY LIKE A LITTLE FURY “I didn’t think it was so hard to give food away in town,” she reflected, smiling grimly at her predicament. “Oh, I do believe it’s going to rain!” The sky had suddenly clouded over, and there were portents of a coming shower. Betty looked at the clouds, and resolved to make one more attempt to bestow her charity, and if that failed she concluded she must throw away the box. As Dorothy had said, she couldn’t very well walk into a large hotel carrying a box of luncheon. It would look ridiculous. And even if she did have to throw it away, she had the satisfaction of knowing she had tried to utilize it. The drops began to fall, but they were large and scattered, so Betty thought she had time for one more attempt at her good work before she ran for shelter. A poor-looking man came toward her, and Betty stopped him. She had become timid about the box by this time, so, unconsciously, she spoke as if asking a favor. “Wouldn’t you like a box of nice food to take home?” she said, as she hesitatingly held the box out to him. “Do you mean to give it to me?” he asked, in such a threatening tone that Betty recoiled a little. She thought quickly. Here was another who would take offense at being looked upon as an object of charity. It flashed through her mind that if she asked him to pay a small price he would keep his self-respect and get far more than the value of his money. “No,” she stammered; “I mean to sell it to you—for ten cents.” It seemed awful to ask money for it, but surely he could pay that much, and Betty felt instinctively that he would refuse it as a gift. The man looked at her with a strange glance. “Have you got a license to sell things in the street?” he asked. “N-no!” gasped Betty, frightened now by his intent gaze at her. “Well, you quit your foolishness, lady. You move on, you and your precious bundle, or I’ll call a policeman and have you arrested!” She almost ran back to the ferry-house, concluding, as she went, to throw away the luncheon and take a cab up to Dorothy’s as quickly as she could. Where to throw it away was the next question. Betty looked in vain for a refuse receptacle or ash-can. She knew it was not allowed to throw things in the street, and the cleanly swept pavement near the ferries showed no resting-place for the objectionable-box. There were poor-looking people about, but Betty did not care to risk another impertinent refusal. Just as she was about to turn into the little office to engage a taxicab, she had a brilliant idea. “I’ll go back on the ferry-boat,” she thought; “I’ll get a ferry ticket and go through the slip and on to the boat. Then I can throw the old box into the water, and come off the boat again before it starts.” This seemed a really good plan, and with rising spirit Betty paid her pennies and went on the boat. She had ample time, as the boat had just arrived and would not go out again for several minutes. On the upper deck Betty walked to the extreme end, and stood looking over into the water. It seemed an awful pity to waste that lovely luncheon, but it was getting late, and it was raining quite steadily, so there was really nothing else to do. “Good-by, then, pretty little tarts and jolly good chicken!” said Betty, and she pushed the box over the rail. Then she hurried back, and started again for the cab-stand. “Yes, a taxicab, please,” said Betty to the kind-faced official in charge, and then, “To the Waldorf,” she said, as she got into the vehicle. She felt very capable and grown-up, as she settled herself in the broad seat, and noticed with satisfaction that the shower was almost over. But, just as the driver was about to start, a voice called, “Hi! hold on there!” and running toward the cab came a deck-hand from the ferry-boat, carrying that box! “I seen you!” he cried to Betty, in jubilant tones; “I seen you get on the boat, and then I seen you drop this box. I wuz on the lower deck, an’ I jest caught it! It dropped out of my hand, and the corners is smashed some, but I saved it from goin’ in the water, all the same! Here it is, ma’am!” He looked so delighted at his feat that Betty couldn’t help smiling back at him, though deeply exasperated to have the box on her hands again. The young fellow clearly thought he had done Betty a great favor in restoring her property, and he stood smiling, and shifting from one foot to another, while the cab driver obligingly waited. “Oh,” thought Betty, “he expects a reward! Imagine paying a reward for getting that box back!” But she realized that the deck-hand thought it was valuable property he had restored, so she took out her purse and gave him a coin that sent him away grinning with pleasure. Then the cab started, and Betty sat looking at the horrid box which had grown such a burden to her. It was beginning to look disreputable, too. The paper was soiled and torn, for the rain-drops had wet it, and the jar as the box fell on the ferry-boat deck had broken the pasteboard. Also, to Betty’s horror, she could see tiny drops of jelly and something yellow oozing out at the edges. The stuffed eggs must be upset, and the warm weather had softened the jelly tarts! It was simply impossible to carry the box into the hotel, and it would be also impossible to leave it in the cab. JUST AS THE DRIVER WAS ABOUT TO START, A VOICE CALLED, “HI! HOLD ON THERE!” JUST AS THE DRIVER WAS ABOUT TO START, A VOICE CALLED, “HI! HOLD ON THERE!” Betty was at her wits’ end, and the street corners were flying by with annoying rapidity. Soon she would be at the Waldorf, and she must dispose of that box first. Fortunately no drop from its edges had soiled her pretty dress, and if she could only rid of it, she could enter the hotel in serene forgetfulness of all her trouble. She was tempted simply to pitch it out of the window, but if she did, it would break apart and scatter its contents all over the street, and—she might be arrested. Betty didn’t know much about the law, but she was almost certain it was against it, to scatter stuffed eggs and fruit tarts along the middle of Fifth Avenue! And yet something must be done! She made a desperate resolve. “Stop at a news-stand, please,” she called to the driver. The man did so, and Betty bought four newspapers. “Go on slowly,” she said; and the driver obeyed. Then Betty untied the string from the damaged box, wrapped it all in many thicknesses of newspaper, and tied it with the string, making a secure if very cumbersome bundle. Surveying it with satisfaction, she called to the driver, “Go as fast as you can!” and as he accelerated his speed, she pitched the bundle out of the window. Too frightened to look back, she huddled in a corner of the cab, scarcely daring to think she was free at last from that hated presence. “It won’t spill in the street,” she thought, “unless something runs over it, and if it does, my! how the eggs will spatter!” It all appealed to Betty’s sense of humor, and, though she was still a little scared, she couldn’t help laughing at her ridiculous experiences of the morning. She sat up very straight, and when the cab stopped at the hotel, she gravely alighted, paid the driver, and marched with a dignified air up the steps and in at the door. Once inside, the first face she saw was Dorothy’s. “Where have you been?” she cried. “We’ve waited and waited! I couldn’t telephone, ’cause I didn’t know where to find you. Aunt Evelyn is so anxious about you. Oh, let me present my cousins, Tom and Fred Bates.” Two good-looking, merry-faced young men looked admiringly at pretty Betty and made polite bows. Still full of merriment at the remembrance of her funny morning, Betty’s bright eyes were twinkling, and her cheeks rosy beneath her flower-trimmed hat. “How do you do?” she said, smiling prettily at the boys, then turning to Dorothy, she said: “Yes, I was detained a little; I’ll tell you about it some other time. But I came just now, from the ferry, in a taxicab.” “Yes, I saw you drive up,” said Dorothy; “I was looking out of the window. But I’ve been there flattening my nose against the pane for half an hour. Where were you, Betty?” “Seeking my fortune,” said Betty, teasingly; “or, rather, seeking to bestow fortune.” But her speech was not heard, because of a commotion behind her. “That’s the one!” said a childish voice, and, to Betty’s horror, an employee of the hotel ushered a ragged small boy straight toward her. The boy held in his arms a large muddy, newspaper-covered bundle! “I seen you drop it out o’ yer cab, ma’am, an’ I brung it to yer!” His dirty little face gleamed with delight, and he held the awful-looking package out toward Betty. She drew back, feeling that she could not take that box in charge again, and Fred Bates said sternly: “What does this mean? Why are you annoying Miss McGuire?” “This chap says it’s the lady’s property,” explained the clerk who was looking after the boy. “Say the word, sir, and we’ll put him out.” He laid a hand on the urchin’s shoulder, but the boy spoke up insistently: “It is hers, sir! I seen her lose it outen the cab winder, an’ I picked it up, an’ ran to catch ’er, an’ I seen her jest as she came in the whirligig door, an’ I got here as soon as they’d let me!” “That awful-looking bundle, Betty’s!” cried Dorothy, in disgust. “Of course it isn’t! What nonsense!” At this the clerk made as if to eject the boy who had brought the bundle, and then Betty’s sense of justice was aroused. It was awful to claim ownership of that disreputable piece of property, but it was worse, in her estimation, to have an innocent boy reprimanded for doing what he had believed to be right. “It is mine,” she said bravely, though her cheeks grew scarlet at the surprised glances cast upon her, not only by her friends, but by strangers who happened to be passing. “It is mine,” she repeated, turning to the boy, “and you did right to bring back to me what you thought I had lost. But I want to lose it, as it is of no use to me. So if you will please take it away and dispose of it properly, I will be much obliged to you, and I will give you this.” Betty took a two-dollar bill from her purse, and offered it to the boy, who still held the bundle. “Sure, lady,” he said, flashing a grateful glance at her. “You’re a white one, you are! Thank you, lady!” The clerk smiled and bowed, and ushered the small boy away. The urchin turned to give Betty one more admiring look, and she smiled pleasantly at him, and said: “You’d better look in that box before you throw it away.” “Sure!” he replied, grinning, and then he disappeared. “Now, Dorothy,” said Betty, restored to equanimity, now that the box was finally disposed of, “let us go and sit down quietly somewhere, and I’ll tell you all about it.” “Do!” cried Fred Bates. “You’re the most mysterious person I ever heard of, Miss McGuire! Come right up to our family sitting-room and relate to us the story of the Beautiful Young Lady and her Strange Piece of Luggage!” “Very well,” said Betty, dimpling and smiling. “Come on, and the whole of the dramatic tale I will unfold!” Which she did, to a most enthusiastic and hilarious audience. |
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