Back at School with the Tucker Twins Part 8

I took the reprimand like a lamb and tried to concentrate, but Mr.

Tucker's cheerful countenance kept forcing its way in front of Estates General, and what that history lesson was about I do not know to this day.

Six o'clock came at last and we piled on the train, the envy of all the girls at Gresham who had not had somebody pull wires and legs of the Bishop and other Clergy so they could go spend Thanksgiving in Richmond and see the famous game.

Our train did not puff into the station at Richmond until way into the night and we were tired and very hungry. Our food since a one o'clock dinner had been nothing but stacks of chocolate and crackers and chewing gum and fruit we had purchased from the train butcher, who pa.s.sed us every five minutes of the journey with a fresh supply of tempting wares.

"h.e.l.lo, girls!" Zebedee embraced all of us with his kind eyes, but Tweedles with his arms. "Geewhilikins! but I am glad to see you! I was afraid you were never coming. Train an hour late and I know you are starving."

"Starving? Starved!" exclaimed Dum.

"Well, I've had some eats sent up to the apartment and maybe you can make out until morning on what I have there."

We packed ourselves two deep in the faithful Henry. We were tired and hungry but sleep was a million miles from the thought of any of us. When we arrived at the Tuckers' apartment and had satisfied the cravings of our inner men with the very substantial food that our host had provided for us, we decided that we might as well make a night of it, so we sat up to the wee small hours regaling the delighted Zebedee with tales of Gresham and Miss Plympton's chins.

"I declare, you girls tell so many stirring tales of adventure I should think you would write a book about it. If it were possible for a mere man to do such a thing, I'd write a book for girls and put all of you in it."

"Please don't," I begged, "because I am going to do that very thing myself just as soon as I get through with school. 'Bright, clean, juvenile fiction,' as the ads say, that's what I mean to make of it."

"Are you going to put me in?" he pleaded.

"Of course! Aren't you in it? How could I make a book of all of us without you?"

"Well, if I am going to be in the great book of books as a hero of romance, I think I'd best go to bed and get some beauty sleep so I can make a good appearance in fiction. I've had a cot put up for myself in an empty apartment on the floor below so you young ladies can have the freedom of the flat. I'm going to let you sleep until luncheon. We have to get an early start for the ball park so we can get a good place.

Speaking of romance,--did I tell you that Miss Mabel Binks is making a visit with your Cousin Park Garnett, Page?"

"Heavens!" tweedled the twins. "Old Mabel Binks is always around."

"She is looking very handsome, and is quite toned down. She is having a ripping time in society and Mrs. Garnett is doing a lot for her, dinner parties, teas and such."

"I bet you have been to them and are being nice to her!" stormed Dum.

"Well, I have been so-so nice to her but not so terribly attentive. She is not my style exactly." But Dum and Dee would not be satisfied until Zebedee promised he would not be any nicer to Mabel Binks in the future than common politeness demanded, and that they were to be the judge of what common politeness did demand. Zebedee went off laughing to seek his lowly cot in the vacant apartment and we were soon asleep, but the last thing Tweedles said was: "Horrid old Mabel Binks!" And certainly the last thing I thought before slumber held me was the same thing.

CHAPTER X.

VIRGINIA VERSUS CAROLINA.

What a day that Thanksgiving was! Could anything be more fun than to be sixteen ('most seventeen); to have devoted friends; good health; to be allowed to sleep until mid-day; to get up to a good breakfast luncheon; and by one o'clock to be on the streets of Richmond en route for the great event of the year: the football match between Virginia and Carolina?

We were in such a gale that Zebedee threatened to lock us up for the day.

"I am afraid you will disgrace me before night," he declared.

The best thing of all that happened was a sharp ringing of the bell while we were having the luncheon Zebedee had brought from the cafe and served in the apartment, and who should come in but Father? Zebedee had long-distanced him to Bracken and in spite of the sickly condition of the neighbourhood and Sally Winn's having him up in the night, he had caught the train to Richmond and was like a boy off on a holiday.

Instead of the snug little Henry Ford that we had expected to go to the game in, Zebedee had rented for the day a great seven-seated car that held us all quite comfortably. It was a rusty old thing but was decorated from end to end with blue and yellow, the University of Virginia colours. Our host had ready for us a dozen huge yellow chrysanthemums, two for each girl and one for each man. We looked like a float in a parade and as we chugged out Monument Avenue, every one turned to look at the gay car. Everybody had a horn and everybody blew like Gabriel on the last day.

Of course Zebedee had found out the very best place on the grounds to park the car and of course he got that place. He was a man of great resources and always seemed to know exactly where to apply for what he wanted. For instance, his getting permission for us to leave Gresham for Thanksgiving holidays was simply unprecedented. As he said, he had pulled every wire in sight, and where there wasn't a wire, he found a leg. Anyhow, there we were.

"How on earth did you get such a grand place for the car?" asked Dee. A policeman seemed to be saving it for us, as the parking privileges were not very extensive at the ball grounds.

"Oh, newspaper men get there somehow. We have what one might call 'press-tige'."

We were wedged in between two cars, one decorated with the Virginia colours and one with the Carolina, white and light blue. Both were filled to overflowing with enthusiastic rooters for their respective states.

The crowd was immense. I never saw so many people together. All of them seemed gay and happy, and good nature was the order of the day. There was much pushing and crowding, but no one seemed to mind in the least.

The grandstand was creaking and groaning with people, and every inch of s.p.a.ce within six feet of the fence that enclosed the gridiron was packed and jammed with one solid ma.s.s of enthusiasm.

Zebedee seemed to know about half of the people who pa.s.sed us. He had his hat off more than he had it on and usually called out some greeting to his acquaintances, who one and all addressed him as: "Jeff."

Father saw many old cronies, schoolmates of by-gone years, members of his fraternity and learned doctors and surgeons, who, I noticed, greeted him with great respect and affection. Our car was the center of attraction seemingly. Young men and old stopped to speak to Father and Zebedee, were introduced to us and stayed to chat. Our old car gave several ominous squeaks as the visitors climbed on the steps or perched on the sides. It took it out in squeaking and did not go to pieces as I for a moment feared it would, but settled down into submission.

"If there isn't old Judge Grayson!" shouted Dee. "I wish he would look this way." There he was, our friend of Willoughby Beach. His old pink face was beaming with enthusiasm as he wedged his way through the crowd.

"Grayson! Grayson! Rah, rah, rah!" and then Zebedee blew such a blast from his beribboned horn that the crowd trembled and turned as one man, and Judge Grayson, of course, turning with them, saw us. He waved his large soft felt hat and in a moment was up in the car greeting us with his old-fashioned courtesy.

"'Ah! happy years! Once more, who would not be a boy?'" Of course the dear old man had to greet us with a quotation. "Gad, Tucker, it is good to see you and your young ladies once more! Are you sure I won't crowd you, getting up in your car this way?"

"Crowd us, indeed! We've got room for a dozen friends if they were as welcome as you, eh, girls?" We agreed, but the rented car gave another groan.

Then the teams came trotting in, twenty-two stalwart giants.

"I can't tell one from the other," I said.

"There's George Ma.s.sie, there, standing by himself to the left! Sleepy!

Sleepy! Ma.s.sie! Ma.s.sie!" yelled Zebedee like a Comanche Indian. We all took it up until the object of our excitement heard his name above the roar of the crowd and looked our way. We were not so very far from him and he saw us and he said afterwards that the sun shone on Annie's hair so that he just knew who we were.

"h.e.l.lo, peoples!" Who but Wink White and Harvie Price should come clambering in our car from the back? Some good-natured pa.s.serby had given them a leg-up over the lowered top. The car gave another moan of agony. She was built to seat seven not to stand twenty, but stand at least twenty she had to.

I was still dignified with Wink and Harvie for the position they had put us in at Gresham, but they were so contrite and so jolly that I had to cave in and be pleasant. It was too bright a day to have a grouch with any one, and besides, they had not really got us into trouble after all.

Zebedee thought as I did, that they were certainly selfish and thoughtless to place us where sure expulsion would have been the outcome had the authorities discovered that boys had come to the dance, and we had been in a measure party to the crime.

Harvie and Wink had not heard of how the escapade had turned out, as we had had no opportunity of informing them. We had been very careful in speaking of the matter at all and had only divulged our part in the affair to a chosen few who had sworn never to tell a soul. It was too good a story to keep indefinitely, however, and now Dum and Dee together told the whole thing while the teams were trotting around, making senseless looking pa.s.ses (senseless to the uninitiated, at least). The automobile rocked with laughter at their description of Wink's tan shoes, No. 8, that were much in evidence under the drapery, and Harvie's falsetto giggle that at one time turned into a baritone guffaw.

"What's the joke? What's the joke?" A strident voice broke into our gaiety. It could belong to only one person of my acquaintance. Sure enough, there stood Mabel Binks with all the glory of a grown-up society beau in her wake and all the manner a month of debutanting could give her. "Let me introduce Mr. Parker, girls. You just adore girls, don't you, Mr. Parker?"

Mr. Parker, who was in a measure the Beau Brummel of Richmond, a.s.sured us he did and immediately took stock of our charms, at least that was his air, as Mabel, with many flourishes, presented us. She was quite impressive in her manner of introducing Tweedles and Annie Pore, and I heard her whisper behind her hand that Annie was a "descendant of n.o.bilities." She almost ignored me altogether, but finally brought me in as "little Miss Allison from the country," and pretended to have entirely forgotten Mary's name.

Mr. Parker was a type I had never met before. He was good looking and clever in a way, always knowing the latest joke and the last bit of gossip and retailing his knowledge to his greatest advantage, that is, never getting it off to one person but saving himself for an audience worthy of his wit. He was older than Zebedee, in his forties I should say, but his countenance was as rosy as a boy's. Dee declared she knew for a fact that he had his face ma.s.saged every day. His attire was as carefully thought out as any belle's: socks and tie to match, shoes and gloves also to match, and scarf pin and jewelled wrist watch in harmony with his general get-up.

He was a man, I was told, not of the F.F.V.'s, but from his earliest youth Society with a big S had been his object and he had made good. He was invited everywhere but went only to those places that he felt would help him in his great object, that of being Dictator, as it were, to Society. He controlled the vote as to whether or not a debutante was a success. If he said she was to be the rage, she was the rage, and if her charms did not appeal to him, it was a very wonderful thing for her to get by with them. He was a man of no wealth, having held for many years the same position in a bank at a comfortable salary. It was no more than enough to enable him to belong to all clubs, to live in bachelor apartments, to support thirty pairs of trousers and a suitable number of coats and various grades of waistcoats, fancy and otherwise, and shoes and shoe-trees that mighty forests must have been denuded to obtain.

Mr. Parker had smiled on the effulgent beauty of Mabel Binks, and her social fortune was made. Any girl with social ambition would rather be seen at the ball game with Hiram G. Parker than any other man in Richmond, although he was never known to have seats in the grandstand or to take a girl in an automobile. The honour of being with him was sufficient, and the prestige gained by his favour was greater than all the boxes in the grandstand could give or the delight of riding in a year-after-next model of the finest car built.

Mr. Parker made no excuses, they say he never did, but just handed his lady fair up into our car and stepped in after her as though they had received written invitations. The car was already full to overflowing and so overflow it did. Father and Wink spilled out and were soon walking arm-and-arm, evidently striking up quite a friendship. Mabel made her usual set at Zebedee, who was w.i.l.l.y-nilly engrossed by her favour.