Dorothy on a House Boat Part 26

"Of course, Popper'll pay everything back if we ever get home.

But--Oh! dear! How I hate it all!"

For down in his heart he realized that no amount of money could cover his obligation to these friends, and he started off in a most unhappy frame of mind.

"I'll find that girl and teach her to mind her own business. The idea of her training those monkeys--my monkeys! Course, she's done it all wrong, and it's harder to unlearn a thing than learn it right first off. When they're trained they ought to be worth ten times as much as we paid for them. I might sell 'em to an organ-grinder, if Popper'd buy out Melvin's share."

But at this stage of thought it occurred to him that he couldn't picture his dandyish father dealing with organ-grinders. Indeed, the idea was so absurd that it made him laugh, and in that laughter his ill-temper vanished, or nearly so. After all, it was good to be alive!

Even the freedom of the woods, after the stuffy cabin he had left, was delightful. He'd rather have had it the freedom of the city streets, but this was better than nothing.

He began to whistle, imitating the call of a bird in the tree overhead, and with such fair success that he was proud of himself. The bird ceased, startled, then flew onward. Gerald followed, still practicing that wild, sweet note, till suddenly his music was interrupted by another cry, which was neither bird nor joyous, but one of keen anxiety; then, as if it had come out of the ground, a girl begged:

"Oh! whoever you are, come quick!"

"Why, Elsa! I was looking--h.e.l.lo! Of all things!"

Almost hidden by the great ferns amid which she sat Elsa held, lying across her lap, a little figure in faded gingham.

"Saint Augustine! The boy I heard 'em say was lost! How did he get here? It must be a long way from his house."

Elsa pointed pityingly to the bare little feet and legs, cruelly scratched and with dark bruises.

"I don't know. I found him just this way."

"Sainty! Wake up! My! How sound he sleeps! And how red his face is!"

"He's sick. I'm sure. I found him all curled up, his little arms under his head. He moans, sometimes, but he doesn't know anything that I say."

At that moment a hoa.r.s.e yell made Gerald look away from the boy and a leap of something to his shoulder made him yell in response.

"Jocko! Down! Behave! Oh! he'll hurt you. They've both been asleep in that spot where the sun shines through. Oh! Stop--stop!"

The monkey was attacking Gerald's face, snapping at his ears, pulling his hair, and almost frightening him into a fit. But Elsa laid Saint Augustine gently on the ground and went to the rescue. With sharp slaps of her thin hands she soon reduced Jocko to submission and, as if fearing punishment herself, Joan crouched behind a bush and peered cautiously out.

"Pshaw! How'd you do it? I was coming after the monkeys, they're mine you know--or half mine, but--do they act that way often?"

"Yes, rather too often. That's what makes everybody afraid to handle them. They'll get better natured after a time, I hope. But no matter about them. They're nothing but animals while this darling little boy--I don't know as I can carry him. You've been sick and so can't either, I suppose. Yet we can't leave him here. Will you go back to the Lily and get more help? If you brought a hammock we might put him in that. He's awfully sick. I'm afraid--he'll die--and his mother--"

Gerald had stood looking upon the little lad while she said this, wondering what would best be done, and annoyed that he should be put to the bother of the matter. His decision was made rather suddenly as again Jocko leaped upon his back and resumed his angry chattering.

"Call him off! I'll carry the child. Which is the way home?"

"I don't--know. It all looks alike--but not like--I mean, I haven't the least idea where we are, except that it must be a good ways from the boat. Don't you really know, either?"

For a moment Gerald looked about. Then answered frankly:

"No. I was pretty cross when I came out, for Melvin had just told me about that lost money and about Dorothy's paying for me--So horrid, that! I heard a bird whistle and whistling's my gift, some folks think. I've whistled for entertainments at school and I like to learn new notes. Following that wretched bird I didn't notice."

"And looking for a walking-fern I didn't either. But we can't stop here. We must go on--some way."

"Let's try the children's way: 'My--mother--told--me--this!'"

Elsa laughed. She had known so little of childish things that each new one delighted her. Gerald had uttered the few words, turning from point to point with each, and now finishing with an outstretched forefinger in a direction where the trees were less thick and crowding than elsewhere.

Fortunately, "his--mother--had--told--him" the right one. This was almost the end of the forest behind Corny Stillwell's cabin; a short-cut to the long way around by which Gerald had gone to Deer-Copse. He didn't know that when he lifted Saint Augustine in his arms and started forward. The child was small and thin, else Gerald would have had to pause oftener than he did for rest; but even so it was a severe task he had set himself.

But somehow the burden in his arms seemed to lift the burden from his heart, as is always the case when one unselfishly helps another.

Also, he feared that the illness of Saint Augustine was the result of his own; so that when Elsa once limped up to where he had paused to rest and asked:

"What do you suppose it is that ails him?" he had promptly answered:

"Measles. Caught 'em from me. Ain't that the limit?"

But Elsa who knew no slang understood him literally, and said:

"No, it isn't, I had them once and the doctor scared my father dreadfully, telling him that folks could have them _four times_! Think of that! He said most people had them only once and the younger the lighter. So I guess Saint Augustine won't be very ill. But--my heart!

Do you suppose the monkeys can catch it? Wouldn't that be awful!"

"I hope they will and die of them! Nasty little brutes! They keep my nerves on the jump all the time, hearing them chatter and yell right behind me so. You keep real far back, won't you? I don't know how you can stand them; but don't--please don't let them hop on me again. I know they're too heavy for you but I'm too nervous for words. I wish I'd never heard of 'em, the little gibbering idiots!"

Again Elsa laughed, this time so merrily that Gerald got angry.

"I don't see anything so very funny in this predicament! Not so very amusing! My arms ache fit to break and all a girl cares about a fellow is to giggle at him."

And now, indeed, was the "giggle" so prolonged that its victim had to join in it, and had Mrs. Calvert been there to hear she would have rejoiced to see shy Elsa behaving just like any other happy girl. Yet, after a moment, she sobered and begged:

"Don't mind my doing that, but I couldn't help it. It seems so funny for a boy to have 'nerves' or to be afraid of monkeys. Papa has a song:

"'The elephant now goes round and round, The band begins to play; The little boys under the monkeys' cage, Had better get out of the way--the way-- Would better get out of the way!'"

Elsa had so far forgotten her self-consciousness that she sang her quotation in a sweet, clear treble which made Gerald turn around and stare at her in surprise.

"Why, I didn't know you could sing."

"I can't--much, only for Papa, sometimes. He's a fine singer. He belongs to the Oratorio Society. He's one of its best tenors, takes solos, you know. I'm very proud of Papa's voice. His being poor doesn't keep him out of _that_ Society."

"Then he ought to get yours cultivated. You might make money that way."

"Maybe, but money isn't much. Anyway, he hasn't the money to pay for lessons."

"Look here. You're so smart with those detestable monks, suppose you go on training 'em and exhibit when you get back to town? I'd let you have 'em on trust till you could pay for them. What do you say?"

Was this the poor, timid Elsa who now faced him with flashing eyes?

Had this down-trodden "worm" actually "turned"?

"Say? What do I say? That you're the horridest boy in this whole world and I've a mind to fling your old monkeys straight at you! I--I--"

then she sobbed, fatigue overcoming her and her wrath dying as swiftly as it had arisen. "I--I see a house over there. We better go to it and ask."

She was trembling now and her lame foot dragged painfully. She had made no complaint of the long distance and the troublesome little animals she sometimes led and sometimes carried, though Gerald had grumbled incessantly.