Ethel Morton at Chautauqua Part 14

"Perfectly delicious, child," he whispered hoa.r.s.ely, for his throat was still sore. "I shall want to be a king and engage you for my personal cook even after I get well. I think I can tackle another of those excellent combinations of yours in about four hours."

Dorothy was delighted and for the whole of the busiest week of her life she worked hard not only to have her cooking delicious, but to have the trays attractive. She never used the same cup and saucer twice in succession; at the shop in the business block she found funny little jelly molds for a few cents apiece, and Mr. Emerson never failed to notice that to-day he had a miniature jelly rabbit and the next day a tiny jelly watermelon.

Mrs. Hanc.o.c.k let her forage in her china closet and she found there bowls of many patterns, the odds and ends of the home china sent here for summer use.

"They're exactly what I want," Dorothy cried and went off with them in triumph. There was always a bit of parsley or watercress or a tender leaf of lettuce with the first part of the meal and a posy with the dessert.

"I want especially to thank you for one care you've taken," said Mr.

Emerson on the day when he regretfully dismissed his cook with a roll of crisp bills in her capable hand. "I want to thank you for always having the hot things _really hot_ and the cold things _really cold_."

CHAPTER VIII

THE SPELLING MATCH

THE evening of the Annual Spelling Match was one of those when the whole Emerson-Morton family down to d.i.c.ky went to the Amphitheatre. Usually Mary or one of the older members of the family stayed at home with the children. On this occasion, however, Mr. Emerson had announced that he intended to take part in the match so everybody was eager to be present to encourage him.

The Amphitheatre was fuller than they had seen it yet when they reached it and made their way as far forward as possible so that they might hear all that was said.

"Evidently this is popular," remarked Mr. Emerson to his daughter as he took his seat next to her, placing himself at the end of the bench so that he could get into the aisle quickly when the time came. There seemed to be an unusual spirit of gayety in the audience, they thought, for many people were being playfully urged by their friends to go up on to the stage, and others who had made up their minds to go were being coached by their companions who were giving out words from the C.L.S.C.

books for them to practice on.

A short flight of steps had been arranged at the front of the platform on which two rows of chairs were placed ready for the contestants. At the back a large table was loaded with heavy dictionaries for the use of the judges who were to decide any questions of doubt.

A burst of applause greeted the Director of the Inst.i.tution as he walked forward and introduced the announcer of words, a college president.

After giving a short history of the Annual Spelling Match, which dated back to the early days of the a.s.sembly, he announced that the contest of the evening was to be between representatives of New York, Pennsylvania, and Ohio on one side and the Rest of the World on the other.

Amid the laughter that followed the announcement Helen whispered to Margaret who sat next to her--

"Why New York, Pennsylvania, and Ohio?"

"They send more people here than any of the other states. You ought to see them stand up on Old First Night! There are hordes of them."

The Director went on to state the rules that were to govern the contestants. They must be over fifteen years old. They might ask to have a word p.r.o.nounced again but they could have only one chance to spell it.

A spelling was to be accepted as correct if it were confirmed by any of the dictionaries on the stage--Worcester, Webster, the Standard, and the Century. The judges were professors from the faculty of the Summer Schools and their decision was to be final. No one who had taken a prize in previous years might enter. Lastly, a ten dollar gold piece was to add an extra inducement to enter the contest and to give an extra pleasure to the winner.

"Now," he concluded, "will the gladiators come forward, stating as they step on the platform on which side they are to fight."

There was a moment's pause until a courageous few advanced to the front.

The Director announced their partisanship. They were all, as it happened, from New York, Pennsylvania, or Ohio and they sat down on the chairs at the right of the audience.

The next detachment added two to their number and half a dozen to the other side. Mr. Emerson was in the next group to go forward.

"There's my mother behind your grandfather," whispered Dorothy, who was between the two Ethels. They saw a slender woman with a ma.s.s of snow-white hair piled above a fresh face.

"It's the lady who took care of d.i.c.ky and me the day of the fire," cried Ethel Blue.

Bursts of applause greeted people who were well known. The editor of a newspaper in a near-by town was one of these favored ones and a teacher of stenography was another. Between the detachments the Director cheered on the laggards with humorous remarks, and after each joke there was sure to be heard from one part of the Amphitheatre or another a loudly whispered "You go" followed by a shrinking, "Oh, no, you go!"

At last all the Tri-state chairs were filled while there remained two vacant places on the side of the Rest of the World.

"It looks as if the Rest of the World was afraid to stand up against New York, Pennsylvania, and Ohio," exclaimed the Director. "This can't be true!"

There was another pause and then two women rose at the same time. They were received by a hearty round of clapping.

"Do you see who it is? Roger, Roger, do you see?" cried Helen, leaning across Margaret to touch her brother's knee.

"Good for her. Isn't she the s.p.u.n.ky mother!" answered Roger, while at the same moment Margaret and James were exclaiming, "Why, there's our mother, too, going up with yours!"

So the two brave little ladies took the last two seats for the defence of the Rest of the World and the announcer began to give out the words to the waiting fifty.

It took only a minute to bring trouble, for a Tri-state woman went down on "typographical." Others followed in rapid succession, every failure being as heartily applauded as every success. By the time that a girl misspelled "ebullitions" only seven representatives of the Rest of the World were left. A Kentuckian who had overpowered some giants was beaten by "centripetal"; Grandfather Emerson's omission of a "p" in "handicapped," Mrs. Morton's desperate but unavailing struggle with the "l's" in "unparalleled," and Mrs. Hanc.o.c.k's insertion of an undesirable "e" in "judgment" reduced the ranks of both sides to a brave pair of Tri-states faced by a solitary cosmopolitan.

"It's Mother, it's Mother," whispered Dorothy, clapping frantically, while the two Ethels told everybody near them, "It's Dorothy's mother.

Isn't she splendid!"

"Correlation" and "exhilaration" were the bombs whose explosion swept away the last of the Tri-state forces, and Dorothy's mother stood alone, the winner of the prize.

"That was Dorothy's mother who took the prize," repeated Ethel Brown in high spirits to her grandmother as she took her arm to pilot her home.

"Dorothy's mother! Why, that is the Mrs. Smith who is my embroidery teacher at the art store."

"It is! How lovely for you to know Dorothy's mother. Ethel, Granny knows Dorothy's mother. She teaches her embroidery," called Ethel to her cousin.

"Don't you know Dorothy said her mother was teaching embroidery in an art store in Illinois last winter? Oh, I almost want to learn from her myself."

"Stick to your stenciling, child," said Mrs. Morton. "Does Dorothy embroider?"

"We don't know; we'll ask her," cried the two girls in chorus, and Ethel Brown added; "she makes ten kinds of baskets, and this year she's doing stenciling in my cla.s.s, and her mother says that if she does it as well as she did the baskets, she can study next year at the Arts and Crafts Shops with the grown people."

"She must have inherited her mother's clever fingers," commented Mrs.

Morton.

Roger and Helen, who had been walking with James and Margaret, stopped at their house and sat on the porch to round out this privileged evening until ten o'clock. The moonlight shone brilliantly on the lake and at its upper end, two or three miles away, the lights of Mayville twinkled through the trees. Boats and canoes were drawing in toward the sh.o.r.e, for Chautauqua custom demands that every one be at home by ten o'clock, and that quiet reign so that the people who have studying to do or are obliged to rise early for their cla.s.ses and so must go to bed early may not be disturbed.

Some of the boats landed at the dock just below the Hanc.o.c.ks' house and their occupants stepped on the wet planks with happy shrieks of laughter; others went on to the lower dock in front of the hotel.

"It always says in books that moonlight is romantic," said Roger. "I don't see where the romance comes in; it's just easier to see your way round."

There were cries of protest from the two girls.

"Girls always howl when you say a thing like that," went on Roger, "as if a fellow was a hard-hearted fool, but I'd like to have you tell me where there is any romance in real life--any outside of books, I mean."

He stared challengingly at James as if he expected him either to support him or to contradict him, but James was a slow thinker and said nothing. Helen rushed in breathlessly.

"It's just the way you put things together. If you want to look at it that way there are things happening all the time that would look romantic in a story."