Chapter 11

"Phoo! he couldn't make that in his grandfather's writing-room," said Larry, in derision, yet he looked anxious. Suppose Joel Pepper were really busy over such a splendid thing as that and hadn't told him. "Guess something else."

"I can't think what it is," said Frick, sitting down on the curbstone to become lost in thought--an example to be speedily followed by all the boys, till finally there was a dismal row of them, without a thought remaining of having the expedition on the pond, since Joel Pepper wouldn't come with them.

XV

UP IN ALEXIA'S PRETTY ROOM

Polly was having a bad half-hour with herself, despite all the attractions up in Alexia's pretty room.

"It's no use," she cried, throwing down the little brush with which she was whisking off the dainty bureau-cover. The girls were "setting up" the various adornments that were plentifully strewn about, an occupation that Polly dearly loved, and that Alexia as dearly hated. "I must go home."

Alexia, down on her knees, with her head in the closet, grumbling over the shoe bag, whose contents were in a chronic state of overflow, pulled it out suddenly.

"Why, Polly Pepper!" she exclaimed, in an injured tone. One eye was draped by a cobweb, gained by diving into the closet's extreme corner after a missing slipper, gone for some weeks; and in other ways Alexia's face presented a very unprepossessing appearance. "You said you'd help me with my room this morning."

"Oh, yes, I know," said Polly hurriedly, and running over to Alexia; "but you'll let me off, won't you?--for I've something on my mind. Oh, dear me!"

Alexia hopped up to her feet, the slipper flying off at a tangent, and ran all around Polly Pepper, gazing at her anxiously.

"I don't see anything. Oh, what is it?" she cried.

"You see, the boys wanted to find Joel, and I--" began Polly, twisting her fingers.

"Bother the boys!" exclaimed Alexia, interrupting. "Is that all? They are everlastingly wanting to find Joel. Well"--with a sigh of relief--"we can go back to work again. Why, I must say, Polly, you scared me 'most to death. Oh, dear me! I wish I had let Norah sweep this old closet when she does the room. It's dirty as can be. If Aunt knew it--" The rest of it was lost, as Alexia was down on her knees again, her head back in the closet, with the hope of unearthing more slippers and shoes.

"Alexia, do come out," cried Polly, pulling her gown smartly; "I must speak to you."

"Can't," said Alexia, rummaging away. "There, I've gone and knocked down my blue silk waist! Do pick it up, Polly; it 'll get all dirt, and then won't Aunt scold!"

As if to make matters worse, a voice out in the hall was heard:

"_Alexia?_"

"Misery me!" cried Alexia, scuffling out backward from the closet, the blue silk waist on her head where it had fallen, and in her sudden exit nearly overthrowing Polly Pepper. "Here comes Aunt. Shut the door, Polly--shut it"--scrambling with both hands to get the waist off, while a hook caught in her light, fluffy hair. And Miss Rhys being too near the door for any such protection as Alexia suggested, in she walked.

"What in the world!" She lifted both hands. "Alexia Rhys, is it possible! I concluded not to go down-town, and came back, and to think of this--playing with your best silk waist!"

"I'm not playing," declared Alexia, in a sharp key, tossing back from her head as much of the waist as she could, "and it hurts awfully"--twitching angrily at the hook.

Polly sprang to her assistance.

"Wait a minute, and I'll get you out," she said.

"And I won't wait," cried Alexia loudly; "it's bad enough to be hooked to death with a horrid old ugly waist, without being scolded to pieces by your aunt."

"Oh, Alexia!" exclaimed Miss Rhys, "to call that beautiful waist an ugly thing!"

"And I'll pull every spear of hair out of my head, but I'll get the thing off. Ow!"--as she began to put her threat into execution.

"Do be still, Alexia," begged Polly, trying to push aside the nervous fingers.

"I won't be still," cried Alexia, casting up a pale eye full of wrath on the side next to Polly, and giving another twitch. "I guess if you'd been hooked up by a horrible old thing, and your aunt came in and scolded you terribly, you wouldn't wait. Ow! Oh, dear me!"

"Then," said Polly, standing quite still, "since you won't let me help you, I'm going home, Alexia."

"Oh, don't," cried Alexia, and she dropped her hands to her side in a flash, the blue silk waist dangling to her head by its hook. "I'll let you help whatever you want to, Polly," she mumbled meekly.

So Polly set to work, Miss Rhys slipping out of the room. Although Alexia's nervous fingers were now not in the way, still, it wasn't easy to disentangle the hook from the thick, fluffy hair, wound in as it was.

"You've tangled it all up," said Polly, bending over it with flushed face, her fingers working busily, "and it's all in a snarl. Dear me! do I hurt?"

"No, never mind," said Alexia; "'tisn't any matter. Don't go home, Polly." She held her fast by the gown.

"No, of course not," said Polly; "at least not until I get this hook out of your hair. There--oh, dear me! I thought it was quite free. Well, anyway, now it is!" She held up the blue silk waist with a triumphant little flourish, over her own head. "It must be awful to have something fastened to you like that," she said, sympathetically, as she placed the waist on the bed with a sigh of relief.

"Well, I guess you'd think so," assented Alexia decidedly; "it's too perfectly awful for anything. It pulls like a big vulture with his talons holding your hair." She hopped to her feet and shook herself in delight, her long, light braids flying out gayly. "Well, I am glad that Aunt has gone"--looking around the room, and drawing a long breath.

Polly Pepper stood quite still over by the bed.

"Well--heigh-ho--come on," cried Alexia, dancing over to seize her arm; "let's have a spin." But Polly didn't move.

"Come on, Polly," cried Alexia, with another tug at her arm.

"No," said Polly, "I can't, Alexia."

"What in the world is the matter?" cried Alexia, dropping her arm to stare at her.

"I think your aunt--" began Polly.

"Oh, Aunt!" interrupted Alexia impatiently. "You're always talking about her, Polly Pepper, and she's everlastingly picking at me, so I have a perfectly dreadful time, between you two."

"Well, she is your aunt," said Polly, not offering to stir.

"I can't help it." Alexia, for the want of something better to do, ran over and twitched the table cover straight. "And I know she's my aunt, but she needn't pick at me all the time," she added defiantly. She looked uncomfortable all the same, and ran about here and there trying to get things in their places, but knocking down more than were tidied up. "Why don't you say something?" she cried impatiently, whirling around.

"Because I've nothing to say," replied Polly, not moving.

"Oh, dear me!" Alexia sent her long arms out with a despairing gesture. "I suppose I've just got to go and tell Aunt I'm sorry." She drew a long breath. "But I hadn't been playing; I was tired to death over that dirty old closet and that tiresome shoe bag, and my hair all hooked up. Well, do come on." She ran over and held out her hand. "Come with me," she begged.

So Polly put her hand in Alexia's, and together they ran out into the hall, to the maiden aunt's room.

"It's perfectly dreadful to board," said Alexia, on the way. "I wouldn't care how little the house was, if Aunt and I could only have one," and she gave a great sigh.

Polly turned suddenly and gave her a big hug.

"Mamsie says you are to come over to our house just as often as possible. So does Grandpapa," she cried hastily; "you know that, Alexia."

"Yes, I know," said Alexia, but she was highly gratified at every repetition of the invitation. "Well, oh, dear me!"--as they stood before Miss Rhys' door.

That lady sat in her bay window, her fingers busy with her embroidery, and her mind completely filled with plans for another piece when that particular one should be completed.

"I'm sorry, Aunt," said Alexia, plunging up to the chair and keeping tight hold of Polly Pepper's hand.

"Oh!" said Miss Rhys, looking up. "Why, how your hair does look, Alexia!"

Up flew Alexia's other hand to her head.

"Well, it's been all hooked up," she said.

"And I'll brush it for you," said Polly, at her shoulder.

"That'll be fine," cried Alexia, with a comfortable wriggle of her long figure. "Oh, I'm sorry, Aunt."

"Very well," said Miss Rhys, turning back to her embroidery again. "And, Alexia, your room looks very badly. I'm astonished that you are so untidy, when I talk to you about it so much."

"Well, Polly is helping me fix it up," said Alexia, drawing off and pulling Polly along.

"Now, you see, Polly"--as the two girls were safe once more in the little room, this time with the door shut--"I only got some more pickings by going to Aunt."

"Hush," said Polly, "she will hear you.'

"How is she going to hear with the door shut, pray tell?" cried Alexia, with a giggle. "Well, it's over with now. Let's fly at this horrid old room. Dear me!"--as she ran by the window--"do just see those dreadful boys."

At the word "boys" Polly ran too, and peeped over her shoulder.

"Oh, I must speak to Frick," and without more warning, she raced out of the room, and down the front stairs.

"Polly, Polly Pepper!" But Polly being out in the street and nearly up to the knot of boys, Alexia gave up calling and speedily ran after her, to hear her say:

"Oh, Frick, I'll go and try to find Joel for you."

Frick disentangled himself from the group.

"I found Joel myself," he said, "and he wouldn't come."

"Wouldn't come where?" demanded Alexia breathlessly, plunging up.

"Out on the pond." It was Larry Keep who answered.

"And so we've given it all up," said another boy, very dismally.

"Oh, dear me!" exclaimed Alexia, "how tiresome of Joel!"

"Oh, no, no," protested Polly, shaking her head. "I know Joel couldn't go, or else he would. You know that, boys," she said, looking anxiously at them all.

"He's always been before," said Larry, in a dudgeon, "and I don't see what makes him act so now."

"Well, you haven't any right to abuse him, just because he doesn't want to go out with you on the pond," said Alexia warmly, veering round at the first word of blame of Joel from anybody else. "That's a great way to do, I must say."

"And, boys, you know Joel would have gone if he could, don't you?" said Polly again, the little anxious pucker deepening on her forehead.

"Ye--es," said Larry slowly, digging the toe of his tennis shoe into the ground, as no one else said anything.

"Oh, he would, he would," said Polly, clasping her hands tightly together, the color flying over her cheek. "Something must have happened to keep him back"--as the boys, having nothing more to say, moved off. "Alexia, now I _must_ go home, for I'm afraid--" of what, she didn't say.

"I'll go, too," said Alexia, springing after her, wild to find out what the matter could be with Joel Pepper, to keep him from one of his favorite sports on the pond.

"There isn't anything the matter with him," shouted back Frick, over his shoulder, who had caught Polly's last words. "And he could have gone as easy as not; he was in Mr. King's writing-room with the door locked."

"Grandpapa's writing-room, with the door locked!" repeated Polly, turning around in a puzzled way. "Why--I don't see--oh!" Then she gave such a squeal that Alexia hopped across the road in astonishment. "I know now. Dear, splendid, old Joel! Boys!" She was up by them again, and talking so fast that nobody understood for a moment or two what the whole thing was about.

"For pity's sake, Polly Pepper!" Alexia was shaking her arm, the boys crowding around Polly and hanging on every word.

"Don't you understand? Oh, how stupid I've been not to think of it before!--though I didn't know he was to begin this very morning," cried Polly, hurrying on, all in a glow. "Grandpapa has engaged Joel to do some work for him on his books"--Polly didn't think she ought to explain any further about the ten-dollar note--"and so Joel thought he couldn't stop till the hour was up, and----"

"Has he got to work an hour on 'em at a time?" interrupted Larry in amazement, pushing his way nearer to Polly.

"Yes," said Polly, turning her rosy face on him, so glad that she was really making them see that Joel couldn't go with them when he was asked, "he must work a whole hour at a time on them, so you see he really had to stay back." But this part was lost on the whole group.

"Hi--hi!" they shouted, and Larry flung up his cap. "Well, if that's so, we'll go back and get him now; the hour must be up," and off they raced, flinging up a cloud of dust from their heels.

"Whew!" exclaimed Alexia. "Did you ever see such perfectly dreadful boys to kick up such a dust? Oh, dear me, Polly Pepper. Ker-choo!"

When she came out of her sneezing fit, Polly was saying again:

"Oh, how perfectly stupid I am, Alexia!"

But her eyes shone, for it was now all right for Joel with the boys.

XVI

THE ACCIDENT

But the boys didn't get back after Joel--not just then. A big tallyho coach, in swinging around a corner, bore down upon the struggling crowd, the driver halloing and the horn blowing lustily, by way of a signal to clear the road. This would have been all well enough and easy to avoid, if a string of bicyclists had not selected that very identical moment to appear from the opposite direction. And Larry, whose uncle was in the last-mentioned procession, having a laudable desire to see him and make his relation aware of the fact, turned, waved his cap and his arms with a, "Hi, there, Uncle Jack!" and in another second was under the big wheels, the whole merry party going over him and the laughter and chat still filling the air.

Miss Mary Taylor, having an outside seat, looked over quickly. Hamilton Dyce, sitting next, clambered down.

"Don't be frightened," he said into her pale face.

Half a dozen men were on the ground with him, and the boys swarmed around wildly, getting in everybody's way. The bicyclists, not catching the idea of any accident, were swiftly coasting down the hill, for after all their leader had suddenly changed his mind and veered off just before reaching the scene of the accident.

"Help me down," said Miss Taylor hoarsely.

"Ugh, don't!" said Beth Cameron, with a shiver, poking her parasol well down over her eyes. "I wouldn't see it for all the world"--shivering.

"You can't do any good; better not," said Mr. Dyce, looking up at Miss Taylor.

But Miss Mary continued to say, "Help me down," and she so evidently displayed the intention of getting down without any assistance if it weren't forthcoming, that Mr. Dyce did as he was bidden, and she was on the spot by the time that Larry was drawn out from under the wheels and laid on the roadside grass.

"I'm afraid he's done for, poor beggar," said one of the men.

Mr. Dyce turned Miss Mary completely around and marched her off to the middle of the road before she knew that such summary treatment was to be accorded her. Then she caught her breath.

"You needn't think to save me," she said, with a little gasp: "I'm--I'm quite strong. I must go. Oh, don't stop me. Think of poor Mrs. Keep!" and she was back in among the group of men and the frantic boys. "Send for Doctor Fisher," she cried, kneeling down by Larry's side.

"No use--" began another man, but Hamilton Dyce cried, "Which one can run the fastest for Doctor Fisher?"

Little Porter Knapp could, there was no doubt of that. All arms and legs was he, and able to get over more ground a minute than any other boy of their set, not excepting Joel Pepper. So, before Mr. Dyce had finished speaking, he was off like a shot, leaving Miss Taylor sitting on the grass holding Larry's poor head, while the whole crowd of men revolved around her, nervous to do something, but not seeing their way clear to find out what would be expedient.

"If those chaps would stop howling!" exclaimed one of the men, in desperation, stalking off a bit to cram his hands in his pocket, and ejaculate this to a companion.

"It's pretty hard on the kids," remarked the friend, with a glance over his shoulder at Frick and the rest of the boys, who added to the misery by crowding up to the scene and impeding the progress of all would-be helpers.

"He's dead, it's easy to see," observed the first man, nodding over to the group.

"That's a fact, it looks like it," nodded the friend. "Well, it's a bad thing, but no one's at fault. Mac couldn't help it. The little beggar ran right under the horses."

"Oh, Mac's not to blame," said the first speaker hastily, "but it's an awful calamity just the same, to run down a kid. Well, we must pacify the ladies." So the two walked back and up to the side of the coach, when the big hats under the parasols leaned over and allowed their fair owners to be diverted with all sorts of comforting things. And presently little Doctor Fisher came rushing along in his gig, out of which sprang Porter Knapp before the horse could be persuaded to stop.

No one said a word, least of all Miss Taylor, except the Doctor, who ordered them to right and to left, as assistants. And before long, Larry opened his blue eyes.

"Why--where?" he began. He didn't even know he had been hurt--not till afterward when the pain and suffering set in.

"Easy--easy there," said little Doctor Fisher.

"Great Scott!" The young man who had pronounced him dead crammed those hands of his deeper yet in their pockets and gave a whistle.

"Oh, Larry," said Miss Taylor gently, bending over him.

"What is it?" Larry tried to move, and felt a strong hand laid on him just where it made any motion impossible. Beside, a great wave of pain swept him suddenly into such astonishment as well as suffering that all he could do was to shut his eyes and let his head sink back.

"Now, then!" Doctor Fisher glanced up to the coach-load. "All of you get down," he said curtly, and before the women quite knew how, the pretty gowns and hats and parasols were all descending, a gay, fluttering bevy all chattering together.

"Miss Mary, I'll trouble you to hop up there," and a dozen hands helped her into position on the coach. "Now, then, Mr. Dyce, and you"; he nodded over to Harry Delafield, the little doctor did, then rapidly picked out two more men. "Up with you, please," and quicker than it takes to tell it all, they were in position, and Larry had been lifted gently into their laps, his head on Miss Taylor's arm.

"Ugh!" Betty Cameron gave a worse shiver than before. "How Mary Taylor can!" she exclaimed, with a grimace. "Oh, dear me! I'm as faint as I can be, just to think of it. I should die outright to be up there with him."

"Well, we've got to walk home, I suppose," observed one of the other girls disconsolately, who, now that Larry could really speak, thought it quite time to turn attention to her own discomfort, and she thrust out her dainty shoe.

The boys, when they saw that Larry was really alive, stopped howling, especially as each and all had felt the glare of the eyes back of Doctor Fisher's big spectacles. And they set off on a run by the side of the coach, and as far ahead of that vehicle as possible, as Mac handled the ribbons with his best style, trying to drive as gently as possible for the patient.

"To his home, of course," said the little doctor, turning his spectacles up to Mac. Then he got into his gig, whipped up, and took the lead.

Porter Knapp went across streets and got there first and was leaning over the stone gateway when the little doctor's gig drove up.

"Eh!" exclaimed Doctor Fisher, looking at him over his glasses. "Well, you have a pair of legs! Joel was right; he says you beat everything in running."

Porter looked much pleased and glanced down at his legs affectionately. Then he remembered Larry and sobered at once.

Doctor Fisher, while going up the steps, said in passing:

"Larry'll pull through all right, I think."

"She's here," cried Porter suddenly. He had heard the words, but something had abruptly come in between, and he wildly dashed at the little doctor. Doctor Fisher turned around and saw, flourishing up to the gateway, a gay little runabout, and in it Larry's mother and sister.

"My goodness!" He was down by its side. And off in the distance, but coming surely and steadily on, was the coach bearing Larry to his home.

"Yes, yes, how do you do? Don't stop," cried the little doctor, waving his hand that was free from his bag of instruments; "go on to the stable."

"Oh, no, I'll stop here." Mrs. Keep had her foot on the step, and put out the hand not occupied with her flowing draperies. "Eleanor is going on to see a friend. Well, how do you do?"

"You had better drive on to the stable," said the little doctor, "both of you."

This time he had such an imperative manner that, thoroughly bewildered, Mrs. Keep stepped back into her seat and motioned Eleanor to obey.

"Isn't he awfully funny!" said Eleanor, turning in at the driveway, more puzzled, if possible, than her mother.

"Yes," said Mrs. Keep, "he is, but then I suppose he has a good deal on his mind. You know they say his practice is getting to be tremendous. Well, we must run in and see him," as they drove down to the stable. "And you can go afterward to see Mary Taylor."

"All right," said Eleanor, and one of the stable boys coming out to meet the pony, they both jumped out of the runabout and ran up the back veranda steps.

"It's funny he didn't come down this way, if he wanted us to drive to the stable," cried Eleanor. "Mamma, do say you think it's queer. It would be some comfort if you would."

"Well, I will, then," laughed Mrs. Keep, and there stood Doctor Fisher at the dining-room door, and the minute she saw his face she knew that something dreadful had happened.

"Well, Joel, my boy." Old Mr. King, who had been consulting his watch every five minutes, whirled around in his big chair. "Time to lay down the work," he called cheerily.

"Yes, sir," called Joel back, from the alcove.

"And I'm sure if ever an hour was long, this last one has been," the old gentleman was saying to himself. Joel, who was rather stiff in the joints when first getting up from his work on the carpet, now came out feeling his arms, and then indulging in a good long stretch.

"It seems rather good--eh, Joe?--to swing your arms," cried Grandpapa with a laugh, and a keen glance into the black eyes.

"Yes, _sir,_" declared Joel, with another stretch, and wondering if ever anything was so good in this world as to be told the hour was up.

"Take care," warned the old gentleman; "those long arms of yours will have things off from my table. My goodness, Joe! you must really go out of doors and stretch, you make such a sweep," and he laughed again.

"I can reach so far." Joel ran all around the table and stretched out his brown arms. "See, Grandpapa," he cried; then he got on his tiptoes and leaned over to achieve greater and more astonishing results.

"You'll be over on your nose, if I don't rescue you and the things on my table," said Mr. King, bursting into a heartier laugh than ever. "Come on, Joey, my boy, let's get out of doors, in a larger place." So he gathered up one of the sprawling sets of fingers, and summarily marched him out.

"Now I suppose the next thing in order is to race after Frick and those boys," observed old Mr. King, when the garden walk was attained.

"Yes, sir," cried Joel, his black eyes alight and his feet dancing.

"Well, be off with you."

No need to say more; Joel's heels beat the hastiest of retreats, as he scuttled off at the liveliest pace of which he was capable.