CHAPTER VII

A JINKS PARTY

THE second prize was really won by Delight, but as she was hostess, of course she wouldn’t take it, so, Flip Henderson having the next best list, the prize was given to him.

“Well,” remarked Midget, “that’s a pretty thing! Only two boys in our Jinks Club, and they take the two prizes!”

“You girls will have to look to your laurels,” said Miss Hart, laughingly.

As the prizes were both postcard albums, they were equally appropriate for a boy or girl, and the two boys who won them were secretly quite proud of their achievement.

“Now, we’ve time for one more game,” said Miss Hart, “and this is one without prizes, but I think you’ll say it’s good fun. Kitty and Dorothy, will you distribute these bits of paper, keeping them blank side up?”

The two little girls took the box of small papers, and gave them out to the others, being careful not to look at the written side. The slips were about an inch long, and half an inch wide, and though the girls tried honestly not to look, they couldn’t help seeing there was a single word written on each one.

At last, all were distributed, and the children sat round the room waiting for the game to begin.

“This is a lovely Jinks Club meeting,” said Dorothy Adams. “I like it better than the ones where we romp so hard.”

“It’s sure lots of fun,” agreed King. “But it’s just like a party. Jinks Club never was like a party before.”

“I don’t care what it’s like, if you all have a good time,” said Delight, who had been afraid the “Jinksies” wouldn’t have a good time at her house, where romping was not allowed.

“We’re having a beautiful time,” Marjorie said, as she squeezed Delight’s arm.

Then Miss Hart began the game.

“I will tell a story,” she said, “and when I pause, King, who sits next to me, will turn over one of his papers and read the word on it. Then I’ll go on, and when I pause again, Dorothy, who sits next, will turn over one of her papers and read it out. And so on, round the circle. Each one of you be ready in turn, please, so as not to delay the thrilling tale. Now we’ll start. Once upon a time a gentleman was walking down a crowded city street, when he suddenly saw a——”

“Giraffe,” said King, who had his paper all ready to read.

“‘What a strange thing!’ exclaimed the gentleman. ‘But I will lead it away from here lest it scare somebody.’ So he persuaded the giraffe to go with him, and, stopping at a shop, he bought a——”

“Sunbonnet,” said Dorothy.

The children all laughed, but Miss Hart went on:

“‘Just the thing!’ exclaimed the man. ‘Without this, my poor giraffe might have been sun-struck.’ He tied the sunbonnet on the giraffe’s head, although, to do so, he had to climb up on a——”

“Bureau,” said Midget.

“Which was just about to be placed on a moving-van. The sunbonnet properly adjusted, the gentleman said politely to the giraffe, ‘What is your name?’ To his surprise, the animal spoke quite plainly, and answered——”

“Strawberry Jam,” read Delight, giggling.

“‘A lovely name!’ exclaimed the man. ‘Now, Strawberry Jam, I feel sure you are hungry, so I will feed you some——’”

“Tin tacks,” said Kitty.

“‘You may not think you’ll like them, dear Strawberry Jam, but I assure you that, made up into little cakes, and iced over with——’”

“Mucilage!”

“‘They are really very nice.’ ‘Not for me!’ growled the giraffe. ‘I much prefer——’”

“Soap and candles.”

“‘Very well,’ exclaimed the man, ‘you shall have those also. Now, as you’re weary, I propose you take a nap in a——’”

“Washboiler!”

“It was difficult to get the large animal in, but by doubling him up the gentleman managed to get Strawberry Jam quite comfortably in the washboiler, when just then a lady came along. She carried——”

“Two watermelons.”

“And——”

“A live turkey.”

“And——”

“A pail of whitewash.”

“Setting down her burdens, she said to the man, ‘I belong to the Society for the Prevention of——’”

“Green apples.”

“‘And I shall have you arrested for ill-treating that giraffe, unless you at once give him a——’”

“Lace collar.”

“‘I shall carry out my threat.’

“‘Madame,’ said the gentleman, ‘I have no lace collars handy, and, besides, with his long neck, he would require about seventeen, but I will give him a——’”

“Yellow wheelbarrow.”

“‘Do so!’ cried the lady, ‘and I will wheel him away in it.’ She did so, and the giraffe was never seen or heard of again.”

“Oh, Miss Hart, don’t stop! We have several papers left yet!” cried Kitty, as the story came to an abrupt end.

“I must, dearie, for I see Mary is ready to announce supper.”

“Supper!” exclaimed Midget. “Why, we never have supper at Jinks Club! Just cookies and lemonade or plain water.”

“But this is to make up for your being so good and quiet,” said Mrs. Spencer, who stood in the doorway leading to the dining-room. “I’ve been told that Jinks Club usually necessitates a whole redecoration of the house, but I can’t see that you’ve done the least bit of damage here today. So here’s your reward.”

It was a very inviting-looking reward, for the dining-table was set prettily, and with Mrs. Spencer and Miss Hart at either end, the six children were soon seated in their places.

No crackers and lemonade this time! There were creamed oysters, and little sandwiches, and cocoa, and afterward a lovely snow pudding and tiny iced cakes and bonbons.

The feast was delicious, but somehow conversation seemed to flag.

Mrs. Spencer was charmingly hospitable, but she was so polite, that it made the children feel restrained.

“Do you miss your mother, Marjorie?” asked the hostess, in her conversational way, and Midget answered:

“Yes, Mrs. Spencer, very much.”

It sounded too short, but poor Midge couldn’t think of anything to add to the bald statement.

King helped her out. The Maynards always tried to help each other.

“We all miss Mother,” he said, “and Father, too.”

“But we try to be cheerful about it,” supplemented Kitty, who had an uncomfortable feeling that she must act as if at a “party.”

Then a silence fell, and had it not been for Miss Hart’s cheery little jokes and merry manner, the supper would have been a very quiet affair.

At half-past five they all went home, and, after polite good-byes, the three Maynards walked decorously across the street.

But as they entered their own gate, King cried out:

“Race you to the house!” and the three broke into a mad run for dear life.

Of course, King got there first, but plump Marjorie, puffing and blowing, came a close second, while Kitty, usually a swift runner, came walking behind them with great dignity.

“I can’t get off my Spencery air so soon,” she explained, and the others laughed, for Kitty was far more inclined toward elegant repose of manner than the other two madcaps.

“Huh! Guess you’ll have to!” cried King, and, taking her two hands in his own with a clinching grip, he began to whirl her round and round. This somewhat dangerous game, known as “Sail a boat,” required careful attention, if accidents were to be avoided; so, seeing she was in for it, Kitty gracefully capitulated and swung round faster and faster until she nearly had King off his feet.

“There, stop it!” commanded Marjorie. “You’ll get dizzy, and then you’re sure to fall. Quit it, King! We don’t want any more accidents!”

“That’s so,” agreed King, stopping slowly, and helping Kitty to preserve her equilibrium.

“But I do say,” he went on, as they all three burst in at the front door together, “I’d rather have plain, everyday Jinks than to go to a Spencer party.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Marjorie, who was always satisfied with things as they came. “I liked the party part of it, and the supper was grand.”

“But it was so mixed up,” said Kitty. “In the first place, it wasn’t a party, ’cause there was no ice cream, and yet it was a party, ’cause we sat at the table, and had the cut-glass goblets. Then, it wasn’t a party, ’cause we weren’t dressed up, and yet it was a party, ’cause the grown-ups helped entertain us.”

“That’s the point, Kit,” said her brother. “It wasn’t either party or Jinks Club, but a mixture of both. I’d rather have either one thing or the other. But I’ll make up for it now. I was so ’fraid I’d cut up jinks over there, I didn’t know what to do. But here goes!”

Like one let suddenly loose from restraint, King turned two or three handsprings down the long hall, and at the last one managed to collide with both Miss Larkin and Rosamond’s doll-carriage. The three were pretty well tangled up; King lost his balance, Miss Larkin lost her dignity, and the doll-carriage lost a wheel.

But King was in high spirits by this time.

“There, there, Larky,” he said, “you’re all right. Pick up her back comb, Mops. Don’t step on her eyeglasses, Kitty! Look out, they’re right under your feet!”

Fortunately the comb and glasses were rescued intact and restored to their owner.

Miss Larkin didn’t quite know whether to be annoyed or to laugh, but King was in a wheedlesome mood, and he patted her shoulders, and smoothed down her laces as he said:

“There, Larky Parky; it’s all right. You’re not mussed up a bit. Nothing’s busted but the carriage. And I guess we can get that wheel fixed. And, Jiminetty Christmas! I had to tumble about a little, to get limbered up after that stiff party. Oh, I say, Larky, dear, did you get us our scrap-book, as you promised?”

“Oh, I didn’t!” exclaimed Miss Larkin, looking greatly chagrined. “To tell you the truth, King, I forgot all about it.”

“It’s naughty to be forgetful.”

“Yes, King, I know it is; and I’m awfully sorry. But I had a letter from some friends who are coming to visit me here, and everything else went out of my mind.”

The Maynard children had already had some experience with Miss Larkin’s forgetfulness, so they were not greatly surprised.

But they were disappointed, and Kitty’s face showed it so plainly, that Miss Larkin said:

“I’ll do my best to repair my error, Kitty. I’ll go downtown to-night, right after dinner, and get the scrap-book.”

“Oh, no, Miss Larkin, you needn’t do that,” said Marjorie, quite overcome by this offer. “It’s too late and too dark for you to go out alone. Unless,” she added, as an afterthought, “we all go with you.”

“Oh, let us do that,” begged Kitty. “I’ve almost never been downtown at night. Oh, do let’s go! It would be lovely!”

“Would that make up to you for my forgetfulness?” asked Miss Larkin, smiling, and when they all chorused, “Yes!” she agreed to take them.

Dinner was soon over, for after their Jinks supper, the children wanted almost nothing, and then, scrambling into their coats and hats, they declared themselves ready.

Kitty walked with Miss Larkin, and King and Midget followed.

“Oh!” sighed Kitty, as they came at last to the brightly-lighted Main Street, “isn’t it wonderful. They say New York is very brilliant at night, but I don’t think it can be much brighter than this. Is it, Miss Larkin?”

“Oh, yes, indeed it is, Kitty. Have you never seen New York at night?”

“No; Mother says I’m too young. I’m not ten yet, you know. But I don’t see how it can be much gayer than this.”

The Main Street of Rockwell was the usual thoroughfare of a small town, but the bright electrics in many of the shop-windows gave it a fairly light effect.

One large drug-shop, which, of course, was open evenings, kept stationery, and here they went for the scrap-book.

Great care was exercised in choosing it, for if too small, it would not hold enough, and the very large ones were unwieldy.

So just the right size was selected, and King volunteered to carry it home.

Miss Larkin was warmly thanked by her appreciative beneficiaries, and then, as they turned toward home, she said:

“Suppose we make this a sort of gala night, and stop here at this shop and have some ice cream.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Kitty, ecstatically, “do let’s do that!”

The others were far from unwilling, so the quartette were soon seated round a white marble-topped table.

“I do think,” said Kitty, as she viewed lovingly the pink and white heap that was placed in front of her, “I do think we’re having the loveliest time!”

“Better than the Jinks Club?” asked Miss Larkin, with a twinkle in her eye.

“Well, different,” said Kitty. “I feel as if I could talk every-day talk, you know, and not think how it’s going to sound.”

“I do hate to have to think how things sound,” admitted King, honestly.

“But I s’pose,” said Midget, thoughtfully, “we ought to talk always so they sound all right anyway.”

“That sentence might be improved upon,” said Miss Larkin, laughing; “but I want you to have a specially good time this evening, so never mind about any frills on your conversation. I’ve been thinking, children, that I’ve rather neglected you. I ought to do more to entertain and amuse you, now that your dear parents are away.”

The three Maynards looked at her in amazement. They had thought that Miss Larkin was very indulgent usually; and though sometimes she was unexpectedly strict or stern, yet in a moment she would forget what she had said, and give them an extra treat of some sort. The truth was, Miss Larkin was decidedly inconsistent. All unused to the management of children, she was now over-indulgent and now over-exacting. She had no knowledge of the uniformly mild and gentle, yet positive government which Mr. and Mrs. Maynard exercised in their home.

And so the Maynard children, not understanding this, had accepted Miss Larkin as she was, and though they sometimes rebelled at her really unjust commands, they enjoyed to the full her often unwise indulgence. Now, they were surprised, indeed, to hear her say she had neglected them, but with their easy adaptability they were quite ready to accept present and future favors. However, King felt that justice was due her, so he said:

“Oh, come now, Miss Larkin; you’ve been pretty good to us. I think you’re a brick, don’t you, girls?”

“Yes, we do,” agreed Midge and Kitty, and then Marjorie went on:

“Did you say you expect company, Miss Larkin? Perhaps we can help you get ready for them.”

Miss Larkin smiled, as she remembered the “decorations” that met her eyes the day she arrived at the Maynard house, and she replied:

“No; you can’t help me, except by keeping out of the way as much as possible, and behaving as well as you can while they’re here.”

“We’ll try,” said Marjorie, earnestly; “who are they, Miss Larkin?”

“Mr. and Mrs. Mortimer, some friends of mine from Boston. They will stay two or three days. And I want to have everything as nice as possible, for they are rather particular people.”

“H’m,” said King. “If there’s anything I don’t go much on, it’s these ‘rather particular people.’ But to please you, Miss Larkin, I’ll promise to behave the very bestest I can. And if the girls don’t do likewise, I’ll pound ’em.”

“Huh!” said Midget, “guess you’d get pounded back!”

“Oh, children,” said Miss Larkin, in despair; “don’t talk like that! I know you don’t mean anything, for you love each other, but your rough and tumble ‘poundings’ would shock Mrs. Mortimer inexpressibly.”

“All right, Larky, dear,” said King, in his winning way; “we won’t have any jinks of any kind while your friends are here. We’ll be as good—as good—oh, we’ll be just _Spencer_ good!”

“That’s nice of you,” said Miss Larkin, beaming on them; “and if you say so, I know you’ll keep your word.”