Chapter 2

"Which end of the week should I spend?" asked Rollo.

"Both," said his mother. "Or rather, the end of one week and the beginning of another, for you are to go on Friday and stay over Lord's Day. Should you like to go?"

"Indeed, yes," said Rollo pleasantly.

"Very well, I shall speak to your father about it this evening, for we must first have his consent."

"Oh, dear," said Rollo.

"I do not see why Rollo should be sent to the country when we have just moved to the city," said Rollo's father when the expedition was explained to him. "It seems very strange to me that city-folk with magnificent palaces to live in should, at this time of year, seal up their doors and windows and go to the expense of living in another place."

"But there will be no expense in connection with this journey," said Rollo's mother. "Cousin Stella is to send her automobile."

"Very well," said Rollo's father, "since you are all so set on Rollo's going I will agree to it. And now I must go to bed, for I have had a busy day at the grain-market. Good-night to all."

"Good-night," said Rollo's mother and Jonas, and Rollo added "Good-_night_" more loudly than any.

You may be sure that little Rollo was up at day-dawn, his luncheon ready in a box, his travelling satchel neatly packed. Presently the largest automobile he had ever seen rolled up to the door, and to his delight, there was his Cousin Stella sitting on the back seat.

"Shall I sit with you, or with the gentleman on the front seat?" asked Rollo.

"With me," cried his Cousin Stella, laughing gaily. "Alley, Jong, a Sootomtom."

"What was that you said?" questioned Rollo when the journey had really begun.

"That was French," explained his cousin. "'Alley a Sootomtom' means 'Go to Southampton.' 'Jong' is French for John."

"Well, I declare!" cried Rollo. "Really Cousin, you amaze me. But tell me, where are we, and whither are we going?"

"This is Long Island," said Stella, pointing to level fields which bordered the highway.

"It seems to be mainly cabbages," said Rollo, "but I do not see any water."

"You will presently," said Stella. And sure enough, after they had travelled at a very rapid pace for a short time, Rollo began to catch glimpses of blue water dotted with tiny white sails. Coming as he did from an inland community, this excited Rollo very much and he kept shouting "Hurrah! Hurrah!" and asking John to go faster.

To this John only shook his head and smiled.

"He is going as fast as he can," said Cousin Stella. "But I will tell the world, Rollo, you are a good sport."

"I thank you very much," said Rollo politely.

Shortly after this they drove through winding hills and stopped before a large house where, to Rollo's surprise, a gentleman in a dress-suit took his lunch-box and satchel from him and walked away with them as rapidly as possible.

Then another neatly dressed gentleman guided Rollo through many long hall-ways and up a flight of stairs to a beautiful chamber.

"This is your room, sir," he said.

"Is it so?" said Rollo. "Thank you, sir."

The gentleman smiled pleasantly, and went out, leaving Rollo alone.

Looking at the handsome three-dollar watch which his father had given him, he saw to his surprise that it was long past his supper-hour.

"Very evidently I am too late for supper," thought Rollo. Fortunately he still had his lunch-box which he had not thought to open during the journey, so that from this he supped very well indeed, slipped off his garments, said his evening prayer by the side of a very grand bed and was soon asleep.

"Well, Rollo," said Stella's mother, who was his hostess next morning, "we missed you last night at dinner. Where were you?"

"You must mean supper, do you not?" answered Rollo, and then explained how he had supped in his room the evening before, at which all the company laughed merrily.

"You are a dear boy, Rollo," said his hostess, "but you must remember that we have dinner at eight o'clock."

Rollo laughed heartily at this idea and said, "Then, according to that, you must have supper at midnight!"

"You are quite right," answered Stella's mother.

"And breakfast at noon next day."

"Very often, I admit. But Saturday and Sunday are holidays and we are always up betimes. Come, what shall we do? Rollo, you propose something."

All the company, of which there was about a score of folk of various ages, looked at Rollo expectantly, causing him to feel much embarrassed, but he spoke up bravely and said, "Since it is a holiday I suppose we may as well play games. Shall we play at catch-as-catch-can or blindman's buff,--or should you prefer an indoor-game such as pillows-and-keys or post-office? The latter, I think I ought to say, are kissing games."

"O fie! for shame!" they all cried. "It is too early in the day."

"Come, Rollo," said a very pretty young lady whose name was Miss Lois. "Monty and I are going to play tennis."

"Alas! I fear I cannot," said Rollo sadly. "It is like battledore and shuttlecock, is it not? I think, if you do not mind, I will watch Mr. Bradley and his friend Mr. Robbins play at golf, which is a game I have never witnessed, though I have often seen gentlemen falling over their golf-sticks in the city train-cars."

"Right you are," said Monty as Rollo strolled after Mr. Bradley, who was Stella's father, and his friend, Mr. Robbins.

"Such larks!" thought Rollo, as he watched the two gentlemen place the small white balls on mounds like mole-hills, and then knock them far away.

"We are aiming at that little red flag," said Mr. Robbins, whom Rollo had secretly nicknamed Robin-Redface.

"Thank you, sir," said Rollo, "I should never have guessed it."

For a time all went well. The two gentlemen hit the ball with great skill and seemed well pleased with their success. Rollo, too, delighted in the velvety lawns about him, and marvelled to see all the hay in so early in the season.

Thus the morning passed very quickly, but toward noon things began to turn out not so agreeably. First Mr. Bradley, and then Mr. Robbins, knocked their golf-balls into places where it was impossible to find them, search as they might. This was great fun for Rollo, who thought it was like looking for field-sparrows' nests, and he kept fooling the two gentlemen, crying, "Oh, here it is!--No, it is only a stone! Oh, here it is!--No, it is only a mushroom," until Mr. Bradley took him by the shoulder and spoke to him very roughly.

Then they came to a pretty little pond where Rollo longed to stop and fish. Mr. Robbins placed his ball on a little mound and very skilfully hit the pond right in the middle.

"Bravo!" cried Rollo.

To his surprise Mr. Robbins turned and said something which I cannot print, but which caused Rollo's cheeks to turn a deep crimson. In fact he called Rollo a very bad name.

Then Mr. Bradley, as if imitating Mr. Robbins, hit the pond in almost the same spot. It was then Mr. Robbins' turn to cry "bravo," which he did, and, to Rollo's dismay, Stella's father twice, at least, took the name of his Maker in vain.

You may be sure it was in vain, for, from then on, things went from bad to worse, until Rollo could stand it no longer. He turned and walked quietly back toward the house.

The gentlemen did not notice his departure; they were too busy digging holes in the ground and throwing sand out of a ditch which, to Rollo, seemed deep enough already.

"Never," thought Rollo, "have I seen men dig up so much ground without either putting anything in or taking anything out."

As Rollo neared the house he noticed that the tennis-ground was deserted. Two rackets lay on the terrace-steps. He crossed the terrace quietly and peered into the dim living-room within which he saw Monty and Miss Lois sitting on a sofa.

"Hurrah," cried Rollo, bounding into the room, "may I join you?"

They were playing pillows-and-keys.

ROLLO'S EVENING WITH UNCLE GEORGE

IN WHICH OUR HERO UNDER THE TUTELAGE OF AN EXPERT, BECOMES A BOY-ABOUT-TOWN

One cool morning in the early autumn, Rollo was sitting on the red velvet hassock which his mother had given him for his birthday, his chin resting on the sill of the window which faced toward Park Avenue. Below was a pleasant picture of green spaces and cheerful nursemaids attentively watching the tall constable on the corner, while their little charges darted nimbly amid the passing automobiles whose black tops glittered like the backs of large beetles. This was a scene which Rollo had often contemplated with much satisfaction, but to-day he found no pleasure in it whatsoever. Suddenly he heard a light step behind him and turning perceived that Jonas had entered the room, silently, as was his custom.

"Jonas," said Rollo, crossly, "I wish you would not steal up behind me as you do. Since we have moved to the city and you have become my mother's social secretary, instead of the hired man, you wear shoes which do not warn me of your approach by their squeaking. It is not right to spy so."

Now this was very rude of Rollo, and it may be plainly seen that he was in an ill-humour, but Jonas only smiled pleasantly, which made Rollo more angry than ever.

"You are mistaken, Rollo," said Jonas. "I was not spying upon you. In fact, quite the contrary, it was expressly to see you and deliver a message that I came into the room."

"A message!" cried Rollo, "and from whom, pray?"

"From your Uncle George," answered Jonas. "He wishes to know if you could dine with him to-night and go to the theatre."

Rollo's face lighted up with pleasure, but he replied seriously, "To-night? Let me see; to-day is Thursday, is it not? I do not think I have any engagement for this evening."

Of course Rollo knew very well that he had no engagement, but he had learned that in the city it was not considered polite to accept any invitation without a certain amount of hesitation. When Jonas had left the room, however, Rollo leaped about with many a caper, and shouted "Hurray!" to himself. He no longer felt gloomy and contrary, but was quite satisfied with the world which had looked so dark to him a few moments before. At exactly seven o'clock in the evening, Rollo was ready and waiting, dressed in his best suit with a new tie which his father had purchased for ten cents from a peddler in the lower part of the city. Rollo's father once said to him, "My son, buy everything you can from a cart. You get more for your penny."

Uncle George came promptly as he had promised and Rollo drove off with him gaily in a bright yellow taxicab. Rollo's uncle has not lately been mentioned in these stories. He was a younger brother of Rollo's mother, and Rollo liked him very much, partly because he was always gay and light-hearted, and partly because his father did not seem to approve of Uncle George. Rollo's father frowned very severely when he saw the yellow taxicab, but since he was not paying for it he said nothing.

"I am going to take you to my club," said Uncle George.

"A club!" cried Rollo. "What is that?"

"I will tell you," said Uncle George. "A club is a place of refuge from one's family. It is an organization where a man can order what he likes for dinner, when he likes. It is a place where he can be sure that his letters will not be opened by mistake."

"Could my mother belong to this club?" asked Rollo.

"No; only gentlemen are admitted."

"But could my father join such an organization?"

"No, not the club I have in mind. I do not think even your father could become a member."

"What a delightful place!" said Rollo.

"Indeed it is so," said his uncle. "But here we are."

Just then the taxicab stopped in front of a handsome building with a large glass door, which was opened for Rollo and his Uncle George by an old gentleman with white hair, whom Rollo thanked politely as he entered.

"Will you excuse me for a moment," said Uncle George. "I have to go upstairs to discuss a business matter with a friend of mine. He has some stock he wishes to dispose of, and I often take a little of it off his hands just before dinner."

"Quite so," said Rollo. "I will await your convenience."

During his uncle's absence Rollo strolled into a handsome room the walls of which were covered with books. In large chairs sat a number of gentlemen with books in their laps, as if they were reading, but Rollo was surprised to see that they were all fast asleep.

"What a beautiful room," thought Rollo. "I understand now why I yawn so over my lessons. All books must make people sleepy."

One old gentleman was snoring loudly, so Rollo took a large card marked "Silence" and placed it on his stomach, after which he went into another room to meet his uncle, who returned at that moment, looking brighter and more good-natured than ever. He brought with him the gentleman with whom he had been doing business.

"Rollo," he said, "this is my friend, Mr. Ross, who is going to dine and go to the theatre with us. He is a member of the old Shaker Colony."

"Is it so?" said Rollo. "There are a number of Shakers living near my home in the country. One of them has made several comforters for my mother."

"Yes," said Mr. Ross. "And I have made a number of comforters for your uncle, have I not, George?"

"Indeed you have," said Rollo's uncle, and together they walked upstairs to a splendid room, where they all dined together very merrily. Rollo stood for a moment beside his chair expecting that his Uncle George would ask a blessing, but Uncle George evidently forgot to do so and bade Rollo sit down and fall to, which he did.

"Have you been to the theatre, often, Rollo?" asked Mr. Ross, while they were eating dinner.

"No, not exactly," replied Rollo. "My mother took me to Boston two years ago, and I saw a very wonderful panorama of the battle of Gettysburg. But that is not exactly the theatre, is it?"

"Not exactly," said Mr. Ross, "though I am sure some of the plays in New York are much worse than any battle."

"What play are we to see, Uncle George?" asked Rollo. "Is it to be Shakespere?"

"No," answered Uncle George. "I hardly thought Shakespere would be lively enough. You see, Rollo, the plays in New York are divided into two groups. There are the very serious plays acted by great people which all the critics say are great successes. But unfortunately, no one goes to see them. Then there are the very silly comedies about people in bath-tubs, which the critics say are very low and wicked and which everyone flocks to see. That is the kind we are going to see."

"How delightful!" said Rollo. "I have never seen anyone in a bath-tub but myself."

As soon as dinner was finished, Rollo and the two gentlemen drove in another cab to the theatre, which was on the main street of New York, called Broadway, because it is quite narrow and goes zigzag through the city. But Rollo was entranced with the brilliant electric lights, the flashing signs and great rush of traffic.

"Is it a celebration?" he asked.

"Yes," said Uncle George. "Broadway is always a celebration. But come; let us alight."

Rollo greatly admired the interior of the theatre, which was at least five times larger than the Second Congregational Church, which he was accustomed to attend when at home. Just then to his surprise all the lights in the edifice went out.

"Oh dear," said Rollo. "Isn't that provoking."

"Hush," said the two gentlemen. "The play is about to begin."

At that moment an enormous curtain rose slowly, music filled the air from some hidden and mysterious source, and Rollo saw before him a picture more beautiful than anything he had ever seen before.

The name of the play which Uncle George had selected was "Shaking the Shimmy."

It was in three acts. The first act was in the ladies' dressing-room of a parlor car, the second was on the beach at Atlantic City, and the third was in the dormitory of a young ladies' seminary in Greenwich. A notice on the program explained that the last act enabled the producers, two Jewish gentlemen, to have twenty beds on the stage at one time, which broke all records.

Rollo never dreamed that young ladies could be so beautiful as those who flitted about on the stage. Although he understood very little of what was said on the stage, he was tingling with excitement and sat far forward on the edge of his chair, resting his chin on the shoulder of a lady in front of him, who smiled and patted his hand.

Rollo heaved a great sigh of disappointment when the play was over. Then looking about at the audience he said, "Does it not seem strange, Uncle George, to see all these people fully clothed? I vow I had forgotten that there were such things as dresses."

"And how did you like the play?" asked Uncle George.

"It was superb, sir," said Rollo politely. "And much pleasanter than the 'Battle of Gettysburg.'"

"Good," said his uncle, "and now we shall go to supper."

"Bless my soul!" cried Rollo. "Is not the evening over?"

"No indeed," replied Uncle George, "it is but just beginning."

"Hurray! Hurray!" shouted Rollo, tossing his cap in the air.

The place where Rollo and Uncle George and Mr. Ross went for supper was high up on the top of a tall building. At the entrance a gentleman held a red velvet rope across the door, but he smiled pleasantly when he saw Uncle George and let them pass to the annoyance of a number of people who were waiting. This of course pleased Rollo not a little.

"What is the name of this place?" asked Rollo.

"It is called the _Place Blanche_," explained Uncle George. "French is the language spoken by the people who name New York restaurants. If a restaurant should have a name which a taxi-driver could pronounce correctly, it would not last a week!"

"It is very crowded," said Rollo, "and the space for dancing seems quite small."

"That too is carefully arranged for," said his uncle. "People like to eat in stuffy, uncomfortable places. As for dancing, it is much better to dance when one is pressed hard against several other couples, for if you do not happen to care particularly for your partner you can close your eyes and imagine you are dancing with a number of other ladies at the same time."

"What strange music!" said Rollo.

"It is indeed so," agreed Mr. Ross. "We are gradually getting away from the old-fashioned instruments such as violins and flutes. You will notice, Rollo, that in the orchestra are two drums, a pair of cymbals, a siren, and a pistol; also the pianist does not use his fingers but his clenched fists."

Rollo fully expected that this time at least Uncle George would not forget to ask the blessing, but lo! a second time he did so, perhaps because he was at the time very much occupied trying to get the cork out of a large bottle, which he had managed to conceal in his inside pocket. As soon as this was open, Uncle George and Mr. Ross became very gay indeed, and Rollo, catching the spirit of the evening, joined merrily in the conversation. Later in the evening they met several friends at other tables, with whom they danced and thoroughly enjoyed themselves.

The sky in the east was a pale blue-green when Rollo entered the door of the apartment. Jonas, who kept to his country hours, was just rising.

"Good-morning," said Jonas.

"Good-night," said Rollo.

It was but the work of a moment to undress and leap into bed. But before he did so Rollo knelt for a moment and asked a blessing--for Uncle George.

ROLLO AMONG THE ARTISTS

OUR LITTLE FRIEND VISITS GREENWICH VILLAGE AND MEETS A SCULPTOR, A POETESS, AND A PAINTER

You will remember that I have spoken in a previous story of the beautiful clam-shell which Rollo possessed, and which he admired very much. It was a gift from his Uncle George, and on it was painted a picture of a curving beach, a light-house, and a small yacht. Below the picture was the title, "Souvenir of Atlantic City."

One day Rollo was sitting on his little cricket, holding up the shell to the light, and marvelling at the change this made in the colours. His mother was busily engaged knitting washcloths for the missionary box which was to be sent to the natives of the Filbert Islands; for though she had moved to the city, Rollo's mother did not forget her duties toward Dr. Ordway, the minister at home, and through him, to the heathen children in the Filbert Islands.

"Do you know, Mother," said Rollo, "I believe that the man who painted this clam-shell was perhaps the greatest artist in the world. I have looked all through the vast collection at the Metropolitan Museum, and I do not find the mate to my clam anywhere."

"Is it so?" said his mother. "You seem very much interested in artistic things. I remember that years ago I too enjoyed the fine arts. You may recall the portrait of a kitten which I painted on the red plush sofa-cushions at home."

"Indeed I do!" cried Rollo. "It was most artistic. Heigh-ho! I wish I was an artist!"

Just as he said these words, as if in answer to his wish, his Uncle George opened the door. "What is that?" he said. "You wish you were an artist? What kind of an artist do you wish to be?"

Rollo was puzzled. "What kind?" he repeated. "What kinds are there?"

"Many," said his Uncle George. "But perhaps before you make up your mind it would be well if you looked over the different kinds. How would you like to visit Greenwich Village with me where all the artists live?"

"Oh Goody-Gumpkins!" cried Rollo, for which his mother gently reproved him.

"I should love it," said he. "You are so kind, and I am so glad you are a broker, Uncle George, for you always seem to have plenty of time."

"Nothing but," said Uncle George. "But come, if we are going, let us be off at once."

"Hurrah," cried Rollo. "Good-bye, Mother!" and seizing his cap and thrusting his clam-shell into his pocket, he ran to join his uncle in the doorway.

"How do we go? Is it far?" he questioned when they had reached the street.

"We may as well take the stage," said his uncle. "It goes directly to the Village."

Rollo's uncle raised his hand and the stage stopped politely.

"Thank you," said Rollo as they climbed to the top. Soon the conductor came to them and held out a little machine, which seemed to nibble Rollo's fingers when he pushed the two dimes which his uncle had given him into the slot.

"He cannot hoodwink me," said Rollo after the conductor had gone away. "I saw the money drop through into his hand."

"You are a bright lad," said his uncle, which made Rollo very happy. As they rode along Uncle George pointed out to him the eager faces of the thousands of Lithuanians, Greeks, and Polaks who make New York the greatest of American cities. Soon the stage rolled through a majestic stone archway.

"We are now entering the Village," said Uncle George.

"Well, I will say it has a handsome front door," said Rollo, "but did you say 'Village,' Uncle George? It appears to me mightily like a part of the city."

"So it would seem," said his uncle, "but appearances are deceitful. However, you will soon see that it is very different from the rest of the city. We are first to visit a friend of mine, a Mr. Pryzik, the great American sculptor. You know what a sculptor is, Rollo?"

"Yes, indeed, sir," said Rollo. "We have a beautiful group at home done by Mr. Rogers. It is called 'Reading the Will.' The expression of anxiety on the part of the relatives is most noteworthy."

"It is a noble subject," said his Uncle.

"But did you say Mr. Pryzik was an American?" asked Rollo.