Betty's Happy Year

“No,” she stammered; “I mean to sell it to you – for ten cents.”

It seemed awful to ask money for it, but surely he could pay that much, and Betty felt instinctively that he would refuse it as a gift.

The man looked at her with a strange glance.

“Have you got a license to sell things in the street?” he asked.

“N-no!” gasped Betty, frightened now by his intent gaze at her.

“Well, you quit your foolishness, lady. You move on, you and your precious bundle, or I’ll call a policeman and have you arrested!”

She almost ran back to the ferry-house, concluding, as she went, to throw away the luncheon and take a cab up to Dorothy’s as quickly as she could.

Where to throw it away was the next question. Betty looked in vain for a refuse receptacle or ash-can. She knew it was not allowed to throw things in the street, and the cleanly swept pavement near the ferries showed no resting-place for the objectionable-box.

There were poor-looking people about, but Betty did not care to risk another impertinent refusal. Just as she was about to turn into the little office to engage a taxicab, she had a brilliant idea.

“I’ll go back on the ferry-boat,” she thought; “I’ll get a ferry ticket and go through the slip and on to the boat. Then I can throw the old box into the water, and come off the boat again before it starts.”

This seemed a really good plan, and with rising spirit Betty paid her pennies and went on the boat. She had ample time, as the boat had just arrived and would not go out again for several minutes. On the upper deck Betty walked to the extreme end, and stood looking over into the water. It seemed an awful pity to waste that lovely luncheon, but it was getting late, and it was raining quite steadily, so there was really nothing else to do.

“Good-by, then, pretty little tarts and jolly good chicken!” said Betty, and she pushed the box over the rail.

Then she hurried back, and started again for the cab-stand.

“Yes, a taxicab, please,” said Betty to the kind-faced official in charge, and then, “To the Waldorf,” she said, as she got into the vehicle. She felt very capable and grown-up, as she settled herself in the broad seat, and noticed with satisfaction that the shower was almost over.

But, just as the driver was about to start, a voice called, “Hi! hold on there!” and running toward the cab came a deck-hand from the ferry-boat, carrying that box!

“I seen you!” he cried to Betty, in jubilant tones; “I seen you get on the boat, and then I seen you drop this box. I wuz on the lower deck, an’ I jest caught it! It dropped out of my hand, and the corners is smashed some, but I saved it from goin’ in the water, all the same! Here it is, ma’am!”

He looked so delighted at his feat that Betty couldn’t help smiling back at him, though deeply exasperated to have the box on her hands again.

The young fellow clearly thought he had done Betty a great favor in restoring her property, and he stood smiling, and shifting from one foot to another, while the cab driver obligingly waited.

“Oh,” thought Betty, “he expects a reward! Imagine paying a reward for getting that box back!”

But she realized that the deck-hand thought it was valuable property he had restored, so she took out her purse and gave him a coin that sent him away grinning with pleasure.

Then the cab started, and Betty sat looking at the horrid box which had grown such a burden to her. It was beginning to look disreputable, too. The paper was soiled and torn, for the rain-drops had wet it, and the jar as the box fell on the ferry-boat deck had broken the pasteboard. Also, to Betty’s horror, she could see tiny drops of jelly and something yellow oozing out at the edges. The stuffed eggs must be upset, and the warm weather had softened the jelly tarts! It was simply impossible to carry the box into the hotel, and it would be also impossible to leave it in the cab.

Betty was at her wits’ end, and the street corners were flying by with annoying rapidity. Soon she would be at the Waldorf, and she must dispose of that box first.

Fortunately no drop from its edges had soiled her pretty dress, and if she could only rid of it, she could enter the hotel in serene forgetfulness of all her trouble. She was tempted simply to pitch it out of the window, but if she did, it would break apart and scatter its contents all over the street, and – she might be arrested.

Betty didn’t know much about the law, but she was almost certain it was against it, to scatter stuffed eggs and fruit tarts along the middle of Fifth Avenue! And yet something must be done!

She made a desperate resolve.

“Stop at a news-stand, please,” she called to the driver. The man did so, and Betty bought four newspapers. “Go on slowly,” she said; and the driver obeyed. Then Betty untied the string from the damaged box, wrapped it all in many thicknesses of newspaper, and tied it with the string, making a secure if very cumbersome bundle. Surveying it with satisfaction, she called to the driver, “Go as fast as you can!” and as he accelerated his speed, she pitched the bundle out of the window. Too frightened to look back, she huddled in a corner of the cab, scarcely daring to think she was free at last from that hated presence.

“It won’t spill in the street,” she thought, “unless something runs over it, and if it does, my! how the eggs will spatter!”

It all appealed to Betty’s sense of humor, and, though she was still a little scared, she couldn’t help laughing at her ridiculous experiences of the morning.

She sat up very straight, and when the cab stopped at the hotel, she gravely alighted, paid the driver, and marched with a dignified air up the steps and in at the door.

Once inside, the first face she saw was Dorothy’s.

“Where have you been?” she cried. “We’ve waited and waited! I couldn’t telephone, ’cause I didn’t know where to find you. Aunt Evelyn is so anxious about you. Oh, let me present my cousins, Tom and Fred Bates.”

Two good-looking, merry-faced young men looked admiringly at pretty Betty and made polite bows. Still full of merriment at the remembrance of her funny morning, Betty’s bright eyes were twinkling, and her cheeks rosy beneath her flower-trimmed hat.

“How do you do?” she said, smiling prettily at the boys, then turning to Dorothy, she said: “Yes, I was detained a little; I’ll tell you about it some other time. But I came just now, from the ferry, in a taxicab.”

“Yes, I saw you drive up,” said Dorothy; “I was looking out of the window. But I’ve been there flattening my nose against the pane for half an hour. Where were you, Betty?”

“Seeking my fortune,” said Betty, teasingly; “or, rather, seeking to bestow fortune.”

But her speech was not heard, because of a commotion behind her.

“That’s the one!” said a childish voice, and, to Betty’s horror, an employee of the hotel ushered a ragged small boy straight toward her. The boy held in his arms a large muddy, newspaper-covered bundle!

“I seen you drop it out o’ yer cab, ma’am, an’ I brung it to yer!”

His dirty little face gleamed with delight, and he held the awful-looking package out toward Betty.

She drew back, feeling that she could not take that box in charge again, and Fred Bates said sternly:

“What does this mean? Why are you annoying Miss McGuire?”

“This chap says it’s the lady’s property,” explained the clerk who was looking after the boy. “Say the word, sir, and we’ll put him out.”

He laid a hand on the urchin’s shoulder, but the boy spoke up insistently:

“It is hers, sir! I seen her lose it outen the cab winder, an’ I picked it up, an’ ran to catch ’er, an’ I seen her jest as she came in the whirligig door, an’ I got here as soon as they’d let me!”

“That awful-looking bundle, Betty’s!” cried Dorothy, in disgust. “Of course it isn’t! What nonsense!”

At this the clerk made as if to eject the boy who had brought the bundle, and then Betty’s sense of justice was aroused. It was awful to claim ownership of that disreputable piece of property, but it was worse, in her estimation, to have an innocent boy reprimanded for doing what he had believed to be right.

“It is mine,” she said bravely, though her cheeks grew scarlet at the surprised glances cast upon her, not only by her friends, but by strangers who happened to be passing.

“It is mine,” she repeated, turning to the boy, “and you did right to bring back to me what you thought I had lost. But I want to lose it, as it is of no use to me. So if you will please take it away and dispose of it properly, I will be much obliged to you, and I will give you this.”

Betty took a two-dollar bill from her purse, and offered it to the boy, who still held the bundle.

“Sure, lady,” he said, flashing a grateful glance at her. “You’re a white one, you are! Thank you, lady!”

The clerk smiled and bowed, and ushered the small boy away. The urchin turned to give Betty one more admiring look, and she smiled pleasantly at him, and said:

“You’d better look in that box before you throw it away.”

“Sure!” he replied, grinning, and then he disappeared.

“Now, Dorothy,” said Betty, restored to equanimity, now that the box was finally disposed of, “let us go and sit down quietly somewhere, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

“Do!” cried Fred Bates. “You’re the most mysterious person I ever heard of, Miss McGuire! Come right up to our family sitting-room and relate to us the story of the Beautiful Young Lady and her Strange Piece of Luggage!”

“Very well,” said Betty, dimpling and smiling. “Come on, and the whole of the dramatic tale I will unfold!”

Which she did, to a most enthusiastic and hilarious audience.

XII

A LUCKY PENNY

“There’s no doubt about it,” said Jeanette, “Betty is the most popular girl in school.”

“Not only in school,” amended Dorothy; “she’s the most popular girl in our whole set. The boys all adore her, too.”

“Yes, they do,” agreed Lena Carey. “My brother Bob thinks she’s just about all right.”

The three, on their way to school, had paused in front of Betty’s house, and she came out and joined them.

It was late in October. The McGuires had been back in their city home for several weeks, and both Betty and Jack were in school again.

“Do your ears burn, Betty?” asked Dorothy; as they two fell behind the other couple; “for we’ve been throwing the biggest sort of bouquets at you!”

“They didn’t hit my ears,” said Betty, laughing. “What sort were they?”

“Oh, we just said you’re a disagreeable old thing, and nobody loves you!”

“Nothing of the sort!” cried honest Jeanette, turning her head. “We all agreed that you’re a general favorite and the boys like you better than they do any of the rest of us.”

“Spare me blushes!” cried Betty. “Which of the boys confided this startling news to you?”

“Of course we can see it,” said Lena, “but, to make sure, I asked Brother Bob. I said, says I, ‘Which girl do you like best of all our set?’ and he said, ‘Why, Betty, of course, – doesn’t everybody?’ and I said, ‘Yes.’”

“Oh, Lena, you goose!” said Betty, but she was unable to repress a pleased smile at her friends’ talk.

It was really true, Betty had become a prodigious favorite among the circle of Boston young people with whom she associated. She was so whole-souled and good-hearted, so ready to help everybody, so merry and full of fun, and withal so unostentatious and simple-mannered, that nobody could help liking her.

And though only a little over sixteen years old, an innate spirit of coquetry had begun to show itself, and her dark, roguish eyes and dimpling smile often captivated the boys who belonged to what the school-girls called “our set.”

Not that Betty was really romantic. Her coquetry was more mischievous than sentimental, and, though she loved to tease, her warm, generous nature never allowed the teasing to hurt the feelings of another. It was an open secret that both Harry Harper and Ralph Burnett were especial admirers of Betty, and, in an amicable, good-natured way, were rivals for her favor.

But Betty was impartial, and at dancing-school or at the little “neighborhood parties” would accept attentions equally from both.

However, Betty’s popularity was only a matter of degree, and gay, laughing Dorothy, lovely, quiet Jeanette, and pretty Lena Carey were also favorites in school and out. As the quartet walked along, Lena said:

“I’ve a lovely secret to tell you, but as we’re almost at school now, I think I’ll leave it until recess.”

“No, tell us now!” clamored the others.

“My! but you’re curious!” teased Lena. “No, I won’t tell you now, but I’ll tell you part of it. Just enough to stir up your curiosity a little more. I’m going to have a party!”

This was indeed interesting, but not another word would Lena tell, and so all the morning the three eager girls could only wonder what sort of a party it was to be, and how big, and when, and a thousand other important questions.

But at recess the four gathered in a corner of the school-yard, and Lena expounded.

“It’s a Hallowe’en party,” she said, and then had to wait for their delighted exclamations to pause before she could proceed.

“Hallowe’en is a week from Friday,” she went on, “and Mother said last night that I could have a party if I liked. So Bob and I talked it over, and we decided that a ghost party would be fun.”

“What is a ghost party?” “How do you mean?” “Oh, just a phantom party!” exclaimed the three listeners all at once.

“Well, I haven’t planned it much,” said Lena, “because I thought it would be more fun for us to plan it together.”

“What a duck you are!” cried Betty. “I love to plan parties! Can we wear fancy costumes?”

“Oh, let’s be witches,” said Dorothy. “We ought to on Hallowe’en, you know.”

“Witches or ghosts, either, would be all right,” put in Jeanette. “I suppose you’ll have all the old Hallowe’en tricks, Lena?”

“Well, Bob and I said we didn’t want to have those foolish old games, like bobbing for apples and melting lead. They’re so tiresome. But I thought we could make up some new fun.”

“I think so, too,” declared Betty. “Anything ghosty or witchy, or any sort of fortune-telling, you mean, I suppose.”

“Yes. Do you know any new tricks of that sort?”

“I’m not sure that I do, but we can make some up.”

They all knew Betty’s cleverness in making up games, so they felt sure something could be done.

“There’s the school-bell,” said Lena. “You all come to my house this afternoon, and we’ll plan it all out.”

The girls agreed to this, and then they returned to the school-room, where, I am sorry to say, their rebellious pencils persisted in drawing witches or broomsticks, instead of copying the plaster cast of a classic leaf form which was their task for the day.

Not only that afternoon but several others were spent in arranging the details of the Hallowe’en party.

Jeanette, who was inclined to the serious rather than the grotesque, favored the idea of the guests appearing as Druids, who, she said, were really the originators of Allhallowe’en.

But Dorothy declared that Druids were poky old things and that witches were lots more fun.

So, as Betty and Lena insisted on ghosts, the invitations were finally compiled to read like this:

DRUIDS, WITCHES, AND GHOSTSARE INVITED TO ASSEMBLE AT THE HOME OFMISS LENA CAREYANDMR. ROBERT CAREYON ALL HALLOWE’EN OCTOBER THIRTY-FIRSTAT EIGHT O’CLOCK

This gave the guests ample choice of costume, and if they chose they could come simply draped in sheets and pillow-cases, as at the old-time phantom parties.

Betty, after much deliberation, decided to wear a witch’s costume.

And very becoming it proved. The skirt of scarlet silk was sprinkled with strange hieroglyphics and mystic signs which had been cut from black silk and pasted on. The pointed scarlet bodice was laced up over a soft white neckerchief, and over all was a long black cloak lined with red. Then she had a high, peaked hat, made after the most approved style for witches, and on her shoulder was perched a toy cat. This furry animal was of most lifelike effect, and his green eyeballs blared by reason of tiny electric lights concealed in his head. Betty carried a broomstick wound with red ribbons, and, with high-heeled red shoes, she made a complete picture of the traditional witch.

Jack was a ghost. But he disdained the idea of a ghost in white.

“No,” he said, “I want a real ghost’s robe. It must be made of thin, almost transparent, fluttery stuff – yards and yards of it – and of a sort of brownish smoke color.”

Mrs. McGuire caught his idea, and herself fashioned a voluminous robe of smoke-colored chiffon. It was made something like a college gown, but there were several of them, and after donning a sort of ulster-shaped garment of dull brown muslin, Jack put on one after another of the floppy gauze robes. The effect was fine. The least breath of air sent the shimmering material into billowy waves, and the “ghost” almost seemed to disappear at times. A deep cowl-like hood nearly concealed his face, and made his features dim and indistinguishable, and when Jack stalked about with theatrical stride, and gave voice to fearful, hollow groans, he seemed as fine a ghost as one could wish.

Jeanette and Constance had chosen to wear Druid’s costume, and, as several others had like taste, quite a number of shapes in flowing classic raiment lent their dignified effect to the party. There were many white ghosts, some weird and terrible ones, several witches and wizards, and many nondescript costumes.

The guests assembled on time, as all were anxious not to miss any of the fun.

When Betty and Jack arrived at the Carey house and rang the door-bell, the door swung slowly open, and though no one was in sight, a sepulchral groan greeted them. Then a strange-looking, cloaked figure, with a lighted Jack-o’-lantern for a head, ushered them into the drawing-room.

Betty herself had helped to arrange this room, but when the party began, it looked even more effective than when they had decorated it.

The room was very dimly lighted, and the walls had been hung with black muslin on which were painted grinning skulls and cross-bones in gleaming white. The big wood fire at one end of the room shone through a screen of red transparent stuff, which gave a crimson glow to the room.

Jack-o’-lanterns were all about, and the candles inside them lit up the grotesque faces of the pumpkins.

Bob Carey, who announced that he was the ghost of Hamlet’s father, introduced the other ghosts to each other.

“This,” he would say, indicating a sheeted figure, “is the ghost of Banquo. We used to play together as boys. And here is the ghost of a man who died a-laughing. You will observe his laughter when I tickle him.”

The ghost, when tickled, would give howls of demoniac laughter, in which the other guests involuntarily joined.

When all the weird-looking figures had assembled, the fun began.

Another room had been prepared as a fortune-telling room, and into this each guest was invited to go, alone, to learn his or her fate.

Just who was the fortune-teller was a great secret. No one outside of the Carey family knew who it was who greeted the seekers for knowledge as they entered one by one.

But apparently the strange being knew his clients, for many jokes and secrets were exposed, and often the victim came out giggling, but looking a trifle sheepish.

Jack was really very fond of Dorothy. Indeed, she was his favorite of all the girls – after Betty, of course.

So, when Dorothy went into the Room of the Fates to learn what future fortune might befall her, and came out holding a card in her hand, the others clamored to know what had been told her.

Dorothy looked mysterious and refused to tell, but when the boys and girls insisted on seeing what talisman had been given her, and she showed the card, a roar of laughter went up from all. It was a playing-card, the jack of hearts, and ghostly Jack himself seemed quite satisfied with the episode.

Every one who went into the Room of the Fates returned with a talisman indicative of their future career.

It might be a doctor’s diploma or a fireman’s badge. It might be a thimble, indicating spinsterhood, or a spray of orange-blossom, indicating matrimony. But in every case the souvenir bore sufficient meaning to prove that the fate-dispenser was some one who knew the individual traits of his auditors.

When it was Betty’s turn, she entered the Fate Room, determined to guess, if possible, who the wizard was. All of the young people of their set were in evidence as guests, so the mysterious fortune-teller must be some older person or a stranger.

As Betty entered, she was met by three draped figures, representing the three Fates.

These, she knew, were Harry Harper, Ralph Burnett, and Elmer Ellis, for she and Lena had invited these boys to act these parts.

They were robed in brown, flowing draperies, which they did not manage in classic fashion, but kicked about in derision. One carried a distaff, one a ball of cord, and one a pair of shears, in imitation of the traditional three. The room was draped with white sheets, and at the far end was a sort of throne on which sat the Master of the Fates. He was gorgeously robed in a scarlet satin suit and a purple velvet cape edged with ermine. A flowing white wig, bushy white beard and eyebrows, completely disguised his features, while a high, peaked hat added to his wizardy effect.

Grouped about him were a globe, a map of the stars, a divining-wand, a great Book of Fate, and all sorts of mysterious-looking instruments and paraphernalia.

Bats, cut out of paper, swung by invisible threads from the ceiling, and were set fluttering by sly puffs from bellows by the three Fates, who scampered about, on mischief bent.

In the white room were several black cats also. These added greatly to the weird effect, and, as they were good-natured old tabbies that Lena had borrowed from neighbors, they just stalked about and lay dozing in the white-draped chairs.

The three Fates ushered Betty with great pomp and ceremony to the chair facing the wizard, and begged her to be seated.

“What do you most want to know?” droned out the magician, as he gravely wagged his head at her.

“Who you are!” said Betty, so suddenly that he fairly jumped.

At this the three Fates doubled up in gleeful antics, but the wizard recovered himself, and continued in slow, deep tones:

“That you may know sometime, but not now. I will now foretell your fate.”

“Do,” said Betty, wondering where she had heard that full, deep voice before.

“You have strange adventures awaiting you. You will travel by land and sea, and great good fortune shall be ever yours. In the years to come, you will meet your destiny. The stars ordain that a fitting mate shall claim you, but it will be neither of the two Fates who are now dogging your footsteps.”

At this Harry and Ralph gave forth despairing groans and pretended to pommel one another. Betty giggled, but the wizard remained grave.

“That you may know your fate,” he went on, “I give you this talisman.”

Now, Betty had no mind to be teased as Dorothy had been, and receiving the talisman from the wizard, she slipped it into her pocket.

Then, as the wizard dismissed her, she rose to take leave.

“Thou mayst not depart until thou shalt exhibit thy talisman,” said Harry Harper, striking a dramatic attitude before the door.

“Oh, yes, I mayst,” said Betty. “Avaunt thee, Fate, and let me pass, or I cast o’er thee my magic spell!”

“Already hast thou done that,” said Harry, his tone exaggeratedly sentimental.

“Let the witch pass!” interrupted Elmer Ellis, and, amid the chuckling exclamations of the three, Betty departed.

“What did you get?” “What’s your talisman?” cried those who awaited her. “Let’s see your fate!”

But Betty laughingly showed her empty hands, and could not be persuaded to admit that she had received anything. But as soon as she could get a moment unobserved, she took out her talisman to examine it.

It was a bright new cent, dated the present year.

“Oh,” said Betty to herself, “a penny! Hal Pennington! I thought I had heard that voice before! What a little witch Lena is, to keep it so secret! I never dreamed of his coming.”