Hilarity Hall

Front matter

HILARITY HALL: BEING THE STORY OF EIGHT GIRLS AND A DOG.

By Carolyn Wells.

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Chapter 1

CHAPTER I.

PILLOWS AND PITCHERS.

"Is there any way to pack pillows in pitchers?" said Marjorie, framing herself in the front doorway, one hand grasping recklessly the handles of three large pitchers and both arms full of sofa-pillows.

The group on the veranda looked up at her doubtfully.

"Yes," said brilliant Nan. "Have your pitchers bigger than your pillows and the thing is done."

"But the pillows are bigger than the pitchers."

"Then pack the pitchers in the pillows," said Betty.

"Why, of course! Betty, you 're a genius!" And Marjorie disappeared with her burdens, while the girls on the veranda fell to chattering again like half a dozen shirt-waisted magpies.

Now, I know that a story with eight heroines is an imposition upon even the gentlest of readers; but you see there were eight girls in the Summer Club, and when their president, Marjorie Bond, proposed that they go down to Blue Beach and spend a fortnight in her father's cottage all by themselves, the whole club rose up as one girl and voted ay.

Objections were disposed of as fast as they were raised. Permission? The girls were sure that the sixteen parents concerned could be persuaded to see the matter in a favorable light. Expense? That should be divided equally among them all. Trouble? Would be more than compensated by the fun. Luggage? Not so very much required; the house was completely furnished, except the linen and silver, and each girl should take her share. Burglars? That idea caused some apprehension; but when Marjorie said that Uncle Ned and Aunt Molly would be right next door, plans were suggested sufficient to scare any reasonably cautious burglar out of his wits. And so the preliminaries had been arranged, and the date decided upon, and the day had come.

It was Thursday morning, and they were to leave on the noon train; and now. although ten o'clock had struck, six sailor-hatted girls were gathered on the Bonds' veranda, hurriedly making final arrangements and frantically trying to remember what were the most important things they had forgotten.

"It's like a fire," Jessie Carroll was saying. "You know people always save their old trash and leave their best things to burn up. Now I'm sure I 've packed just the very things we won't want, and left at home the things we 'll need most. And that reminds me—Nan, can't I put my best hat in your box? I just had to take my down comfortable, and it was so puffy—it would n't leave room for anything else."

"Oh, don't take your best hat," cried Betty Miller. "We 're not going down to Blue Beach to dress up and be giddy. It's so late in the season none of the summer boarders will be there, and we 're just going to wear flannel frocks all day, and tramp in the woods, and loll in the hammocks, and get brown as berries and hungry as hunters and uncivilized as-—as Hottentots."

"Yes, Betty; but remember somebody has to care for these hungry Hottentots," said Mrs. Bond, smiling. "Are n't you afraid, girls, that you 'll get tired of it? And you 'll find that there's a great deal of work connected with housekeeping if you do it all yourselves."

"Oh, no, Mrs. Bond," said Hester Laverack. "I just love to look after things; I don't mind housework a bit. Oh, here's Helen. What's your misfortune, my pretty maid?"

Helen Morris came up on the veranda, and dropped into a big wicker chair, and fanned herself with her hat.

"Girls, I'm exhausted. You know I said I'd take all the things for afternoon tea, but I had no idea there were so many. Why, I packed a whole barrel, and they 're not all in yet. To be sure, it's mostly tissue-paper and excelsior, but I was so afraid they'd break. And I could not get the tea-cozy in at all, or the Dresden cups; I'd hate to break them."

"Yes," said Betty, sympathetically, "don't break the tea-cozy, whatever you do, if it's that pretty yellow satin one. But you 've no ingenuity, Nell. Why don't you wear it down on your head? Then you 'll look like a drum-major."

"I will, if you 'll all obey my orders. Well, this won't do for me. I must go back and reason with those tea-things. I just ran over a minute because 1 saw you all here. If I can't get them into the barrel I 'll have to take a cask besides. Good-by; I 'll meet you at the train. What time do we start?"

"Twelve-ten," replied Hester. "I 'll go home with you, Helen, and help you pack your china."

"Yes, do," said Betty. "Two heads are better than one in any barrel."

But the two heads were already bobbing down the walk, and did n't hear Betty's parting shot.

"Nell's crazy," remarked Millicent Payne, who always did everything leisurely, yet always had it done on time. "I do hope her barrel will go safely, for her tea-cups and things are lovely."

"Shall we have tea every afternoon?" asked Marguerite Alden, a fragile wisp of a girl who looked as if a real strong ocean breeze would blow her away. "I'm so glad. I don't care for the tea at all, but the having it with all us girls together will be such fun, only—I do hate to wash up the tea-things."

"Girlies," said Mrs. Bond, "I think it would be much better all round if you'd hire a neat little maid to wash your dishes for you. You can probably find one down there, and I'm sure you 'll be glad to have help when you discover what dish-washing for eight means."

"I think it would be heaps better, Mrs. Bond," said Marguerite. "I don't see how we can have any fun if we have to work all the time."

"Lazy Daisy!" said Betty; "you won't do any more than your share. But we won't let the interloper do any of our cooking—I insist upon that."

"All right, Betty," said Marguerite, or Daisy, as the girls called her, though she wished they would n't. "And you may be chief cook."

"No," said Betty, "I'm not chief cook; Marjorie is that; I 'll be the first assistant. I 'll prepare the vegetables for her, and be a—a peeler."

"Hurrah for Betty the Peeler!" said Marjorie, appearing again in the front door. "And what am I?"

"You 're the cook," said Millicent.

"But we 're all cooks."

"Yes, I know; but you 're head cook, chief cook, cook plenipotentiary, or any title you prefer."

"Then I 'll be cook," said Marjorie—"just plain cook."

"Indeed, you 'll be more than a plain cook," said her mother, laughing, "if you attempt all the fancy dishes in all those receipt-books I saw you stowing away in your trunk."

"Oh, they were n't all receipt-books. Some of them were delectable tales to be read aloud at twilight hour. I could only take light literature, as the box weighs about a ton now; so I took 'First Aid to the Injured' and 'Alice in Wonderland'—we can struggle along with those."

"All right, Duchess," said Betty, rising. "And now look over your lists for the last time. I'm going home to lock my trunk, and then I'm going to don my war-paint and feathers."

"I am, too," said Nan; "and I want to go down to the station an hour before train-time, so as to have ample leisure to come back for what I forget."

"Good idea," said Marjorie, approvingly. The girls called her "Duchess" because she had a high-and-mighty way of giving orders. Not an unpleasant way—oh, dear, no! Marjorie Bond was the favorite of the whole village of Middleton. Her stately air was due to the fact that she was rather tall for her sixteen years, and carried herself as straight as an arrow. She could have posed admirably for a picture of Pocahontas. Her dark, bright eyes were always dancing, and her saucy gipsy face was always smiling, for Marjorie had a talent for enjoyment which she cultivated at every opportunity. The girls said she could get fun out of anything, from a scolding to a jug of sour cream.

"I'm sure I 've thought of everything," said the Duchess, wrinkling her brows over a handful of scribbled lists. "You 're to bring the forks, Nannie, and a pair of blankets, and a table-cloth—and don't forget your napkin-ring, and bring your Vienna"coffee-pot. And, Betty, take your chafing-dish—we 'll need two. Millicent, you 're responsible for the spoons, and Jessie, knives. Lazy Daisy will take a hammock, and I 'll take one too; and I 've packed lots of sofa-pillows, and I hope Helen will take her banjo. I 've lost my most important list, so I may have forgotten something. But I 've packed towels, hand and dish, and a scrub-brush and a tack-hammer—and is n't that all we need to keep house? Except this good-for-nothing little bundle, my own, my only "Timmy Loo." Will you go with us, honey?" Marjorie picked up the bundle in question, who wagged his absurd, moppy, silvery ears and his still more absurd, moppy, silvery tail, and accepted his invitation with a few staccato barks of joy.

"That means yes, of course," said Betty. "His French accent is so perfect that even I can understand it. Well, good-by, Timmy; I 'll see you later. Can you take him on the train, Marjorie?"

"No; he 'll have to ride in the baggage-car. But I 've explained it all to him, and he does n't mind, and he will keep an eye on our trunks and wheels."

Timmy Loo barked again and blinked his eyes acquiescently, and Betty gave him a final pat on his funny little nose and ran away home.

"I must go, too," said Marguerite, rising as she spoke, and picking a full-blown rose from the trellis above her head.

A careless observer would probably have called Marguerite the prettiest of all the Summer Club girls. She was small, slender, and graceful, with a rose-leaf complexion and sea-blue eyes and a glory of golden hair that the girls called her halo. She was visionary and romantic, and her especial chum was Nan Kellogg, who was lounging in the hammock with her hands clasped behind her head and her eyes closed. Nan was a dark-haired, olive-skinned Southern girl with a poetic temperament and a secret ambition to write verse.

"Come, girl," said Marguerite, dropping rose-petals one by one on Nan's nose, "what are you dreaming of?"

"Oh," said Nan, opening her eyes, "I was thinking what gay old times we 're going to have down there. I'm so glad we 're going! Marjorie, you 're such a darling! I shall dedicate my first book of poems to you. Now I'm off, Marjorie. I 'll meet you at the train. And oh, Duchess, I almost forgot to ask you; brother Jack says can he and Ted come down and spend the day with us?"

"No, indeed!" cried Marjorie. "We are not going to allow a boy in sight all the time we are there. Tell them we 're sorry to refuse, but we 're not running a coeducational institution, and only girls need apply."

"I did tell him that, but he begged me to ask you again."

"No," said Marjorie, laughing but positive. "Tell him we turn a deaf ear—I mean sixteen deaf ears—to his entreaties, and harden our eight hearts to his appeal. There is no use, girls; if the boys come down they 'll spoil everything. Don't you think so?"

"Yes," said each girl, but with such varying accents that Mrs. Bond laughed heartily, while Marguerite shook her yellow curls and protested that she did n't want the boys anyway, even if they did bring candy.

Then she and Nan went home, and Jessie Carroll said: "We 'll have plenty of candy, Marjorie, for father will send it down whenever I want him to."

"Oh, Jessie, that will be fine. It will be just like boarding-school when the boxes come from home," said Hester Laverack, who had returned from Helen and her refractory tea-things.

Hester was an English girl who had only been in America about a year and was not yet quite accustomed to the rollicking ways of the rest of the club. "I think," she went on slowly, "I may take my camera down, if you like; it will be rather good fun to take pictures of us all."

"Yes, indeed; you must take your camera," said Marjorie. "What larks! we 'll have jolly pictures. And if Helen takes her banjo we can sing songs and have concerts, and oh, dear, the time won't be half long enough!"

The crowd scattered, and Millicent Payne said: "Well, I'm the last little Injun, and I reckon I 'll go too, and then there 'll be none."

Millicent Payne was Marjorie's dearest friend and chum, and lived next door; at least, she was supposed to, but she almost lived at the Bonds'. Millicent was a delightful girl to know, she was so clever and bright, and took such an interest in anything that interested anybody else—such a kind, whole-hearted interest, that was neither curious nor critical. And she had such funny little tricks of imagination. If, for any reason, her surroundings were not quite what she wished they were, she immediately created for herself an environment to suit her better, and, quite oblivious of facts, lived and moved among her fancies. She was devoted to stories and fairy-tales, and would repeat them in an irresistibly funny manner, becoming at times so imbued with the spirit of fantasy that she seemed a veritable witch or pixy herself.

"Run along, Millikens," called Marjorie; "come back when you 're ready, and we 'll go down together."

II. On the Road

CHAPTER II.

ON THE ROAD.

The clock in the railroad station announced high noon; but of all the party, only Marjorie and Millicent were there to hear it. Nan Kellogg had fulfilled her own prophecy by coming down fifteen minutes earlier, and then going back home for her cuckoo-clock, which was one of her pet possessions, and which she decided she could n't be parted from for two whole weeks. She came flying back, and entered the station by one door just as Betty Miller came in at the other.

"Oh," said Nan, breathlessly, "I thought of course I'd be the last one here. Where are the other girls? But since they 're not here, won't you hold this clock, Marjorie, and let me run back home and—"

"No," said Betty, decidedly. "You cannot go back for anything else. Follow the example of your clock and stop running for a while."

"Has it stopped? I was afraid it would. Never mind; I can set it going after we get there. But I do want to go back and—"

"But you can't," broke in Marjorie; "so sit down, please."

Nan laughed, but sat down obediently, holding her precious clock; and then Helen appeared with her banjo, and Hester with her camera.

"Have you checked your wheels, girls?" asked Betty.

"Yes, with our trunks," said Helen. "Mr. Bond is keeping watch over them until the train comes; and he is holding Timmy Loo, who is a most important-looking animal just now, dressed in a new red ribbon and a baggage-tag."

"Oh, he's delighted with his prospective journey," said Marjorie. "I told him he had the entire charge of our trunks and wheels, and he feels the responsibility. Oh, here's Jessie. Now we 're all here but Marguerite. Where is she, Nan?"

"Who? Daisy? Oh, she 'll be here in a minute. I think she waited to learn how to make soup."

"She 'll be in it if she does n't hurry," said Nan. "I think I 'll go and poke her up."

"Don't do it," cried Betty; "you 'll miss her, and then we won't have either of you. Here she comes now, grinning like a Chessy cat."

Dainty Marguerite, in her fresh white duck suit and pink shirt-waist, came in, smiling radiantly.

"Girls," said she, "I was detained because Aunt Annie was calling at our house, and she taught me a new soup. It's wonderful, and I 'll make it for you, if you want it, the first thing."

"Of course we want it the first thing," said Nan. "Did you suppose we thought it was a dessert?"

"Come, girls!" called Mr. Bond from the platform, as the train that was to have the honor of carrying the party puffed into the station and came noisily to a standstill. "Are you ready? All aboard! Good-by, Margy dear; don't set the house afire. Who is the matron of this crowd, anyway? I'd like a word with her."

Marjorie looked at the girls. "I think Marguerite is," she said. "She's the youngest and smallest and rattle-patedest. Yes, she shall be our matron."

"Very well, then, Matron Daisy, I consign these young barbarians to your care, and I put them and my house in your charge, and I shall expect you to render me an account when you come back."

"Don't scare me, Mr. Bond," pleaded Marguerite, shaking her yellow curls. "If the responsibility proves too much for me I shall leave them to their fate and run away. But I think I can manage them, and I 'll rule them with a rod of iron."

And then the bell rang, and Mr. Bond jumped off the train just in time, and he waved his hat and the girls waved their handkerchiefs from the windows until they were whisked away out of his sight.

"Now, my children," said Marguerite, highly elated at her absurd title of matron, "you are in my care, and I must look after you."

The eight girls were quickly paired off, and the general chatter was broken up into dialogues.

Mindful of her position as matron, Marguerite kept a watchful eye on her charges. To be sure, the watchful eye was so bright and merry that as a means of restraint it was practically useless. But the Summer Club knew how to behave itself in a public conveyance—oh, dear yes; and, save for a few sudden and really unavoidable bursts of merriment, it was as proper and decorous a rosebud garland of girls as one could wish to see upon a summer's day.

To be sure, there was some commotion when the conductor asked for Marguerite's ticket and she suddenly remembered she had written Aunt Annie's soup receipt on the back of it, intending to copy it before the conductor came around.

"It was the only bit of paper I had," she explained, "and it is such a good receipt. What shall I do?" Nan had a blank-book with her which she always carried in case of poetic fire, and the conductor obligingly left the soup-ticket, as Betty called it, for them to copy, and returned later to receive the yellow card, much crumpled by the process of erasure. But the precious receipt was safe—and at least one page of Nan's book was worth having.

And there was another mild excitement when Nan's cuckoo-clock, which was carefully laid away up in the rack, suddenly announced in shrill pipes that it was twelve o'clock. It was n't twelve o'clock at all, and that rascally cuckoo knew it; but having been silenced by Nan's breathless run down to the station, he was well pleased to be set going again by the jar of the train, and he chirped his twelve double notes with an evident enjoyment of the situation.

Nan tried her best to look unconscious, but only succeeded in looking so funny that the girls went off into peals of laughter.

Betty leaned over, and picking up Nan's blank-book, scribbled in it:

Nannie had a little clock, But it was rather slow; And when she thought that it had stopped The clock was sure to go.

This was passed around, and caused such hilarity that Marguerite confiscated the book, and assuming an air of rigid decorum, sat staring straight before her with all the appalling dignity of a blond wax doll.

Upon which, Millicent slyly regained the book, unobserved by the stern matron, and drew a funny sketch of Marguerite wearing epaulets and a cocked hat, mounted on a fiery steed, and commanding a great army. The curly mop of hair, the stiff duck skirt, and the side-saddle, contrasted with the military pose and uplifted sword, were very funny; and when Millicent labeled it "A Daisy Napoleon," and passed it over to Betty and Jessie, they giggled outright. But now they had passed Spring Grove, and the next station would be Blue Beach. Gathering up their belongings, they all were ready, when the train stopped, to jump out on the platform, and there they found Uncle Ned and Aunt Molly waiting for them.

"All here?" sang out Uncle Ned, in his cheery way. "Where are your checks?"

A dozen metal medals were produced by Betty, who announced herself as a courier. It was an appalling lot of luggage to which these checks entitled Uncle Ned; but he soon found a man with a big wagon, and trunks, wheels, and boxes were lifted into it and despatched to the cottage, while Marjorie received frantic expressions of affection from Timmy Loo, who had had quite enough of baggage-cars for one while.

Uncle Ned politely put the spare seats of his carriage at the disposal of the girls, but the loyal crowd refused to be divided. Not they, indeed! They would find a conveyance that would hold them all, or they would walk. It was only about a mile. But a capacious stage lumbered up, and the whole eight were bundled into it.

Timmy Loo, as was his custom when riding, jumped up on Marjorie's shoulder, and sat there, fairly quivering with curiosity to know what kind of a performance was going on anyway. For his part, he could not understand it at all. But Marjorie gave him a little whack on his nose, and he subsided into a wary indifference.

"Here's the ocean, Nan; get out your best pensive expression and put it on," cried Betty, as the stage bumped around a corner and the blue sea shone before them.

But Nan was already wearing what the girls called her "rapt look," and she paid no attention to their banter.

"‘Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean, roll!’" began Millicent.

"Should you dry up, 't would leave an awful hole," continued Marjorie. "Oh, how good this salt air is! It makes me feel like a mermaid."

"It has a worse effect on me than that," exclaimed Betty; "it makes me just awfully hungry. Do we really have to get settled at housekeeping, and all that, before we can have anything to eat?"

"No, indeed," said Marjorie; "we 'll have a picnic supper as soon as we can get enough things unpacked to have it with, and then we 'll begin our regular living to-morrow. There's the house, girls—that shingled one next to the one with the yellow dog in front of it."

And in another minute they had stopped in front of the shingled house, and were tumbling over one another out of the stage.

Nan landed first, and no sooner had she touched the ground than, as if by magic, a swarm of men appeared, who gathered around her, out-vying one another in impressive politeness, and offered her cards.

Bewildered at the suddenness of the onslaught, Nan glanced helplessly at Marjorie with a scared "What do they want?"

At this the swarm turned their attention to Marjorie, and the cards were pointed at her, while the men stood respectfully silent.

"What do you want?" repeated Marjorie; whereupon one braver than the rest volunteered the information that he was the best butcher at Blue Beach, and then another calmly made the same statement.

The cards of the other men announced them to be fish and vegetable merchants, bakers, and milkmen; and one, being cardless, declared himself the coal and wood agent.

"We may as well order that at once," said Marjorie; "but I can't tell about the other things until we get into the house."

At this the men departed, with envious looks at the coal and wood agent, who remained.

"Will you, sir," continued Marjorie, reflectively, "please send us a barrel of kindling-wood and—a—girls, how much coal ought we to have for two weeks?"

"A ton, I should think," said Marguerite, with an air of superior wisdom that made her look like a canary that wanted to be an owl.

"Crazy Daisy!" said Betty. "We could n't begin to use a ton, nor a half, nor a quarter. Why, we only use twenty tons for a whole year at home, radiators and all."

"If six Millers in one year burn twenty tons, how much is necessary to supply one miller and seven other insects that they may have coal to burn?" said Marguerite.

"I 'll be stoker," said Hester Laverack. "The only thing I'm a real success at is making a fire and keeping it going. And I think we 'll need a barrel of coal."

"A barrel! Just the thing!" cried Betty. "That's lots better than a fraction of a ton; and there are so few fractions of a ton to choose from!"

"All right," said Marjorie; "you may send us a barrel of coal and some wood for the open fire."

"A quarter of a cord?" suggested the man, as if he feared another lengthy discussion.

"Yes," said Marjorie, breathing a sigh of relief as he went away. Then she stood looking helplessly at her handful of cards. "Girls," said she, "the responsibilities of housekeeping are wearing me out, and we have n't even entered the house yet."

"Where are the keys?" said impatient Marguerite.

Marjorie flourished her bunch of keys importantly, unlocked the door, and, with a wild whoop from Betty and a responsive bark from Timmy Loo, they all went in.

III. The Fun Begins

CHAPTER III.

THE FUN BEGINS.

"Saved! I have fallen into a grotto!" exclaimed Millicent, dashing through the hall and into the parlor, where she flung herself into a big wicker rocker.

"What do you mean by that?" said Hester, who always liked to have everything explained.

"Why, don't you remember that ridiculous hero in one of Jules Verne's stories who fell thousands of miles down into the earth, and landed in a beautiful grotto which caused him delight but no surprise? Those are exactly my sensations."

"Well, your grotto is full of used-up atmosphere. Let's turn it out and get some fresh." And swish! up went the shades, and bang! up went the windows, and in came the air and sunlight; and after eight girls had flung down their hats and wraps and bags and bundles the place began to look quite homelike and cozy.

"Here are the trunks and bicycles," cried Helen, as a wagon stopped before the cottage.

"Oh, dear!" said Marjorie, "we have n't chosen our rooms yet. Two will have to sleep downstairs; who wants to?"

"I will," said Betty; "I'm not afraid, are you, Jessie?"

"No, indeed!" And the Invincibles immediately appropriated the pretty bedroom that adjoined the parlor.

Have n't I told you about these two girls yet? Well, Betty was fifteen, a very tall girl, with that kind of tallness that is called overgrown. She was fond of all outdoor sports, and, strong, athletic, and muscular, she strode through life regardless of conventions, but making friends as she went. Jessie was of a directly opposite type in most ways. A chubby little maiden with a happy-go-lucky disposition, she had a positive genius for getting her own way. Always amiable and acquiescent, and very generous, she yet managed never to do anything she did n't wish to do. She was a frivolous little creature, devoted to finery and dress, but so winning and affectionate that it was really impossible to interfere with her wishes. And so Betty's determination and Jessie's persistency had won them the name of the Invincibles, and whatever they agreed on always came to pass; but as they rarely agreed on anything, this was not so disastrous as it might have been.

The social economy of the eight was very clearly defined. The Octave, as they called themselves, divided very naturally into two quartets or four duets whenever occasion required. And just now occasion did require; so, leaving Betty and Jessie, the other six flew upstairs, and Marjorie and Millicent took one room, Nan and Marguerite another, and Helen and Hester the third, so that when the trunks were sent up, they were put at once where they belonged. The wheels were stacked in the hall—only five of them, for Millicent, Nan, and Marguerite did n't ride. Then the trunks were unpacked, shelves divided fairly, hooks counted out, top bureau-drawers tossed up for, and the "settling process" had begun.

Soon Betty's voice was heard from below: "Don't fiddle with your finery any longer now, girls. Come on down. Let's see about supper."

The six upstairs, feeling a responsive thrill, suspended operations at once and skipped down.

Then they all flocked out to the kitchen, and great and joyous were the exclamations of the club when they beheld the completeness of the furnishings thereof.

The old corner cupboard disclosed griddles and gridirons, saucepans and frying-pans; rows of shining tins hung over the sink; egg-beaters and syllabub-churns smiled out at them from the shelves; and a big fat pudding-mold beamed a welcome from its corner.

Betty seized two tin kettle-covers, and, clashing them like cymbals, broke into the club's "Battle Song," which they sang on every possible occasion. Marjorie played an accompaniment on the coffee-mill, Nan whisked in some trills with the egg-beater, and they all sang: