Читать книгу The Outdoor Girls at Foaming Falls - Stratemeyer Edward - Страница 8

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To have the entire party rush down on them! Outraged, Will stalked to a far corner of the room while Amy tried, unsuccessfully to hide the fact that she was blushing furiously.

As to the young folks who had so callously interrupted the pleasant tête-à-tête, they were too intent on their own fun to notice either Will’s offended manner or Amy’s blushes.

Irene was busy pulling cushions and upholstery from the window seat while Roy pushed a button that filled the room with brilliant light.

Amid encouraging applause from her audience Irene jumped upon the window seat while Stella, still at the piano, played a rollicking Irish jig.

Irene danced with an infectious abandon, her toes twinkling perilously close to the edge of the window seat, one hand held jauntily above her head.

The boys and girls urged her on with shouts of encouragement, beating time with hands and feet to the lilt of the music.

“There—that’s all!”

There was a crashing chord from Stella and Irene jumped down from her perch, laughing and out of breath.

“I refuse to sing another song or dance another step until I’ve been properly fed!”

As though she had been Aladdin rubbing his wonderful lamp, the bell rang at the conclusion of Irene’s sentence, announcing the arrival of the caterers.

There was a concerted feminine rush for Betty’s spotless blue and white kitchen. The caterer and his helper were ushered in as though they were kings and flattered and cajoled into speeding up preparations for the feast.

“You shouldn’t have done so much for me,” Betty protested as the chicken salad, small cakes, and ice-cream made their appearance. “Mr. Wags was present enough without this beautiful spread!”

Mr. Wags, who had quite shed his depression by that time, made his rounds of the feasters, begging prettily, the red bow again beneath one ear, for the odd scraps that were so generously handed out to him.

Betty was finally obliged to call a halt to this promiscuous giving.

“I will not have my birthday present killed before I’ve fairly become acquainted with it!” she protested. “Come here, Wagsy, and sit by my chair. That’s right. Good doggie!”

Mr. Wags obeyed docilely enough. But as soon as he reached Betty’s side he resumed his pleading attitude, one ear cocked alertly and a hungry eye fixed expectantly upon Betty’s plate.

He looked so cunning sitting there that Stella was inspired to call for a pencil and paper. Frank held her plate while she sketched rapidly. When the portrait of Mr. Wags was finished and passed from hand to hand of the amused circle of young folks it was complete, even to the rakish bow beneath the cocker spaniel’s chin.

“You will have to make me one of these, Stella,” said Betty. “I’d like to keep it as a souvenir.”

“Keep that one,” suggested Stella. “Mr. Wags has stopped posing now,” she added as the small dog gave up begging as a bad job and curled himself in a black ball at Betty’s feet. “I doubt if he will ever look so cute again.”

“Thanks,” said Betty and handed the sketch to Allen, who put it in his coat pocket.

After the refreshments they danced again. In fact, they danced so late that Mollie expressed anxiety as to what Betty’s neighbors would say.

“Don’t worry about my neighbors,” said Betty with the new matronly air that sat so becomingly upon her. “They are mostly young people like ourselves, and if they are thinking at all about us they are probably wishing they were in the fun. Oh, girls, it has been such a lovely party!”

Before they went Betty was kissed and hugged all over again. Betty picked up Mr. Wags and with great gravity made him shake hands with them all.

“He says he thanks you for giving him such a nice home and such a nice mitty,” she said. “Long may it wave!”

“Which—the home or the mitty?” Will inquired gravely.

“Both!” returned Betty with equal gravity.

There was a chorus of gay good-bys. Betty and Allen followed their guests out on the porch.

“Come over some day soon,” Betty called to the girls. “I’ve made lots of pretty new things I want to show you.”

“We’ll come—don’t worry!” they answered.

When they had all gone Betty and Allen turned into the house again. Allen closed the door and stood for a moment looking down at his young wife.

“Happy, Betty?” he asked.

“Oh, Allen, so happy!”

But Will and Amy were not so happy. Try though they did, they were unable to get off alone together during the evening and were even forced to say good-night in the midst of a laughing crowd.

It was the day after the party that Mollie, at ease on the veranda of her house, was astonished to see Stella Sibley coming down the street leading Amy and Grace by the hand, despite their combined protests.

As they came nearer Mollie saw that the protests were prompted by the fact that Stella was hurrying more than seemed necessary on a day as warm as this one was.

Stella paid them no attention however, merely rushing them up the steps of the porch and landing them, breathless and indignant, in the swing beside Mollie.

“Good gracious!” gasped Grace, feeling for her pocket handkerchief. “If you had told me you intended to run a marathon I should have stayed at home where I could be cool and comfortable!”

“If you say much more I will send you home,” Stella retorted. “And won’t you be sorry when you find you have missed my news!”

“News?” cried Mollie, instantly alert. “Is there any?”

“Is there any?” repeated Stella. “You just listen a minute, young lady, and tell me then whether you think I have any news or not!”

“That’s what she said when she came popping into my house,” sighed Amy. “But she refused to tell a single word until we could all get together.”

“Very commendable!” laughed Mollie. “Very commendable indeed!”

“On with the news, darling, on with the news,” drawled Grace. “Remember, we die of suspense.”

“Far be it from me to commit murder,” said Stella. “All right, girls—now listen. Dad has an old stone house away up in the country at a place called Foaming Falls——”

“This interests me strangely,” murmured Grace. “Pray go on!”

“Dad has been trying to sell the house for some time,” Stella obliged. “But the purchasers don’t seem to be falling over themselves in the effort to buy it. He was talking about it this morning and I suggested—oh, so very tactfully!—that we girls might use it. As a sort of summer camp, you know.”

Mollie was delighted.

“Tell us more about the house, Stella,” she urged. “You said it was at Foaming Falls, didn’t you?”

“And I guess the place deserves its name, too,” she added. “At least, Dad says it does. The house itself is almost on the bank of Foaming River.”

“Foaming River!” Amy repeated dreamily. “That sounds romantic enough.”

“If romance is what you like,” drawled Grace. “For my part, I prefer adventure.”

“In this case, I don’t see why we can’t have both,” Mollie retorted a trifle sharply. “I like your idea very much,” she added, turning to Stella. “Your Foaming Falls sounds like a place where we could have plenty of fun. It was mighty nice of your father, too, to give his consent.”

“Then you will go?” asked Stella eagerly.

Mollie laughed.

“Go! I’d like to see you try to keep us away!”

“Where’s Irene?” Amy asked suddenly.

“Had to go to the store,” Stella explained. “She’ll be with us pretty soon. Irene knows about Foaming Falls.”

“How far away is it?” asked Mollie.

“Only about eighty miles. We ought to be able to make it all right in a day. The best part of it is,” she paused and regarded them triumphantly, “that Dad has agreed to let me take the Ford sedan. How’s that?”

“About as good as can be,” Mollie responded, with enthusiasm. “With my car and the Ford we shall be amply equipped. Here comes Irene now.”

“She seems to be in a big hurry about something,” Grace remarked lazily. “Why any one wants to hurry in such weather, I certainly can’t see. Hello! what’s wrong?”

Irene flung up the steps with such a look of distress on her face that the girls were seriously concerned.

“Wrong! There’s enough wrong!” Irene groaned. “Hesper has disappeared!”