I NEVER did see things come so fast as they did for a while there. Have you ever noticed how unevenly affairs run? Sometimes there will be a long, dull, smooth place in your life, the way that Summer had been for me; and then, beginning with the afternoon when I wakened up in the hammock and heard Dad talking about that other girl, things had just been humping themselves right along until it seemed as if the incidents would tumble over one another in their hurry to get into action. Nothing more had been said on the girl question, and I was trying to keep it out of my mind as much as possible. Well, it had been only two or three days since then, and here I was in Chicago, and everything humming! Actually, I felt as if I must be dozing in that hammock yet, and would wake up pretty soon and go out and fix the latch on the back gate.
Bess and I arrived in Chicago all by ourselves; for her father got a message just before he started. that made it necessary for him to go to Cleveland; and so he left us on the way, and telegraphed to a friend of his to meet us at the station and start us in the right direction to get to his sister's. I call her "Aunt Fannie," the same as Bess does.
That friend of his certainly did know how to do things up right. He was at the train, sure enough, and he had the swellest automobile you ever saw, waiting just outside of the station, ready to take us over onto the North Side and drop us right where we belonged. I tell you, it was great stuff! You see, it was the first time I had ever been in an auto, and it went to my head some. I liked it all right; but I got so tired that my knees fairly knocked together. I sat on the front seat, and of course I braced my feet and kept pulling back all the time, to keep from running into things; and a big machine like that is a mighty heavy thing to hold back all by yourself. It was worst down in town, where the streets were crowded; but we—didn't go so very fast there, so that helped some;—and when we went to cross the bridge and found it was turned to let a boat go through, I had to just pull back with all my might, to keep from going over the edge and into the river.
The chauffeur was nice, though; and by and by he looked at me and laughed, and said that if I'd lean back and take it easy, he guessed that he and the brake could manage the machine all right. And then I saw what a goose I'd been making of myself,—and suddenly remembered what Uncle Rob had said about confidence making one normal. So I just relaxed the strain and let him run the machine, and by the time that we were spinning away north with the blue lake shining and sparkling at our right, and the beautiful houses and lawns flying past at our left, that involuntary tension was all gone, and I was doing nothing but enjoy.
I am so glad that the lake was rough on that first day that I saw it; for now I shall always think of it that way. The sun was shining and there was a fresh, cool breeze, and the lake was blue, and there were flashing, tossing white-caps just as far as you could see; and away out on the edge of the horizon, the line was all rough and uneven and wavering. And nearer shore, the great, smooth waves came rolling in, and as they came closer, they would rise up, and rise up, and their round tops would begin to get sharp and thin and then they would begin to curl over a little, just a very little at first, with tiny, white flecks flying, and then all of a sudden they would break over, like a great waterfall, beginning in front of you and curling away off down the shore, as white as snow. And where the water ran up on the beach it was exactly like the galloping white horses that some one painted; and I could just see their flying manes, and bending knees, and reaching hoofs! And where there was no beach, only a sea-wall, the waves would come rolling up, big and round, and then, all of a sudden, there would be a deep, heavy boom, and the whole wave would dash up into the air and the top of it would break into feathers and plumes of white spray which the wind blew into our faces; and then the whole mass of it would drop back onto the stonework with another boom, and a swishing and splashing. It surely was fine! And sometimes a wave would strike the sea-wall sidewise and go spinning away down the shore, taking a great white curl of water for ever and ever so far, and ending with a wild throwing up of its arms and a tremendous leap, and then come tumbling and crashing down onto the stonework. Of course, I didn't see all of this in detail on that first ride, we were going too fast for that; but I sort of sensed it all, and Bess and I took it in, to the full, afterward.
We were tired and dirty and hungry when we got to Aunt Fannie's, but we didn't realize it until we were in the house, for there had been so much to see that we had forgotten that we were made of anything but eyes. Aunt Fannie is all right. She is just fine and we didn't have to get acquainted at all; for we, someway, seemed to "belong," without going to the trouble of geting adjusted. Some people are that way, you know, and she is one of them. Another uncle of Bess's was there, and it was his first trip to Chicago, too; because Aunt Fannie has lived there for only about a year; and he was having as fine a time as we were, though he was supposed to be there on business. He isn't much like Uncle Rob, and yet he reminds me of him sometimes. He's awfully decided, too, even before he is sure about things; but if he has to back down afterward, he always does it with a grin; and never makes any kick because he was mistaken, as most people do. I never before saw a person who could be so absolutely certain about a thing which wasn't so, and then be so cheerful about it when he found that he'd guessed wrong.
Aunt Fannie told us not to spend much time primping for dinner, as she was having it early because she knew we would be hungry; so we hurried down, and when the gong sounded, we were not at all slow about getting into the dining-room.
The table looked mighty good to me. It was a small, round one, and just as dainty as could be. Uncle Fred took the head, to serve, and Aunt Fannie poured the coffee; Bess sat at the right, and was to look after the salad and I was opposite, with a big dish of green corn in front of me, which I was told to engineer.
Uncle Fred sniffed as he raised the cover from the great platter in front of him. "Smells like old times," he said.
I gave one look, and then my eyes turned toward Bess. She was talking to Aunt Fannie; but I knew she'd seen, by the way she kept her face turned away from me. That platter was plum full of a great big chicken pot-pie! Fine, plump dumplings, tender, white chicken, and the whole just fairly swimming in rich, thick gravy.
I kept on looking at Bess, and she kept on talking to Aunt Fannie, but I looked so hard that finally she had to turn her eyes, and when she saw my face, the corners of her mouth went up and she stopped in the middle of a sentence.
"What's the matter, Chet?" she asked, coolly. "You look as if you had left something at home, and had just thought of it."
I saw that she was going to make some sort of a bluff, and so I said no, that I was just wondering what she was going to do when she got ready to eat, because she couldn't eat and talk at the same time. I had to say something.
Uncle Fred was getting things well under way. He had put two big dumplings on her plate, and now he turned to her:—"Light or dark meat, Bess?" he asked.
"Light meat, please," said Bess, cheerfully; and so he put on a fine piece of the breast, and then a big spoonful of mashed potatoes, and then I saw her last hope go down, drowned in a great sousing of rich gravy over the whole thing!
I looked away. I knew that I should have to either laugh or choke,—and I was sorry, too. She certainly was up against it! The table was too small, and we were all sitting too close together for her to have the least chance of making that great plateful look even partly eaten unless it really was. Of course I knew that she'd a lot rather make her dinner off of bread and butter and corn than take a mouthful of the chicken,—but I also knew that she'd rather go to bed for a week than have Aunt Fannie know that the dinner which she had planned as just the thing for us hungry kids, was a dead failure as far as Bess was concerned. I knew that it wasn't notion with Bess, either; for I've seen her when she had what she used to call a "chicken sick," that she had got from eating soup that had just a little chicken in it when she didn't know it, and once when she ate some fried chicken over at our house because I dared her to. But that was before she took up Christian Science.
When everybody was served, and it was time to start in, I looked at Bess again. She took up her knife and fork, put up her head for an instant and looked me square in the eye, and then she fell too and—ate chicken!
Gee, but that girl has grit!
She didn't ask for a second helping, but she ate a good, hearty dinner, and chatted away all through it, as if she were having the best time ever.
"Now," said Uncle Fred, when we had finished everything else and were still sitting around the table eating nuts and raisins; "I have some news for you. I saved it so as not to interfere with your appetites. Day after to-morrow the whole bunch of us, and some more, are going over to Michigan City on the boat."
I took one look at Bess and then I clapped both hands over my mouth.
"Did you bite on a shell?" asked Aunt Fannie, sympathetically.
"I—you—you can't always tell when there's shells in them," I mumbled. I didn't dare to take my hands down; for the expression on Bess's face hadn't got back to normal yet, and she looked as if she had got beyond her depth and there wasn't a straw in sight.
In just a second I had the corners of my mouth under control. "Put down your feet and walk out, Bess," I said. "The water isn't really deep—you can touch bottom all right if you quit struggling."
"What's that?" asked Aunt Fannie, looking from one to the other of us.
"Oh," I said, "Bess has been on the crest of the wave ever since she left home; because so many unexpected things have turned up, and I was afraid she'd 'turn turtle' in the breakers, at this last piece of good news, if I didn't warn her to keep her feet on the ground."
"You needn't worry," said Bess, beginning to look natural again; "I guess I can keep my equilibrium all right—and there's something better than sand under my feet, too."
Uncle Fred laughed. "I guess Bess won't lose her head and go under, for joy over a little trip like that," he said. And I knew that Bess agreed with him clear down to the bottom of her heart.
Later in the evening, when Bess and I were looking over some unmounted photographs of Uncle Fred's, I said, very low,—"Bess, how are you feeling?"
"Fine," said Bess, looking square at me.
"Don't you feel sick at all?"
"Nope."
"Well, if you're sick in the night, what are you going to do?"
"Well, I'm not counting upon being sick in the night," said Bess, "and you'll oblige me by not counting upon it, either. Let's talk about the weather."
That was always her way of turning the conversation.
"All right," I said. "I hope we'll have a fine day to cross the lake! Chicken and the briny deep in one mouthful!—I guess that's going some, isn't it?"
Bess put up her chin. "Chet" she said, "things are coming my way. Those were the two highest stone walls that I had before me to climb, and I was waiting to come to them;—but instead, they have just walked right up to me, and said:—'It's up to you now, what are you going to do about us?' All the time, I have thought that I was going to have to climb over them; but all of a sudden I see that I have only to walk through them;—for they're not stone, they're only—only fog. I used to think that they were protecting me from pain and danger; but they were really only shutting me away from freedom. I never realized it until I got so close to them. Don't you worry about me—I'm coming through all right."
"H'm!" I said, "I thought you were up against it, and here you are out in the open, after all. You're all right, Bess,—you'll win,—I couldn't carry it off better myself." Then suddenly I happened to think. "Bess," I said, "there's another stone wall that you and I are coming up to by and by, and you want to look out that it doesn't fall on you."
"What one?"
"That other girl."
Bess wrinkled her brows. "I'd almost for gotten," she said; "and that is the very biggest one of all, because it is going to last all the time. Oh, dear, I wish that one would vanish into thin air too."
"Not much, it won't," I said. "That's a sure-enough hurdle, and there's going to be no walking through it or seeing freedom on the other side. I wish you'd make up your mind what you're going to do about it."
Bess pressed her lips together. "I told you what I was going to do about it," she said.
"What?"
"Love her."
"Good-night," I said, and got up to go to my room.
The next forenoon Bess and I started out to see the sights. She had come down to breakfast looking as fresh as could be; and when I asked her how she felt, she said that she didn't waken up once all night. I certainly was surprised,—and yet I had just about half expected it; for she was so confident that I sort of caught it, and would have been disappointed if she had been worsted. I got into such an odd state of mind about her affairs, for I kind of expected both ways, when she met one of her stone walls; and if I had been talking to any one about it, I would have said:—"It's exactly what I expected;—but I'm surprised, just the same," and I began taking about as much interest as if I had been in it myself.
Well, that day we went to the Art Institute, and some of the stores, and wound up at the Museum and stayed there until the doors closed. I think we'd have stayed until morning if they'd have let us. I never saw so many things that were downright interesting, in all my life put together. Bess and I had read about so many of the things, that it was just like meeting old friends, and I tell you, we simply revelled. Bess got acquainted with some girls who were in the Egyptian room when we went in, and they were real jolly. One of them was quite clever, and she and Bess struck up a friendship right off. The other one was pretty, and about fourteen years old, but she wasn't paying much attention to things—didn't seem to know how.
By and by we all stopped in front of a glass case where there was a mummy, and there was a printed label telling all about it. Bess read it aloud, and when she got through, the pretty girl turned to the other one and said,—"What is it, Grace?"
"Why, it's a mummy. Didn't you hear what she read?"
The rest of us walked on, but the girl stood still, looking into the case. In a moment she came running after us. "Grace," she said, "what did you say that thing is?"
"A mummy. An Egyptian mummy. Go read the label."
The girl went back and bent over the label and then she stood, again, staring into the glass case. The cover of the mummy-case had been removed, and one could see the winding strips of brown cloth, frayed and torn in places. She stood for so long that we grew tired of waiting, and the other girl called to her; but she didn't turn around. "Well, what do you think of that," said her friend. "I didn't suppose Belle had enough imagination to stand dreaming over a mummy-case in that sort of a way! We'll have to go back after her."
I knew that it wasn't imagination; for no girl with a genuinely empty face ever spends any time dreaming; but I didn't say anything, and we walked back.
As we came up to her, she turned, and her face was all knotted up with perplexity. "Grace," she exclaimed, "What did you say this thing is?"
Grace started to speak, and then stopped and looked helplessly at Bess and me. "Why, Belle," she said at last, "we've told you three times that it is a mummy—an Egyptian mummy—the mummy of an Egyptian princess! Can't you understand that?"
Belle brought her hand down on the case, with one finger pointed, so hard that you'd have thought it would have gone clear through the glass. "Yes, yes, yes!" she exclaimed, pounding on the glass with her finger; "of course I understand that perfectly; but what I'm trying to find out is—what on earth did she use it for?"
Bess and I went home then.