CHAPTER XI EXPERIENCES

As a society the Grigs prospered.

The next meeting was at Clementine’s, and was a very busy and merry one. Patty had never been to Clementine’s home before, and she was delighted with the large beautiful house, and also with Clementine’s mother, who was a sweet-faced, pleasant-mannered lady, and who reminded her a little bit of Aunt Alice.

After the members had all arrived, Clementine took them to a room on the third floor which was her own especial domain.

“We always call it the play-room,” she said, “because it was my play-room when I was a little child. Lately I’ve tried to have them call it studio, or library, or even den; but somehow the old name sticks and we always say—play-room.”

The room itself was most attractive, with books, and games, and toys in abundance. In the middle of the room was a long low table, and the girls gathered about this eager to begin the work they had planned to do. For though only their second meeting, the Grigs had arranged during the week many plans for the furtherance of the ends and aims of their club.

So Clementine had provided scissors and paste, pencils and sewing materials, and soon the work was in progress.

Some made scrap-books, with muslin leaves, while others cut out bright-coloured pictures to paste in these books.

These were intended for the children in a certain nearby hospital.

“Of course,” said Editha Hart, “these scrap-books are no novelty. Every girl I’ve ever known has made muslin scrap-books for hospitals at some time in her life. But these are different, because they’re filled with really funny pictures.”

“Yes,” said Mary Sargent, “I’ve seen the scrap-books some girls make. The pictures are usually advertising cards, or else stupid old black-and-white things that couldn’t amuse anybody. These coloured supplement pictures are certainly funny, if they aren’t the very best type of high art.”

“If they make the children laugh, our work is accomplished,” said Patty.

“What we want to do,” said Clementine, “is to make two smiles grow where one grew before.”

“Clementine is a walking Literature Class, isn’t she?” said Flossy Fisher, admiringly; “we had something like that in the lesson yesterday. But where are the peanuts? Did anyone bring any?”

“Yes, here’s a bagful,” said Adelaide; “hurry up and get them together, while I make the pig-tails.”

Flossy’s task was the making of funny little Chinese dolls by stringing peanuts together; while Adelaide braided coarse black thread into little queues for them, and Hilda made fantastic costumes out of Japanese paper napkins.

Editha was engaged in producing wonderful effects, with nothing but sheets of cotton-wadding and a box of water-colour paints. She deftly rolled, tied and draped the material into a comical doll, and then cleverly painted features, hair, hands and dress trimmings, until the whole was a work of art.

“Now, you know,” said Hilda, after all the girls had settled down to work, “we’re to tell our experiences during the week, in the way of helping along the gaiety of the nation. Patty Fairfield, what have you done to make somebody else as merry as a Grig?”

“Well,” said Patty, apologetically, “I really haven’t had many opportunities, though I tried hard to make some. The trouble is, my family and most of my friends are merry, anyhow, and they don’t need any chirking up. And of course I couldn’t go out into the highways and hedges. But I had one experience which I think will count, and I’ll tell you about it. I was going up in the elevator yesterday, and I stood next to a lady, whom I know slightly. Her name is Miss Dennison and she lives in The Wilberforce. She is a writer or something—anyway, she makes speeches at women’s conventions or club meetings. Well, she never is very merry-looking, but yesterday she looked cross enough to bite a ten-penny nail into ten pennies. I was almost afraid to get into the elevator for fear she’d snap my head off; and the elevator boy was positively quaking in his boots.”

“I know that Miss Dennison,” said Adelaide; “she’s most awe-inspiring. I think she’s a Woman’s Rights Suffragist, or whatever you call them.”

“Yes, that’s the one,” said Patty, “and yesterday, although she didn’t say anything, I could see at a glance that she was in a terrible temper about something. So it struck me all of a sudden that here was a chance to scatter a little merriment her way, and see if she’d pick it up. So I just said, ‘What are you laughing at, Miss Dennison?’ and then I began to laugh.”

“I don’t see how you dared,” said Editha. “What did she say?”

“Why, at first she looked at me in amazement, and then, as I was chuckling with laughter, somehow she had to smile, too. And really, girls, when she smiles she looks almost pretty. Well, by that time we had reached our floor, so we both got off and walked along the hall together. ‘Laughing!’ she said, and she glared at me fearfully; ‘indeed I’m not laughing! I’m angry enough to—to——’ and she was so angry she couldn’t think what she was angry enough to do. The more excited she got, the more I laughed, partly because I wanted to make her laugh, too, and partly because she was so funny. When we reached her apartment she was still blustering and informing me how angry she was, though I had no idea what it was all about. Then she said: ‘Just come in here a minute and I’ll show you—and see if you wouldn’t be angry, too!’ So she took me into her room and there on the bed lay the most beautiful dress you ever saw. It was black lace, with spangles all over it, and twists of orange-coloured velvet here and there. ‘Look at that!’ she cried, ‘look at that!’ So I looked at it and I laughed some more, and I said: ‘Why, it’s a beautiful gown; I don’t see anything about that to make you so angry.’ And then she said: ‘Oh, you don’t, don’t you? Well, just let me tell you that my dressmaker has just sent it home; and I expected to wear it this evening, when I’m to make an address at a meeting of the Federation. And I can’t wear it!’ Girls, the tragickness of her face and voice as she said that really made me stop laughing. I said: ‘Why not?’ in an awe-struck whisper. Then she explained that it didn’t fit; it was too long in the waist and too short in the skirt, and too tight in the neck, and too loose in the sleeves; maybe I haven’t the details just right, but anyhow everything seemed to be the matter with it. So you see it was a clear case for our society to deal with, and I set to work. First I found out that she really couldn’t wear it, and that she had just come home from the dressmaker’s, and the dressmaker had said that it couldn’t be refitted for last evening, though it could be done later. So I asked her what other gowns she had to wear, and she showed me heaps of them. So then I just made fun of her; I don’t know myself how I dared do it, but I really teased her. I told her that for a woman who was interested in such great subjects as suffragists and things like that, to care what dress she wore was perfectly ridiculous. And I told her that any of those other gowns would do just as well, and she knew it. And I told her that later she could have this new one fixed over and address some other meeting in it. And I joked and giggled, until somehow she really got into a good humour, and said she supposed her heliotrope velvet would do just as well, after all. And when I came away she was awfully nice and she thanked me and said I was a real Mark Tapley. And now, my fellow-Grigs, I hate to confess my ignorance, but can any of you tell me what is a Mark Tapley?”

Hilda Henderson stared at Patty in amazement.

“Do you really mean,” she said, “that you don’t know Mark Tapley? Why, he’s one of Dickens’ characters.”

“Well, you see,” said Patty, “I never read but three of Dickens’ books, and he wasn’t in those. What did he do?”

“Why, he’s a character in ‘Martin Chuzzlewit’; and he’s a man who was always jolly under any circumstances. The more depressing the situation, the jollier he grew. He said it was no credit to anybody to be jolly when everything went right; the great feat was to be jolly when things went wrong.”

“I like him,” said Patty, decidedly; “he was a true Grig; and I’d like to know more of him. I’ll tell you what, girls, some time let’s read about him aloud at one of our meetings.”

“Yes, we will,” agreed Hilda; “but I say, Patty, I think your performance with Miss Dennison was fine. If you could make that sour-visaged spinster laugh, you needn’t ever be afraid to tackle anybody. Now, Flossy, you come next. What have you been up to this week?”

“My experience isn’t as interesting as Patty’s,” said Flossy; “I tried it on Grandpa. He lives with us, you know, and he has the gout. Sometimes it’s worse than others, and this week he had an awful attack, and, jiminy crickets, if he wasn’t cross! Now, generally when he gets rampageous I just keep out of the way; but this time I thought I’d play Grig. So I staid around, and when he burst forth in his angry tantrums I just laughed and said some foolish, funny thing that had nothing to do with the case. I read up the comic papers to get jokes to spring on him, and once or twice I read him funny stories out of the magazines. It didn’t always succeed, but lots of times I did get him into a better temper, and once he said I made him forget the pain entirely.”

“That’s a very nice experience, Flossy, and I think you were lovely,” said Clementine, in her impulsive way; “I really believe our society is going to do good in the world as well as other missionaries. Now I’ll tell what I did. There’s nobody in our house that’s cross, except the cook; and she is a terror. Why, positively, mamma doesn’t dare cross her the least bit. She’s not only quick-tempered and has a habit of flying into fearful rages, but she’s sullen and ill-natured right along. Well, a few nights ago mamma was giving a dinner-party and she wanted awfully to give Nora some directions how to do some things. But she knew Nora wanted to do them another way, and she just didn’t dare tell her to change.”

“I wouldn’t have such a cook as that!” exclaimed Adelaide, indignantly.

“Yes, you would,” said Clementine, “if she was perfect every other way. Mamma puts up with her temper because she’s such a good servant. Well, anyhow, I went down into the kitchen that morning and cracked a few jokes with Nora, and she has the real Irish sense of humour, so I got her laughing until she was for the time being in a good-natured, amiable frame of mind. Then I ran upstairs and told mamma that if she went down quick, before the effects wore off, I believed she could make Nora do anything she wanted her to. And, sure enough, Nora was still smiling when mamma went down, and she took the orders as meek as a lamb, and mamma was so pleased.”

“You’re all right, Clementine,” said Editha; “but you see we’ve lived in The Wilberforce and we don’t have any servants of our own, and of course we can’t joke and giggle with the hotel servants. So Adelaide and I thought we’d try it on Jeannette, because she certainly is a cross child. And then somehow that seemed sort of mean, for quite often Adelaide and I are cross, too. We don’t mean anything, but we just snip each other, and the other snaps back, and it isn’t very nice. So all three of us decided to jolly each other, and now whenever one of us says anything cross, the other two begin to giggle, and first thing we know we’re all laughing.”

“Good for you, girls!” cried Patty, clapping her hands; “I’ve always said the Harts were the nicest girls I know, except that they were so snippy toward each other. Goodness me! I believe this society is going to make angels of us all. Now, Mary Sargent, it’s your turn. What’s your thrilling tale?”

“It isn’t very thrilling,” said Mary, “but it’s the best I could do. You see we live in an apartment hotel, too, and I haven’t anybody that needs cheering up. But one day I noticed that the chambermaid was a most sad and forlorn-looking individual. So when she comes into the rooms mornings now I laugh and joke with her a little, and it seems to do her good. She’s pleasanter in every way and even if she comes in glum she always goes out smiling. She’s a Swede, or something like that, and I can’t always understand what she says, but the other day I gave her a calendar I had with funny pictures on it, and to-day she told me that she looks over the whole twelve every morning and then when she thinks of them through the day it makes her laugh.”

“That’s a rudimentary sense of humour,” said Clementine, laughing, “but it seems to be a step in the right direction. Let the good work go on, Mary; I thought you’d take it more seriously than the rest of us and very likely you’ll accomplish the most.”

Mary Sargent was a shy girl and she blushed at Clementine’s praise, but her eyes twinkled with humour, and Clementine said she was a dear and the very merriest Grig of them all.