The Rosie World Part 14

"Say, Jarge," she whispered coaxingly, "will you do something for me?"

George looked down at her indulgently. "Of course I will. Anything you want."

"Well then, listen, Jarge: Will you take Janet all the way home and be real nice to her and pretend she's your girl and pet her real, real hard. n.o.body ever pets Janet, and she never has a good time except when she's with me. And I'll take Tom Sullivan."

George laughed a good-natured "All right," and Rosie, turning around, said to Janet: "Jarge don't want me any more, do you, Jarge? He wants you, Janet, don't you, Jarge, want Janet? So will you let Tom Sullivan take me?"

"Oh, Rosie!" Janet threw incredulous eyes to heaven and clutched her hands together in a joy that was serious as grief.

Rosie pushed her up to George and George, capturing her cold fingers, drew them through his arm. Then Rosie, glowing all over in virtuous self-approval, dropped behind with Tom Sullivan.

CHAPTER XII

THE LOAN OF A GENTLEMAN FRIEND

The wives and mothers, with sleepy, crying children, cluttered up the lower decks. The young people by some common instinct seemed all to be drawn to the quiet and moonlight of the upper deck. There Rosie's party found them, a thousand couples more or less, each couple sitting somewhat apart from its neighbours, but frightfully close to itself.

"I suppose they're all engaged," Rosie remarked to Tom Sullivan, and even in the moonlight Tom blushed furiously.

George and Janet found the unoccupied half of a deck bench, not too far from the rail, and Rosie and Tom seated themselves on campstools some distance behind. They were pretty far in on deck and so could see very little beyond the backs of the great half circle of couples. But backs, in their way, are very expressive, and Rosie soon found herself deeply interested in the romances of which these various backs were soon giving most unmistakable hints. Every couple that sat down seemed to go through precisely the same emotional experience. A properly equipped statistician could soon have reduced the whole thing to a matter of minutes and seconds.

Take what would be an average couple: They seat themselves like ordinary people in their right minds and, for a moment, that is what you suppose they really are. But only for a moment. Although they may be the only couple on the bench, almost immediately you see them crowding against each other as if to make room for a fat lady with a baby. Then to get more room the man drops his arm--the arm next the girl--over the back of the bench, where it lies a few moments lifeless and inert. The position is uncomfortable, evidently, for soon he tries to bring it back. Too late. The invisible fat lady with the baby has, in the meantime, wedged the girl right under the man's shoulder, and his arm and hand, in circling back, circle naturally about her. She, poor little soul, seems not to know what has happened. Her tired head sinks like a weary bird--sinks on his breast. She sleeps. At any rate, she looks like it.

Then she wakes. She wakes gradually. Her profile slowly rises and, as it rises, lo! his descends until--until--Well, you know what always occurs when his profile meets her profile full-face.

Every time they saw it happen, Rosie held her breath for a moment, then murmured: "They must be engaged, too!"

Tom Sullivan stood it as long as he could, then burst out: "Aw, go on!

You don't have to be engaged to kiss!"

Rosie looked at him, scandalized and shocked. "Why, Tom Sullivan, how you talk! You ought to be ashamed o' yourself!"

"Well, you don't!" Tom insisted doggedly.

Rosie, drawing herself away from a person of such free-and-easy morals, returned to the backs of the last couple to see whether their little drama had completed itself. As she looked, the final act opened. The man whispered something--from what happened when all the other men had whispered something, Rosie decided he must be asking the girl if she were chilly. She, like all others before her, presumably was, for the man took off half his coat, the half near her, and drew it around her shoulders. What became of his s.h.i.+rt-sleeved arm, or what, in fact, thereafter became of the rest of both of them, no mere onlooker could ever know. The half-coat, raising high its collar, served as an effectual screen against the gaze of a curious world, and the only thing left for a student of human nature was to hunt a new couple.

One of the marvels of a picnic boat is that there are always new couples. Rosie found one immediately and was already engrossed in it when Tom Sullivan, clutching her excitedly, cried out:

"Look! Look! Didn't I tell you!"

Rosie looked, and what she saw seemed for a moment to make her heart stop. George Riley and Janet McFadden--think of it! How long the exhibit had been going on Rosie knew not, but Tom Sullivan had discovered them just as Janet's profile was rising and George's descending. In another instant----

"There!" shouted Tom Sullivan in triumph. "Didn't I tell you so! Now you can't say they're engaged!"

Rosie stood up hurriedly.

"This is a perfectly horrid boat and I wish I could get off! And I tell you one thing, Tom Sullivan: I'm going downstairs. I won't stay up here any longer. It's disgraceful, that's what it is!"

"Aw, don't go down!" Tom begged. "It's fun up here."

But Rosie was already started and Tom had to follow.

"Say, Rosie," he chuckled confidentially over her shoulder as she climbed down to the next deck, "did you see old Janet? Gee! I bet it was the first time a fella ever kissed her!"

Had Rosie seen old Janet? Yes, Rosie had, and the mere thought of the perfidious creature sent Rosie hot and cold by turns. Oh, to think of it! After all she had done for Janet out of the innocent kindness of her heart, to have Janet face about and treat her so! Why, she was nothing but a thief, a brazen thief!...

It was true that, in a sense, George did not belong to Rosie: he belonged to Ellen O'Brien if Ellen would once make up her mind to possess him; but as between Rosie and Janet he certainly belonged to Rosie. And Janet knew it, too! And he knew it! Oh, what a weak character his was, thus to be tempted by the first fair face! Fair face, indeed!

The first ugly face! Yes, ugly! Not even her own mother could call Janet anything else!

Rosie found uncomfortable places for herself and Tom among the wives and mothers who, heavy-eyed and dishevelled, were waiting impatiently to land. s.h.i.+ning over them was no glamour of moonlight. They were plain, homely, hard-worked women--exactly what Janet McFadden would be some day, if George Riley had but sense enough to know it. Rosie picked out the homeliest of them all and wished she had George down beside her so that she could say to him:

"Do you see that woman? Well, that's what your dear Janet's going to look like when she grows up!"

Rosie had a mental picture of herself at that same future period, with golden hair and lovely clothes and heaps and heaps of beautiful jewels.

If she could only give George a glimpse of the great contrast which in a few years there would be between her and Janet, then he'd feel sorry!

He'd probably get down on his knees and beg her pardon and she, flipping back some expensive lace from her wrist, would smile at him kindly and drawl out:

"Oh, that's all right, Mr. Riley. I never think of you any more. You know how it is when a person has so many wealthy friends. I'm sorry, but I got to go now, for my automobile is waiting. Good-bye...."

But meanwhile the moonlight was still s.h.i.+ning on the upper deck and Rosie felt perfectly sure that, by this time, Janet was tucked away in George's coat. Rosie stood the suspense as long as she could, then jumped up to investigate.

"You wait here for me, Tom," she ordered; "I'll be back in just a minute."

She hurried off to the upper deck and, of course, found conditions exactly as she knew they would be. The only thing that showed above George's coat collar was the tilted edge of Janet's old black sailor hat. Rosie stepped up quite close to the guilty pair and cleared her throat, but they heeded her not.

"All right!" Rosie warned them in her own mind. "Just keep on and you'll both be sorry some day!"

Then she told herself for the fiftieth time what a fool she had been, and she made a mighty vow never again to loan a gentleman friend to any one whomsoever.

When she got back to Tom Sullivan, Tom had a bag of peanuts which he offered her at once. "You like peanuts, don't you, Rosie? It's my last nickel, except carfare. Aw, go on, take some."

Not to seem unfriendly, Rosie accepted a handful. Crunching the sh.e.l.ls between her fingers comforted her a little. It was the sort of treatment she would like to give some people--at any rate, it was the kind they deserved. She didn't exactly name the peanuts, but she gave them initials. To the small ones she gave the initial _J_, to the large ones G.

"Do you suppose those two are spoonin' up there yet?" Tom asked finally.

"What two?"

"Why, George Riley and Janet." And Tom Sullivan, who was supposed to be bashful, looked at Rosie with a meaning smile.

Rosie returned the glance with fire and daggers. "Don't you move your old chair any closer to me, Tom Sullivan!"

"Aw, now, Rosie----" Tom began, but Rosie cut him short, for the landing-bell was sounding and it was time for them to pick up their disreputable friends.

George and Janet were all for acting as if nothing unusual had happened, and Rosie scorned them afresh for the useless hypocrisy.

The journey home was stupid and unpleasant. The cars were crowded and people were ill-natured and rude and everything in general was horrid.