The Annals of Ann Part 14

I can't do this any more though--for to-night we're having the last fire of the season. To-morrow spring cleaning will be gone through with and the chimneys all newspapered up. No matter how cold it gets after _that_ you can't expect to have a fire after you've _sprung cleaned_! I never _am_ going to spring clean at my house. The dust and soapsuds are not the worst part of house cleaning, though they are bad enough, goodness knows! What I hate worst to see is the battered old bureaus and shabby old quilts that you've kept a secret from the public for years pulled out from their corners by the hair of their heads and knocked around in the back yard without any pity for their poor old bones! I never see a moving van going through the city streets loaded with pitiful old furniture without thinking "That used to be _somebody's_ Lares and Penates!"

By-the-way, Mammy Lou is crazy for Dovie to have some more twins so she can name them "Scylla and Chrybdis." She hasn't much hopes though, for she says lightning doesn't strike twice in the same place. Father says it wouldn't be lightning, it would be _thunder_ to have two more little pickaninnies always standing around under his feet and have to explain to everybody that came along how they got their curious names.

Mammy Lou heard Miss Irene say "Scylla and Chrybdis;" Miss Irene doesn't say it any more though. Doctor Bynum didn't wait for the train to bring him down here that Sunday, but whizzed through the country in his automobile Sat.u.r.day night. Then he "venied, vidied, vicied" in such a hurry that everybody in town knew it before nap time Sunday afternoon. Mr. Fairfax has gone away on a long trip. Jean said if he had had any sense he would have seen that Miss Irene Campbell wasn't the only girl in the world, but he didn't see it and he's gone.

Next week Jean is going home and when I think of how lonesome I'll be something nearly pops inside of me. They have been writing and writing for me to go home with Jean and stay until Rufe and Cousin Eunice and Waterloo get ready to come down this summer, but mother says I may not go unless Jean and I both promise to reform. We're not to eat any more stuffed olives nor write any more poetry--and, _think_ of it! I'm to stop writing in _my diary_! Mother says I'll never have any practical sense if I don't begin now to learn things. I tell her, "Am I to blame if I love a fountain pen better than a darning needle?" The Lord made me so. And I _hate_ sewing. It's as hard for me to sew as it is to keep from writing.

Yet if I go home with Jean I must quit writing. Must give up my diary. Must not write one line of poetry, no matter how much my head is buzzing with it! Why, if poets couldn't _write_ their poetry they'd burst a blood vessel! I can't even take you with me to Jean's house and read over what I have written in happier days, you poor little forsaken diary!

CHAPTER XIII

It seems to me that the writing habit is kinder like poison oak; it's sure to break out on you in the spring, and you can never get it entirely out of your system.

I've tried my best to keep from writing, and when you have done your best and failed, why I don't believe even Robert Bruce's spider could have done any more.

I promised mother I would stop writing in my diary and I have--for such a long time that every one of the hems in my dresses has had to be let out since I wrote last. But now I just must break my promise, and I reckon if you are going to break a promise at all you might as well break it all to pieces. So I'll just dive in and tell all that happened since I wrote last.

You remember that fluffy-skirted widow that I told you about being down here, my diary, and I sharpened seventeen pencils for--a long time ago? Well, she said that _she_ believed every minute of this life was made for enjoyment. She told it to a young man that told it to father that told it to mother and I happened to hear. She said you ought to do the things you enjoy most, as long as they didn't bother anybody else, and if you did things you had to repent of afterward, why, even then, you ought to cut out your sackcloth by a becoming pattern!

Everybody in town heard that she said it, and Brother Sheffield said it was a _heathenish_ thing to say! He preached his Jezebel sermon the very next Sunday, although it wasn't due until nearer Easter bonnet time. Maybe he wasn't to blame so much, though, for the presiding elder was due that Sunday and found out at the last minute he couldn't get there in time for the morning service; so Brother Sheffield had to preach the first sermon he could get his hands on, I reckon. The presiding elder (I _wonder_ if you ought to begin him with a capital letter? I never wrote "presiding elder" before in my life and maybe never will again, so it's no use getting up to go and look for it in the dictionary) well, he got in late that afternoon and spent the night at our house where he kept the supper table in a roar telling funny tales about the ignorance and tacky ways of the country brethren he had stayed with the night before. He was an awfully popular presiding elder with his members.

But what I started out to say when I commenced writing to-night was that surely mother wouldn't be so cruel as not to want my grandchildren to know a few little last things about all the friends I've written of in here, and also a few little last things about me. I always like to read a book that winds up that way. For instance, you will enjoy hearing that Miss Irene is spending every minute of her time just about now running baby blue ribbon in her underclothes. And Miss Merle has long ago quit running it in hers!

Miss Irene has stopped being a "pseudo-Poe in petticoats," as father one time called her, but not to her face. Doctor Bynum told her that he thought one bright magazine story that would make a "T.B." patient sit up in bed and laugh was worth all the graveyard gloom that Poe ever wrote.

And before I get clear away from the subject of Miss Merle I must tell you that Mr. St. John is still the most bashful, though married, man I ever heard of. I never shall forget the time he wouldn't let us see his unders.h.i.+rt--when it was hanging in an up-stairs window, too. But Jean wrote me not long ago that when the census man came around to see how many folks lived there and how many times each one had been married and if they kept a cow, etc., Mr. St. John happened to be the one to go to the door and answer the man's questions. Now, it does seem that if he and Miss Merle have been married long enough for her to leave off the ribbon he might leave off the blushes; but they were all standing around looking at him, which of course made it worse. So when the census man said, "How many children is your wife the mother of?" instead of speaking out boldly, "None!" Jean said his face turned every color in the curriculum and he stammered, "Not any--that _I_ know of!" And then he looked around at them as if to see whether or not _they_ knew of any lying around loose about the house.

I haven't seen Jean since she was down here, but we write eighteen pages a week. I didn't get to go on my visit to her house as I expected, for we went to Florida instead. We all went, that is, us three, and Waterloo and his family besides Ann Lisbeth and Doctor Gordon.

Doctor Gordon was the one that started it. He caught pneumonia one dreary day in the early spring when he was already sick in bed, but got up and went out to the hospital to operate for appendicitis. Ann Lisbeth almost went into catalepsy, trying to keep him from going, but it was a very expensive appendix, he said, so he got up and went out and bottled it. The changing from his warm room to the cold air gave him pneumonia, although the doctors say it is caused by a germ.

I'll never believe this, not even if I marry one!

Well, he finally got over his spell by "lysis" instead of "crisis,"

but I hope this will never come to Mammy Lou's ears, or she will fairly long for more twins in the Dovie family.

When Doctor Gordon got able to be out a little all the other doctors told him that he had better go to a warm climate for a month or two, for it was still so cold, so he and Ann Lisbeth persuaded Rufe and Cousin Eunice to go too, and they all wrote for us to hurry up and get ready so we could go with them.

Mother said she'd just _love_ to go, but she didn't see how we possibly could, for none of us had any clothes and she had always heard that Florida was fairly alive with rich Yankees! Mammy Lou spoke up then and said, well, she was sure Ann looked exactly like a rich Yankee, and she was the only one that folks was going to look at anyhow! So mother took heart and we went.

Father had to have a new overcoat, for the weather has been colder this spring than ever the oldest inhabitant can tell about, and as they wrote us to get ready in such a hurry, on account of poor Doctor Gordon's cough, he didn't have time to have one made at his regular place, so he bought one ready-made, a light tan one, the poor dear!

And it had two long "heimer" names from Chicago printed on the label at the collar.

We got ready in such a rush that none of us had time to rip this label out, though I lived to regret it many a time! It was too hot to wear it when we got down there, but father had got scared up about catching pneumonia, so he insisted on carrying it around on his arm all the time, inside out; and there was not one millionaire, not one tennis champion, nor famous auth.o.r.ess we met, but what I saw the eyes of fixed, at one time or another, on those "heimer" names!

That's one delightful thing about Florida--you get to see so many people that you never would see at home. And everybody mixes like candidates! For instance, you may have a mosquito on you one minute that you will see on a Russian anarchist the next. The mosquitoes down there are so big that you can easily recognize their features. And apt as not you'll go in bathing every day with a person _so famous_ when he's at home that he is never invited to dine with anybody that hasn't got monogram china and _pate de foie gras_.

I've noticed that the things people tell about after they come home from a trip depend a good deal on the disposition they carry with them on it. It's the way with Florida. If you're an optimist you'll come back and tell about the palms, roses and sunsets. If you're a pessimist you'll mention snakes, hotel bills and buzzards. The honest truth is there's quite enough of them all to go around.

You're impressed with the country from the first morning that you get into it and raise up (half way) in your berth and look out the car window. At first there seems to be a mighty lot of just flat scenery, with tall trees that have all their branches at the tiptop. These trees remind you of pictures of the Holy Land that you used to see in the big Bible your mother and father would give you on Sunday afternoons to keep you quiet while they could take a nap.

You begin to think that what you're seeing is too beautiful to be true, though, from the first minute you look out on a blue bay that is deep green in places, and has purple streaks in it. But when you row over to an island all covered with palms and find a strip of beach that has bushels and bushels of tiny sh.e.l.ls, that the mermaids used to make necklaces out of--why, nothing on earth but your _feet_ hurting so bad makes you believe it is not a dream!

Florida has all the things in it that you see when you shut your eyes and smell a jasmine flower!

The climate is fine for the lungs, but very bad on the alimenary ca.n.a.l and curling-iron hair!

We stopped at all the points of interest as we went on down. A point of interest is a place that the post-cards tell lies about. Still I do think Florida cards come nearer telling the truth than those of most places, for the country is very nearly as many colors as they make it out to be.

Cousin Eunice said she thought sending post-cards was the _one_ melancholy pleasure of traveling, and so I bought a quarter's worth at every place.

Traveling _is_ a melancholy pleasure when you have a baby that you won't let drink a drop of water unless it has had the germs all stewed in it. Waterloo is getting to be such a big boy now, too; but he still talks like a telegram--just the most important words of what he wants to say, with all the others left out. He's crazy about foot-ball, chewing-gum and billy-goats. And you just ought to hear him chew gum!

Among the points of interest we saw was the oldest house in America.

It is a _very_ interesting place. It has a marble bust of Lord Byron in it!

I don't remember another thing, I believe, except that! Oh yes, I do, too! I do remember a startling thing I heard about a very old bed in that house. I heard the guide telling that this was the bed that William the Conqueror and Maria Theresa slept on! I hate to hear folks get their history mixed, so I had just opened my mouth to say "Why, they were not _married_," when I spied the bust of his lords.h.i.+p in the next room. After that I didn't care how many tales they made up on William and Maria!

Poor little Waterloo didn't much fancy the oldest house, but when we drove up to "The Fountain of Youth," and he saw the clear, sparkling "drink" that helped Ponce get rid of his double chin and crow's-feet he commenced to howl for some. Doctor Gordon had told us before we got there that we mustn't dare drink any of it unless there was a signed certificate that there wasn't any "coli" in it.

We looked all around, but as we didn't see any sign, Rufe thought maybe he'd better not give him any. There didn't _look_ to be any "coli," either, but still Rufe didn't like the idea of his drinking it. When Waterloo saw that they didn't intend to give him any he commenced to kick and squall and get so red in the face with his dancing up and down that Rufe finally screamed back to the carriage that Doctor Gordon was in and asked him if he thought one little gla.s.s would hurt Waterloo. Cousin Eunice screamed back at the same time and said for Doctor Gordon to give his _honest_ opinion, for she wouldn't have the little angel catch anything so far away from home for the whole of the East coast.

Doctor Gordon, who had been made nervous by his spell, screamed back to them for Heaven's sake let the little imp drink till he _busted_--only he hoped it wouldn't make him stay as _young_ as he was then!

So Rufe motioned for the lady that hands you the water, with a North-of-the-Mason-and-Dixon accent, to hush talking about her friend, Ponce de Leon, long enough to give the gla.s.s an extra scrubbing and hand Waterloo some water, which she did. This didn't do as much good, though, as we had hoped for. Rufe was in such a hurry to get away from "The Fountain of Youth" that his hand trembled some and he spilt the first gla.s.sful down Waterloo's little front. This made the darling so mad, and I don't blame him either, that he slapped the second gla.s.sful out of Rufe's hand. He washed Teddy Bear's face with the third, and threw the fourth in Cousin Eunice's white linen lap, when she tried to soothe him.

Rufe ran his hand down into his pocket before he told the driver to drive on, for he knew that milk was fifteen cents a quart in Florida, and water was almost priceless. The lady told him that she would have to collect fifty cents for the water that Waterloo had wasted, and that was.h.i.+ng out the gla.s.s was twenty-five cents extra.

Rufe handed her a twenty-dollar bill, but she couldn't change it. So he called back to Doctor Gordon to ask him if he could.

"_Change!_" said Doctor Gordon, looking surprised that Rufe should have asked him such an embarra.s.sing question. "Why, I haven't a _thing_ left but my watch-fob and thermometer-case and wouldn't have had them if I hadn't worn them in a chamois bag around my neck!"

So Rufe told the lady he would mail her a check for the amount with interest.

Later on we saw ostrich farms and the biggest cigar factory in the world. I _think_ they said it was the biggest. Anyway, if there's a bigger one I don't care about smelling it!

It's long past time for the lights to go out, mine especially, for they never want me to sit up until I get really interested in anything; but I believe I will throw a black sateen petticoat up over the transom, which I have found out you can do very well if you have two nails up there to hang it on, and tell one more little thing that happened on that trip. I say "little thing," but it seemed a monstrous big thing to me at the time.

When we were about half-way through Georgia on our way home, some of us commenced having chills. Doctor Gordon had his first, but he didn't say anything about it to Ann Lisbeth until he got to shaking so that she saw something was the matter. Then mother and Cousin Eunice had one apiece. Doctor Gordon said it wasn't anything to be alarmed about, for it was just a little malaria cropping out, but I felt so sorry for them that I told Ann Lisbeth if she would go with me I would go up to the baggage car and see if we could get out some heavy underclothes from our trunk.

We had to stagger through a long string of sleepers, for we were in the backest one, but we were rewarded when we finally did get to the baggage car. There was a merry-eyed express messenger in there who said he would be _glad_ to pull and haul those fifteen or twenty trunks that were on top of ours! May the G.o.ds reward him, for it was an awful job! And so we got out enough clothes for our cold and dest.i.tute families.

Now, you may have noticed before this, my diary, that I am a forgetful person. I can remember the last words of Charles II, or anything like that, but I forget what I did yesterday.

I had entirely forgotten about stuffing oranges in with all our clothes when I helped mother pack our trunks! And we were in such a hurry in the express car that we didn't stop to shake the clothes out as we fished them up from the trays; it wouldn't have been polite to, anyway, in front of that good-looking express messenger, and we didn't have room enough. So we had just lifted things out as we came to them and eased them up in our arms as we started on back on our walk to our sleeper.