Chapter THREE: Games

There, on the ground, surrounded by wild-azalea bushes, whose coral-pink blossoms filled the air with a delicious perfume, was spread a white cloth, and, unpacking things from a big hamper, were Mother and Grandma, and Aunt Elsie; while James, Grandpa Carr’s colored chauffeur, was grinning broadly over a big freezer full of ice-cream, and Cubby trotted around on her fat little legs and got in every one’s way.

It was such a lovely surprise, although the boys had known all about it; and as Alice’s and Marion’s people had been asked by Mother, the two little girls could stay with clear consciences and enjoy the delicious picnic luncheon. There were pink-and-white ham sandwiches, and stacks of others with jelly, lettuce, and peanut-butter filling. Then came fruit salad from the thermos bottle, and, of course, olives, candies, and salted peanuts. And when all these goodies had vanished down hungry throats, some of Mandy’s chocolate cake appeared, with two pink candles on it, “Because,” Aunt Elsie explained, “it’s Boots’ second birthday.” How they all laughed and petted Boots, who enjoyed the ham as much as any one, and washed his paws most daintily after each course. He blinked his big green eyes in astonishment at the flickering candles atop the cake, but ate his ice cream with much gusto, to show how much he appreciated this birthday celebration.

“Oh, do let’s celebrate Boots’ birthday every year!” cried Wiggles, dancing around with a piece of cake in each hand. “It’s lots more fun than a real birthday party.”

“We ought to play Puss-in-the-corner so he could join in,” suggested Alice, but Boots, deciding that luncheon was over, settled himself under the bushes for a cozy nap.

“What let’s play?” asked Jeannette. “I’ve eaten and eaten until I don’t want to move.”

“Here’s a new game I’ve found for you, children,” said Grandma, producing papers and pencils, which she passed around. “I’ll read you a list of questions, and each answer must be in two words. The first word must start with your first initial, and the second word with your last initial. Some of the answers turn out very funny, and I’m sure you will enjoy it.”

Mother and Aunt Elsie decided to finish clearing away the remains of the picnic, so only the children played, while Grandma read the questions.

They worked industriously, with many a stifled giggle, and when all were finished, the papers were passed to Grandma to read aloud.

The first question had been, “How would you describe yourself?” Marion, whose initials were M. W., had written “Marvelously Wise.” Spelling was not counted, and it was most fortunate, as there were some odd blunders. “What is your chief sport?” brought the answer, “Mangling Wash,” over which there were many laughs.

“You’ll make your fortune if you turn wash-lady nowadays,” said Billy. “You’d better start saving your pennies toward an electric washing-machine, if that is your chief aim in life.”

The third question was, “What is your favorite food?” to which Marion had written “Maple Whip,” which Grandmother and Mother thought very appropriate.

But she had a hard struggle with the last question, which asked what trade or profession she wished her future husband to follow. Finally, after much pencil-nibbling and thought, she put down, “Merely Workman.” The girls declared it great fun, and listened with interest as Grandmother read Dick’s paper next.

For his description he had, “Real Good,” which caused them to shout, as Richard was always in mischief and out again. “Riding Goats” was his favorite amusement, and “Rich Gravy” his favorite food. The boys put their own future profession for the last question, and Dick decided to be a “Real Gentleman,” which ended his paper.

“This is lots of fun, Grandma,” laughed Jeannette. “Why didn’t you tell us about it before?”

“Because I only saw it myself last week, in a newspaper,” confessed Grandma. “I’ll read Alice’s now.”

“‘A’ is such a pretty letter to have,” sighed Wiggles enviously. “Just think, both my initials are the same, and it made it awfully hard ’cause I had so little choice.”

“Well, don’t look so doleful about it, Miss Polly-Wog-Wiggles,” returned Billy. “Any one that has three such marvelous nicknames as Polly, Woggsie, and Wiggles ought not to complain. Oh, Aunt Elsie, will you ever forget the time we were shopping in Morristown, and that old gentleman complimented Wogs on her name?”

“What was the joke?” inquired Marion with interest.

“Why, one time Grandfather, Aunt Elsie, Wiggles, and I were doing some marketing in Morristown. Grandfather--he’s not really my grandfather, but I always call him that--was in a hurry to get home, and called to Wiggles, who was looking in a shop window, as all girls will,”--here Wiggles interrupted with a loud sniff of disdain,--“and said, ‘Get a wiggle on, Polly.’ There was an old gentleman passing by, and he stopped and beamed and said, ‘It certainly is a pleasure to hear an old-fashioned name like Polly, after the new-fangled names they call children nowadays. Always be proud of your name, little Miss Polly.’”

“What did you say?” asked Alice, much amused.

“I didn’t get a chance to say a single word,” replied Wiggles, “for I was so s’prised that I just stood stock-still until he was ’way down the street, and then I didn’t want to go rushing after a strange man and say, ‘My name isn’t Polly at all, just “Polliwog,” and Wiggles for short.’ Wouldn’t he have been ’stonished?”

“I think he would,” laughed Mother, seating herself on the soft grass and pulling Cubby beside her. “You’re such a heedless little witch, that it would have been just about like you.”

“How are the literary efforts coming along?” inquired Aunt Elsie, as, after sending James home with the empty hamper, she joined the laughing crowd.

So Grandmother started once more, and they found out that Alice described herself as an “Ambitious Maiden,” and gave her favorite sport as “Any Mathematics,” which drew a giggle from Wiggles, as Alice disliked arithmetic more than anything else.

“You thought ‘A’ was such an easy letter, Wiggles,” declared Alice, “but it was dreadfully hard.”

One and all declared Alice’s favorite article of food, “Almond Macaroons,” to be the best of all, and Marion cried, “Wouldn’t they taste good with my ‘Maple Whip’?”

“Don’t, for pity sake, talk about eating,” groaned Jeannette. “I ate three times more than I should have, and I don’t believe I could eat another thing.”

“That’s because you were piggy,” jeered Dick, pulling one of her brown curls that had fallen from the knot atop her head.

“Not half so piggy as you,” retorted Jeannette. “Who ate five slices of cake and three plates of cream, I’d like to know? And as for sandwiches, I couldn’t begin to count.”

“Order, order!” cried Aunt Elsie, and they all quieted down to hear that Alice’s future husband would be “A Mason.”

“Read Jeannette’s next,” implored Wiggles. “‘J’ is such a hard letter.”

So, as Grandmother was tired, Mother started on the next slip of paper.

Description, “Just Elegant,” wrote Jeannette in her round, clear hand.

“Favorite sport, ‘Just Eating,’” broke in Dick, snickering. “Ha, ha, Jet, I got you that time.”

“No, it’s Juggling Elephants,” replied Mother with a smile. “You’ll need a good deal of muscle for that sport, my dear.”

Favorite food, “Juicy Egg-plant,” went on the writing, and Jeannette had settled on a “Jolly Eskimo” for her future partner.

“You’ll have to live in a snow hut and eat whale-blubber and delicacies like that,” put in Billy. “What a happy future to look forward to. You know they woo you by seizing you by the hair of your head and dragging you away. You have good hair for an Eskimo bride. See, he’ll do like this--” and Billy grabbed the long curls and gave a blood-curdling exhibition of an Eskimo groom, until Jeannette shrieked that he was pulling her hair out by the roots, and Cubby’s lip began to quiver suspiciously.

“You’re a bad, bad boy to hurt my Jet,” she wailed. “I don’t think your muvver has brought you up derry (very) nicely.”

“He was just fooling,” explained Jet, wiping away the big tears streaming down the wee bear’s face.

“I offer my humble apologies,” said Billy gravely. “There, Cub, does that suit you? I am afraid she’ll find the weather a trifle chilly up by the North Pole. In fact, little Miss Snippets, if you cried like that up in Eskimo land, all your tears would turn to ice and freeze your face.”

Cubby felt her plump cheeks cautiously, as if fearing the freezing process might have already started.

“Maybe Jet will live wite next door to Santy Claus,” she volunteered happily. “And--and maybe when I visit her she’ll let me eat lots and lots of Eskimo pie.”

Billy let out a war-whoop. “I never thought of that, but maybe she will,” he told the ecstatic Cubby, who was beaming at the idea. “How about it, Jet?”

“Well, she won’t have to complain about my eating too much raw fish and blubber when I visit her,” teased Dick.

“How do you know you’ll be invited?” returned Jeannette calmly.

“Hugh, you are next,” said Mother. “Hugh describes himself as ‘Heavily Whiskered,’ so I suppose that is the way we are to imagine him.”

“Oh, Hugh,” cried Alice in horror. “Just think how terrible red whiskers would look.”

“I am going to have them down to my waist when I grow up,” declared Hugh calmly, not at all upset by the shrieks of derision that greeted his announcement.

“Lovely place for a bird’s nest,” put in Dick kindly. “One thing though, they’d be fine for polishing your shoes, and you’d never need to wear a necktie or a clean shirt, because no one could ever tell, if you were camouflaged with billy-goat whiskers.” “Oh, that reminds me,” laughed Grandma suddenly, “of one time when Wiggles was about Cubby’s age, and Grandfather and I, and her great-grandfather--my father, children--took her to Bronx Park to see the menagerie. She was charmed with everything, but stood longest before a little goat, and gazed and gazed at her. Finally she piped up in a shrill, loud voice, with a most angelic smile, as she pointed at the goat, ‘Oh, him has whiskers just like my dear, dear, great-grandpa.’”

“What did you do with me?” demanded Wiggles in horror. “Wasn’t I a disgraceful child?”

“Maybe your ‘muvver’ didn’t bring you up ‘derry’ well, either,” quoted Billy mischievously.

“I didn’t do anything,” said Grandma, laughing at the recollection, “except laugh, for every one around just shouted. You talked so very plainly that every word could be understood, and your great-grandfather never got over telling about when he was compared to a goat. He thought it was very cunning.”

“Well, I think it was just dreadful,” declared Wiggles solemnly. “I don’t see, Mother, where you ever got such a mortor-fying child.”

“Well,” said Mother cheerfully, “I seem to stand the strain very well. Now, let’s see what Hugh has chosen as his favorite sport.”

“Harpooning Whales” was to be the bewhiskered man’s hobby, and “Hot Waffles” his chief joy to eat.

“And that’s true,” broke in Marion suddenly. “He ate seventeen one morning, just oozing with syrup.”

“Yum-yum, weren’t they good,” murmured her brother with a far-away look in his eyes. “And I could have eaten more, only Grandma wouldn’t let me.”

“I should think not,” said Aunt Elsie in dismay. “How did you ever do it?”

“That’s nothing,” broke in Dick, not wishing to be left behind. “I ate twenty-two hot cakes one morning, didn’t I, Billy?”

“Well it’s nothing to brag of,” said Wiggles crushingly. “I think boys are the queerest----”

“Help, help,” cried Billy. “Some one head her off, quick! If Wiggles once gets on the subject of ‘What I think of boys,’ she’ll expound on their faults and shortcomings until night.”

“And then not have nearly enough time to mention them all,” put in Wiggles, bound to have the last word.

“To resume our reading,” said Mother, “‘Hard Work’ is to be Hugh’s profession.”

This raised another shout, for Hugh was a bookworm, and greatly believed in putting off until to-morrow everything that could be done to-day.

“Here, Woggsie,” said Aunt Elsie, “this much-besmudged paper looks like yours. I’ll read the next two, and give Mother’s throat a chance to rest.”

“Description,” scrawled Wiggles, whose handwriting was not of the best, “Extremely Exquisite.”

“You don’t mind patting yourself on the back, youngster, do you?” inquired Billy, pulling a crinkly curl.

“I can’t help my initials,” answered Wiggles loftily. “’Twasn’t a bit of fun having both letters the same, I can tell you.”

Wiggles’ chief hobby was “Entertaining Earls,” at which Billy gave a deep groan; and she was fond of eating “Enormous Eclairs,” which happened to be true. As for her husband-to-be, he was an “Electrical Engineer,” which she declared to be the only easy answer she had.

“Now for William Gerard, better known as Billy,” said Aunt Elsie. “Here it is; Description, ‘Wise Guy.’”

“Now who thinks a lot of himself?” jeered Wiggles, turning up her nose.

“Look out, look out,” called Billy, as if in great alarm. “It turns up enough now, and if you tilt it up too far, it may never get back.”

“Silly,” was Wiggles’ lofty reply.

“Chief sport,” continued Aunt Elsie, “‘Western Gunning.’” For Billy was wild to hunt and shoot. “Favorite food,” Aunt Elsie resumed, “‘White Grapes.’ Future profession, ‘Writing Geographies.’”

“You’ll be some literary gentleman,” jeered Hugh.

“But haven’t they been fun?” beamed Wiggles. “I wish there were more to read.”

“Here is one more question you may each answer aloud,” said Grandma. “I’ll give you five minutes to think of your favorite flower.”

“Nothing starts with a ‘J,’” bemoaned Jeannette. “I’ll never think of one.”

“Time’s up,” said Mother, looking at her wrist-watch. “Who’ll answer first?”

“I will,” answered Dick. “My flower is ‘Red Geranium.’”

“Very good,” approved Grandmother. “Now I can see that Marion is ready.”

“‘Milk-Weed,’” replied Marion blushing. “It’s the only thing I can think of with my initials.”

“‘Elephant’s Ears,’” called out Wiggles. “You know, those big flappy plants that grow in front of the post-office.”

“‘Japanese Elderberry,’” ventured Jeannette, “and I’m not even sure that there is such a Japanese plant.”

“It will do,” answered Grandma, smiling at her little granddaughter. “What shall we hear from you, Hugh?”

“Hardy Wisteria,” said Hugh triumphantly. “My, that was hard. Hurry up, Bill; you ought to be ‘Sweet William.’”

“Ladies first,” returned William with a gallant flourish toward Alice, whose brow was puckered with thought.

“Prithee tell me, little one, what your favorite posy may be?”

“‘Autumn Marigolds,’” answered Alice quickly. “Now tell yours.”

“‘Winter Green,’ ma’am. How does that suit the Lady Alice?”

“That isn’t a flower at all; it’s a flavor,” cried Marion.

“You ask Grandmother,” cried William loftily, “if it isn’t a plant, and a flowering one, too. Dear, dear, such ignorance as you kidlets show. Ta-ta, youngsters, we _men_ are going fishing.”

“Men, indeed,” sniffed Wiggles, much amused. “Why, you’re nothing but just little boys.”

After the boys had gone, the grown-ups collected embroidery-bags and other belongings, and, with Boots and Cubby leading, the procession returned once more to the willow-tree and Fleur-de-Lys Point.