Chapter X: The Concert

Of course, Neale O’Neil and Agnes Kenway could not be “mad at” each other for long. But they did frequently have spats, for both were hot-tempered and willful.

The boy, however, was usually so good-natured that he overlooked a lot that Agnes said to him when she was ruffled. On this occasion, however, he enjoyed keeping certain facts secret and letting Agnes fuss and fume. And as Neale continued to be Miss Hastings’ right-hand man in the preparations for the concert, Agnes existed in a state of suppressed fury.

The glorious weather the party enjoyed while sailing southward made it difficult for Agnes to hold to her grouch.

It was surprising, too, what a number of things there were to see while the steamship ploughed southward. One day a half-grown whale kept pace with the _Horridole_ for hours, just as though he enjoyed racing with steam. One of the ship’s officers had been on several whaling voyages as a young man, and he related to the Kenways and Neale some exciting experiences he had had when chasing the great mammals.

A school of porpoises likewise gamboled about the ship, sometimes ahead, sometimes following, their changing colors bringing wondering cries to the lips of Tess and Dot. Circling seabirds flew high above them, for, after all, the route the steamship followed to the West Indies was never far from shore.

The evening before they expected to reach St. Sergius was appointed for the concert. Great secrecy had been maintained regarding the identity of the entertainers secured for it. There was part of an opera company going to St. Sergius for the winter season, and that had been drawn on for an augmented orchestra, the ship boasting a pretty good string band in any event.

But besides this help from the second and first cabin, nobody else had been asked to entertain among the cabin passengers. Save, of course, Tess and Dot Kenway. Ruth was a little anxious as to what the little girls were going to do; but knowing that they had committed to memory many songs and recitations, she did not doubt but that they would acquit themselves well.

Nalbro Hastings had taken a good deal of interest in the charity entertainment; but when the hour arrived for it she did not appear on the platform to announce the numbers. To Agnes Kenway’s expressed amazement Neale represented Miss Hastings—and he was not even a member of the committee!

Her boy friend, however, acquitted himself nobly. Agnes was forced to admit it and she was, secretly, pleased that this was so. But she did her best not to show it.

Of course, there could not be much dignity attached to any occasion in which Neale O’Neil was active. He began “jollying” when he introduced the first entertainer.

“We begin with Caruso Junior,” was his declaration when he introduced the Italian coal-passer to the company.

Somewhere Neale had found a dress suit for the young Italian, and as it was several sizes too big for the man’s slim figure it aided in the hilarity of the number. For the high note of the whole concert was comedy, and “Caruso Junior” sang only topical songs in both Italian and a brand of broken English that delighted the audience.

The two dancers who did “a brother act” were an oddity that pleased as well. If this concert was different from the usual kind on shipboard, it was all the more appreciated.

Even Tess’ and Dot’s friend, Bill Bowling, had been literally “roped in” for a number. It seemed that he had been something besides a deckhand in his life; and his past experience in roping cattle in the West enabled him to use a lariat equal to any vaudeville entertainer.

About the middle of the program Neale came forward with a solemn face and announced:

“The nicest little team of entertainers in captivity. I can assure you, ladies and gentlemen, you are going to have a treat when the Misses Theresa and Dorothy Kenway sing their song. It is one of their own choosing, they learned it without professional assistance, and the sentiment and depth of feeling expressed in the words cannot be questioned. I bespeak for Theresa and Dorothy your gravest attention.”

“What is that boy up to now?” murmured Ruth, troubled.

Agnes glared at Neale as he came down from the platform.

“He has got something up his sleeve,” she said, almost angrily.

“Do you children know your piece?” demanded Ruth in a whisper, as Tess and Dot started for the stage.

“Of course we do,” declared Tess haughtily.

“Miss Hastings says we sing it fine,” said Dot eagerly, and trotted after her sister.

Facing an audience did not trouble Tess and Dot in the least. They had once played in a real play; and they had often sung and recited at school concerts. They mounted to the platform as the orchestra struck up a queer melody, and together, and hand-in-hand, began the song Bill Bowling had first taught them.

To the amazement of Ruth and the others it was a real Irish “come-all-ye,” and although the words might not have been altogether well-chosen, they were funny. When the little girls came to the chorus and, with appropriate gestures, emphatically half recited and half sang it, the audience burst into a roar of laughter that almost drowned the children’s voices:

Tess (stamping):—“And what did Dooley do to him?”
Dot (stamping):—“He vowed he was not tr-u-ue to him!”
Tess (stamping):—“Did Dooley owe him money?”
Together:—“No! (Pause.) He shtole McCarthy’s pants!”

The serious air with which Tess and Dot rendered these lines almost convulsed their own family. Even Ruth was helpless, although for a few moments she felt shocked. It was, after all, just a funny song, made more funny by the way it was rendered and the character of the singers. Tess and Dot realized that they had made a hit and sang the three verses with gusto.

“That Neale O’Neil!” murmured Ruth, turning to Mr. Howbridge for comfort.

But the lawyer was laughing so uproariously that she saw she would get no sympathy from him.

Agnes declared that it was “that Nalbro Hastings’ fault.” But, if it was a fault, it was something that everybody enjoyed to the utmost. Neale’s statement that the song would be “a knockout” was prophetic. Before the entertainment concluded there was a general request that the children sing “Dooley” again.

“I guess we are pretty popular,” said Tess, confidently.

“Didn’t we sing it right the first time, Tess?” her little sister wanted to know. “Have we got to do it all over again?”

“Oh, go and do it over!” gasped Ruth. “It can’t be helped now. But I’ll never let you prepare for another entertainment without first finding out what sort of song you mean to sing. To think of it!”

“Don’t worry, Ruth,” chuckled Luke. “It’s great. Worth the five dollars I paid for my ticket. Those two chicks are certainly the hit of the evening.”

The incident served not only to make Tess and Dot popular, but the other Kenway girls were likewise much flattered by the first cabin passengers after the entertainment. Agnes began to preen herself a little. There were some very nice people aboard the _Horridole_, and even if Agnes considered herself shut out from knowing Miss Hastings of the Back Bay, there were others of social prominence whom it pleased the girl to become acquainted with.

So they arrived at St. Sergius and went ashore next day amid great gayety. The St. Sergius Arms—a white and green building of Spanish architecture—overlooked the city, which nestled at the foot of the island cliffs. Yet the hotel was not too far from the bathing beaches and the curio shops along the plaza.

The Kenway girls continued to be made much of by their new friends, and in a couple of days they were as much at home in this strange environment as any of the tourists. For St. Sergius was certainly a very different place from any town the Corner House girls had ever before visited.

“I can’t help thinking all the men I see going past are millers,” declared Agnes. “All in white, you know. Only their broad-brimmed hats do not look like the caps millers wear.”

“The girls don’t look like milleresses,” chuckled Neale. “All of them with some kind of veil twisted about their hair——”

“The reboza,” said Ruth.

“Maybe. Anyway, there are some of them awfully pretty,” added Neale.

“It seems to me,” Agnes said with dignity, “that you are becoming a regular connoisseur in feminine loveliness. How is your friend, Nalbro Hastings?”

“She’s a whole lot better than she has been since she left Boston,” declared Neale cheerfully.

“What do you mean by that?” asked Ruth, while Agnes stared at him. “She has not been ill.”

“I’ll say she has!” declared Neale, broadly smiling. “Almost dumb. Very sad case.”

“I’d like to know what you mean, you horrid fellow,” Agnes complained. “I know there must be some joke about it, but I don’t understand.”

“Allow me,” Neale said, rising and bowing very low to Agnes. “I have here an invitation from Miss Hastings.” But the note he drew from his pocket he presented to Ruth. “Verbally, I am particularly to urge ‘that _pretty_ Miss Agnes’ to attend afternoon tea as a special favor to Miss Hastings.”

“Oh!” ejaculated Agnes.

Ruth nodded, but seemed puzzled.

“Yes. That is what she asks—and very prettily. That all of us, not forgetting Tess and Dot, will come to her suite at five, with Luke and Neale.”

“Well, of all things!” gasped Agnes.

“Won’t you go?” Neale asked, just a little worried now. He had carried the joke pretty far, he thought.

“I have half a mind to refuse,” declared Agnes. “What shall I wear, Ruth?”

Neale was relieved by this question. He smiled engagingly.

“You don’t need to worry about what you wear, Aggie. She’s an awfully good kind. And she’s been wanting to know you all along. But—she couldn’t talk.”

“I don’t believe you,” said Agnes flatly.

“Neale says she had a vow,” remarked Tess soberly. “And she did speak sort of funny to me and Dot. But she’s nice.”

“She has nice candy,” observed the littlest Corner House girl. “She gave us some when we were rehearsing for the concert.”

“Of course you will go—and be a good girl,” said Ruth, when she and Agnes were alone.

“Well, I suppose I must,” sighed Agnes. “But I tell you what it is, Ruthie, I don’t like Neale O’Neil having secrets from me. And I don’t want him to be too friendly with other girls—not even when they are from the Back Bay and their names are in the society columns.”