The Moffats (13 page)

He certainly hoped she wouldn't endanger his ten cents with her forgetfulness. He considered confiding in Miss Nippon, telling her he had much at stake. However, all thought of that ten cents suddenly vanished! All in a second things changed! From a happy, carefree boy, Joe became in a moment the most morose and melancholy of creatures.

It happened while Jane and Letitia were marching past him. He was making a face at them. Jane was hissing something to him that sounded like "She may be sick." But what she was talking about or who might be sick he neither knew nor cared. He himself felt sick in another second. For Miss Chichester had appeared very suddenly and said without so much as a word of warning:

"Joe, you'll have to do the sailor's hornpipe after all. That Chet Pudge has never shown up."

Well, after this Joe hardly ever heard Miss Nippon say "Turn." Sometimes he did and hastily flipped the pages over. But most of the time he was too miserable to hear anything. He couldn't do that sailor's hornpipe. Miss Chichester herself admitted that, after giving him three hours' private instruction one day. Had she forgotten?

Miss Nippon now was getting very annoyed with Joe. She would hiss "Turn," but her turner was just standing by with glazed eyes. This made her music terribly jerky, as she paused on the bottom of each page and waited for him to turn. Things could not go on in this way. She became so agitated her eyeglasses fell off. Sometimes they both grabbed for the page and fumbled dreadfully, or else neither one of them thought to turn it, Miss Nippon counting on Joe and Joe thinking gloomily of the sailor's hornpipe.

He tried to recall some of the steps. How did the old thing go? It was weeks since he had given it a thought. Now all he could remember of it was that you slapped your thighs and stamped your feet. And all the while Miss Nippon was getting more and more fidgety. At the end of this number, she hissed in a voice calculated to fetch anyone up short, "You pay attention, young man. You're boggling the music."

The next dance on the program was "To a Wild Rose." As Jane and Letitia passed Joe to take their place in the center of the floor, Jane hissed again to Joe, "She said she might be sick, but she hasn't been yet." This temporarily distracted Joe's mind from the sailor's hornpipe. He watched Jane, and Letitia in particular, with expectant curiosity. Miss Chichester came over and stood by the piano. From time to time she made remarks under her breath about the dancers.

"Adequate," she murmured. "Hardly a finished performance, however. There! I knew that Jane would forget to make that turn. Now Letitia's off on the wrong foot. End it quickly, Miss Nippon, and start the clapping."

The two wild roses bowed and rushed more thankfully than gracefully from the floor.

Then Miss Chichester said, "Now it's your turn, Joe." She turned to address the audience.

"Ladies and gentlemen, in the absence of Chester Pudge, who, as you see from the programs, was to perform the sailor's hornpipe in his own inimitable fashion (his grandfather was a sea captain, so he comes by it naturally), in the absence then of Chester Pudge, Master Joseph Moffat has very kindly offered to do this dance. Ladies and gentlemen, it is with great pleasure that I give you Joseph Moffat in the sailor's hornpipe."

Joe gulped in his breath and said to himself, "Wait till I get that Chet Pudge." He stumbled over his heavy boot-strings and wished his corduroy trousers did not squeak so as he marched to the middle of the hall. How he hated to leave that nice, safe place by the piano!

"Mercy on us!" he heard Miss Chichester gasp as he stalked past her; "I didn't know he had those heavy boots on. I thought of course he'd be wearing his dancing shoes."

One pair of shoes was as good as another to Joe when it came to sailor's hornpipes. But he was furious with himself! To think the shoes he had on might have served as a good excuse for not doing the dance. And he hadn't thought of it. Too late now, however. On with the sailor's hornpipe!

Miss Nippon started the lively tune and Joe started to shuffle his feet. He could see it was going to be far worse than he had expected even. Stamp! Stamp! Stamp! Slap! Slap! That's all he could remember of it. A great deal of stamping and slapping. His boots made a terrific clatter and his trousers kept up that whistling and squeaking. He had never felt more foolish and miserable in his whole life. He could hardly hear the music. Miss Chichester kept time by clapping her hands very hard and nodding her head back and forth so that the hairpins flew. Miss Nippon got along beautifully without a turner and just pounded the music out. They all seemed to think the more noise they made the better he could dance.

Stamp! Stamp! Slap! Slap! He kicked his legs and slapped his thighs. What next, he wondered? Was this going on forever?

But what was this? Sugar, Mrs. Mulligan's Sugar, who had slept peacefully in her lap through such dances as "A Daisy-do," "To a Wild Rose," and "Nelly-take-a-kiss," suddenly sat bolt upright. Every nerve in his taut little body was alive and vibrant. He uttered a joyful yelp and bounded from Mrs. Mulligan's lap to the center of the floor where Joe was performing. He stood up on his hind legs, bowed, stamped, shuffled, and turned this way and that. Anyone could see he was dancing as perfect a sailor's hornpipe as a small, furry dog possibly could.

"Hurray! Hurray!" shouted the audience as soon as it had recovered from its first bewildered surprise.

Joe was so startled by the new development that he paused, hoping this was to be deliverance from this miserable dance. Then he realized that the dog, Sugar, was doing the sailor's hornpipe and was looking to him for cues.
Gee, what a smart dog
, thought Joe enthusiastically, and took up the steps again. Bow and kick! Shuffle and stamp! The two got on together with perfect understanding.

"Bravo! Bravo!"

"Hurray for Joseph Moffat and hurray for Sugar!"

Storms of applause rocked the hall.

"Again! Again!" the people yelled. "Encore!"

The enthusiasm was so great that Joe and the dog just had to repeat the dance. Joe didn't mind it a bit the second time.
The people are probably lookin' at him, not at me
, he thought, almost enjoying himself now.

Finally the music ceased. Sugar gracefully bowed his head several times and then he returned to Mrs. Mulligan, walking all the way on his hind feet. Joe bowed, too, and retreated hastily to his place by the piano amid rousing shouts of applause.

"Hurray! Hurray for Joey Moffat and the dog! Hurray for the sailor's hornpipe!" the audience screamed again.

Joe scrunched his program up in his pocket and wished they'd all stop yelling and clapping. He certainly wished he could get behind the piano, but, of course, that was impossible with everyone staring so. Besides, there were still one or two dances on the program and he supposed he'd have to resume his job as turner if he wanted that ten cents.

As for Sugar, he climbed right back on Mrs. Mulligan's lap. He was panting and his tongue hung out of his mouth. Mrs. Mulligan petted him and said, "Good doggie! Smart doggie! Where did you learn those tricks, sir?" For no one in the audience, not even Mrs. Mulligan, knew what had prompted that dance—no one knew that years before he had become Mrs. Mulligan's lapdog he had belonged to a young sailor, a friend of the Chief of Police. This sailor had taught Sugar (not Sugar then, but Tar!) to dance the sailor's hornpipe, while he, too, danced and played the harmonica.

Well, Sugar hadn't heard that tune in years, and this afternoon when he did hear it, what was he thinking of? A hall filled with party-dressed ladies and children clad in fancy costumes? Not at all; but a rolling deck, a young sailor named Jack, and the taste of salt in the air. Was that why he was licking his whiskers when he settled down once more in Mrs. Mulligan's lap?

When all the dances were finished, Miss Nippon struck up the Grand Parade March again and everyone filed out. Joe waited at the piano, turning until the last chord was played. Then he helped Miss Chichester close up the hall. As they parted she said, "Thank you, Joe, for your impromptu performance. You made a success of the recital. Everyone says you were the best on the program. You certainly were the hit of the day." And she gave him a friendly nod as she put up her umbrella. But she forgot his ten cents and Joe was too shy to ask her for it. He pulled down his cap, jerked up his coat collar, stuck his hands in his pockets, and walked home in the rain, whistling.

Jane was polishing the three lamp chimneys—the big one for the sitting-room lamp, the medium one for the kitchen, and the little one for the window looking over the porch. She had the little one in her hand. Puff! She blew into it. Her warm breath would loosen the smoke and make it easy to shine clean. First she blew into it: Huff! the small beaded top end. Then she blew into it: Puff! the larger bottom end. The little chimney was the hardest to clean. Her hand just barely fitted into it. Mama couldn't do this one at all. Her hands were too large. When Mama finished with this chimney, there was usually a ring of black around the middle of it that she just couldn't reach from top or bottom. In the end Jane always had to finish this.

As she worked, she stopped occasionally to wipe the tears from her eyes. They just would keep coming. When she finished with the chimneys, she set them in a row on the red-checked tablecloth. Then she placed the three lamps on a newspaper on the floor and filled them with kerosene oil. She liked the gurgling noise the oil made as it poured through the funnel to the thirsty lamp. Next she trimmed the wicks neatly and lit them with fingers that trembled.

This was the first time she had ever been allowed to light the lamps and she felt a little scared. When she had lit the wicks, she turned them down so the flame was an even line and wouldn't send black smoke up into her clean chimneys. Now very carefully she put the chimneys on and the lamps were ready.

She dabbed the tears away again and went to the window to look out. The windowpane was thickly frosted with beautiful ferns and leaves. Jane blew on it and her warm breath made a clear space for her to peer through. Maybe Joe would be coming. The coal supply had run out and Joe had been sent to the coal yards to fetch a bushel bag on his sled.