We ten

by Barbara Yechton

"IN THE DRAWING-ROOM CAR."

The Ervengs called for me the morning after papa and Nannie had gone to the mountains,—right after breakfast,—and I can assure you it was dreadfully hard to keep back the tears when I was telling the family good-bye; and when I was seated in the carriage, right under Mr. and Mrs. Erveng's eyes, I got the most insane desire to scream out loud, or burst the door open and jump out: I had to sit up very straight and set my lips tight together, to keep from doing it.

That feeling wore off, though, by the time we got settled in the drawing-room car, and I was three seats from Mrs. Erveng,—I managed that,—with Mr. Erveng and Hilliard between us. It was a marvel to me the way those two waited on Mrs. Erveng; in watching them do it I forgot about myself. Her chair must be at just such an angle, her footstool in just such a position, and the cushions at her back just so many, and most carefully arranged; and if she stirred, they were all attention immediately. And they were like that the whole month that I was at Endicott Beach, though it seemed to me sometimes that she was very exacting.

Now with us, though we love one another dearly, and, as Phil says, would go through fire and water for one another if need be, particularly if any one were ill, still we're not willing to be imposed on all the time, and we do keep the different ones up to the mark, and stand up for our individual rights,—we've got to where there are so many. But the Ervengs aren't in the least like us; and I think that, in some ways, Hilliard is the very oddest boy I've ever known.

To begin with, he is so literal,—away ahead of Nora; he took so many things seriously that I said in joke that at first I didn't know what to make of him. I used to get so provoked! He doesn't understand the sort of "chaffing" that we do so much at home, and he is slow to get an idea; but once it's fixed in his mind, you needn't think he's going to change,—it's there for the rest of his natural life. He could no more change his opinion about things as I do than he could fly. Perhaps he thinks I'm frivolous and "uncouth,"—as Nora sometimes says I am. Well, let him; who cares? I think he is a regular old poke, though he is better than I thought at first; but you'll hear all about it. Of course Hilliard was polite, and all that, when he came to our house, but I didn't always see him; in fact, I used to keep out of the way on purpose, many a time: so I didn't really know what sort of a boy he was until I went to stay at the beach.

Well, as soon as Mrs. Erveng was comfortably settled, Hilliard came over to me with a big soft cushion in his hand. "May I put this at your back?" he asked. "It's a tiresome journey to Boston, and we've got quite a ride after that to reach Endicott Beach; so let me make you as comfortable as possible."

Now if he had come up and simply put the cushion on the back of my chair, the way Phil, or Felix, or Jack would have done, I wouldn't have minded at all,—I like cushions; but to stand there holding it, waiting for me to give him permission, struck me as being very silly. I knew he expected me to say yes, and instead of that I found myself saying, "No, I thank you,"—I could hear that my tone was snippy,—"I can get on very comfortably without a cushion." Our boys, or Max, or even Murray Unsworth would have said, "Oh, come now, Betty!" and just slipped the cushion behind me, and I'd have enjoyed it, and made no more fuss. But not so this individual. He looked helplessly at me for a minute, then laid the cushion down on his mother's travelling satchel; and there it reclined until we reached Boston.

'Twas the same way with getting me things to eat. With all the excitement that morning, I had very little appetite for breakfast, so by lunch time I was very hungry; and when Mrs. Erveng opened her box of sandwiches, I felt as if I could have eaten every one in it,—but of course I didn't. They were delicious; but, oh, so small and thin!

Mr. Erveng did not take any,—he never takes a mid-day meal. Mrs. Erveng ate two, trifling with the second one as if tired of it. I ate three,—when a dozen would not have been too many! Hilliard disposed of four, and then went out to get his mother a cup of tea,—I suspect he had something more to eat in the restaurant. He asked, in a tone as if he meant it, "Mayn't I bring you a cup of tea?"