B. W. Mitchell.
THE ’DOPTERS
“Lemmy—oo-hoo—Lemmy—”
Lemmy stopped short in his game of jack-stones, and looked fearfully over his shoulder. All about him were the rest of the children, unconcerned, playing none the quieter for the reposeful afternoon shadow of the gray cloister-like walls. At the edge of the yard where the grass was worn off most he saw the “biggest boys,” now suspending their game of ball to call to him. In the general cry he recognized the leading, raucous voice of Gus Chapman. Lemmy did not answer. He turned his back and tried to fling his jackstones indifferently. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Gus approaching.
“The ’Dopters, Lemmy—the ’Dopters are coming!” Gus warned him.
In an instant Lemmy was on his feet. Panic-stricken, he fled, leaving his jackstones upon the ground. He put his hands over his ears to shut out the hooting, derisive cries of the boys who did not understand his fear of the ’Dopters—that horde of individuals who lurked about the Home, a constant menace to his happiness. They looked harmless enough, to be sure, in their varied disguises. Some came as jolly, oldish ladies with much candy and sometimes fat bunches of raisins in their pockets. Others looked for all the world like hearty farmers who might raise apples, both red and yellow—a very deceptive sort, these farmers, who laughed a great deal and poked the boys’ muscles and pinched the girls’ cheeks. Most to be feared were the ’Dopters in black who hung round more than any of the rest. They brought toys hardly worn at all, but they never seemed to want to let them go at the last minute. They made a show of crying over Gracie Peeler and Nannie Bagget, who had curls and knew how to do a curtsey. The ’Dopters in black always made off with some one.
Despite the endless variety, it was not hard to tell a ’Dopter if you saw him in time. There was something about them. Most of the children recognized them instinctively. Gus was particularly expert at picking out the ’Dopters from the casual visitors at the Home. Watching for them never interfered with his play in the least. He always saw first. Lemmy had learned to trust Gus’s signals of danger, and although he was overwhelmed by the accompanying teasing, he felt very grateful. Gus was his savior—his methods were not to be criticized. Times innumerable Gus had saved him from being adopted.
Who knew what it meant—being adopted? Lemmy could not understand why most of the children thought that it was something nice. None of them seemed to realize that there was any reason to be afraid. They were always talking about Tommie Graham, who had been borne off by the ’Dopters. His friends at the Home had not seen him since his disappearance, but stories had started somehow about Tommie’s having a dog with a schooner back and a train of cars which whizzed around when he pressed a button. It was also said that there was another button which Tommie could press and some one would come to take him for a ride in a sailboat. But all this was mere hearsay. There was no telling what had really befallen Tommie, all because he was foolish enough to sing in the hearing of the ’Dopters his song about three frogs that sat on a lily pad.
Lemmy was certain that when a ’Dopter threw off his disguise he was a dragon of the very worst kind. It was Simple Simon to believe when they talked about this and that you could have if you would only come along. Lemmy knew, for once from behind the office door he had heard them talking to Miss Border, who wore the white of authority. Their remarks about “parental history” and “hereditary instincts” and “psychological effects of environment” had betrayed them. Lemmy remembered how ominous these things had sounded mixed with whoop and halloo from the playground. And the queer feeling which had shivered through him! The sensation from eating a mouthful of green gooseberries was nothing in comparison.
How could the other children believe that likely as not those words meant something nice? Lemmy knew better. After he had overheard that secret conference with Miss Border, he thought that he understood the ’Dopters pretty well. Theirs was a sticky-fly-paper method; there was no end to the ways they had of fooling you. They had named him “among the least promising”—this, Lemmy gathered, on account of his skinny legs, the result of something “subnormal”; and because of his habit of going off alone into corners, termed “sulkiness and uncompanionability”; his big ears had something to do with it too. One tall lady had said that they were “not exactly Grecian.” Altogether he was “undesirable.” This classification even Gus took to be aboveboard.