Paste Jewels Part 9

"That means another servant for me to manage," sighed Mrs. Perkins.

"True; but a servant is easier to manage than Teddy. You can discharge a servant if she becomes impossible. We've got Teddy for keeps," said Thaddeus.

"Very well--so be it," said Mrs. Perkins. "You are right, I guess, about school. He ought not to be forced, and I'd be worried about him all the time he was away, anyhow."

So it was decided that Teddy should have a nurse, and for a day or two the subject was dropped. Later on Mrs. Perkins reopened it.

"I've been thinking all day about Teddy's nurse, Thaddeus," she said, one evening after dinner. "I think it would be nice if we got him a French nurse. Then he could learn French without any forcing."

"Good scheme," said Thaddeus. "I approve of that. We might learn a little French from her ourselves, too."

"That's what I thought," said Bessie and that point was decided.

The new nurse was to be French, and the happy parents drew beatific visions of the ease with which they should some day cope with Parisian hotel-keepers and others in that longed-for period when they should find themselves able, financially, to visit the French capital.

But--

Ah! Those buts that come into our lives! Conjunctions they are called! Are they not rather terminals? Are they not the forerunners of chaos in the best-laid plans of mankind? If for every "but" that destroys our plan of action there were ready always some better-succeeding plan, then might their conjunctive force seem more potent; as life goes, however, unhappily, they are not always so provided, and the English "but" takes on its Gallic significance, which leads the Frenchman to define it as meaning "the end."

There was an object-lesson in store for the Perkinses.

On the Sunday following the discussion with which this story opens, the Perkinses, always hospitable, though distinctly unsociable so far as the returning of visits went, received a visit from their friends the Bradleys. Ordinarily a visit from one's town friends is no very great undertaking for a suburban host or hostess, but when the town friends have children from whom they are inseparable, and those children have nurses who, whithersoever the children go, go there also, such a visit takes on proportions the stupendousness of which I, being myself a suburban entertainer, would prefer not to discuss, fearing lest some of my friends with families, recalling these words, might consider my remarks of a personal nature. Let me be content with saying, therefore, that when the Bradleys, Mr. and Mrs., plus Master and Miss, plus Harriet, the English nurse, came to visit the Perkins homestead that Sunday, it was a momentous occasion for the host and hostess, and, furthermore, like many another momentous occasion, was far-reaching in its results.

In short, it provided the Perkins family with that object-lesson to which I have already alluded.

The Bradleys arrived on Sunday night, and as they came late little Harry Bradley and the still smaller Jennie Bradley were tired, and hence not at all responsive to the welcomes of the Perkinses, large or small. They were excessively reticent. When Mrs. Perkins, kneeling before Master Harry, asked him the wholly unnecessary question, "Why, is this Harry?" he refused wholly to reply; nor could the diminutive Jennie be induced to say anything but "Yumps"

in response to a similar question put to her, "Yumps" being, it is to be presumed, a juvenilism for "Yes, ma'am." Hence it was that the object-lesson did not begin to develop until breakfast on Sunday morning. The first step in the lesson was taken at that important meal, when Master Harry observed, in stentorian yet sweetly soprano tones:

"Hi wants a gla.r.s.e o' milk."

To which his nurse, standing behind his chair to relieve the Perkinses' maid of the necessity of looking after the Bradley hopefuls, replied:

"'Ush, 'Arry, 'us.h.!.+ Wite till yer arsked."

Mrs. Bradley nodded approval to Harriet, and observed quietly to Mrs. Perkins that Harriet was such a treasure; she kept the children so well in subjection.

The incident pa.s.sed without making any impression upon the minds of any but Thaddeus junior, who, taking his cue from Harry, vociferously a.s.serted that he, too, wished a gla.s.s of milk, and in such terms as made the a.s.sertion tantamount to an ultimatum.

Then Miss Jennie seemed to think it was her turn.

"Hi doan't care fer stike. Hi wants chickin," said she. "I'n't there goin' ter be no kikes?"

Mrs. Perkins laughed, though I strongly suspect that Thaddeus junior would have been sent from the table had he ventured to express a similar sentiment. Mrs. Bradley blushed; Bradley looked severe; Perkins had that expression which all parents have when other people's children are involved, and which implies the thought, "If you were mine there'd be trouble; but since you are not mine, how cunning you are!" But Harriet, the nurse, met the problem. She said:

"Popper's goin' ter have stike, Jinnie; m'yby Mr. Perkins'll give yer lots o' gryvy. Hit i'n't time fer the kikes."

Perhaps I ought to say to those who have not studied dialect as "she is spoke" that the word m'yby is the Seven Dials idiom for maybe, itself more or less an Americanism, signifying "perhaps," while "kikes" is a controvertible term for cakes.

After breakfast, as a matter of course, the senior members of both families attended divine service, then came dinner, and after dinner the usual matching of the children began. The hopefuls of Perkins were matched against the scions of Bradley. All four were brought downstairs and into the parental presence in the library.

"Your Harry is a fine fellow, Mrs. Bradley," said Thaddeus.

"Yes, we think Harry is a very nice boy," returned Mrs. Bradley, with a fond glance at the youth.

"Wot djer si about me, mar?" asked Harry.

"Nothing, dear," replied Mrs. Bradley, raising her eyebrows reprovingly.

"Yes, yer did, too," retorted Harry. "Yer said as 'ow hi were a good boy."

"Well, 'e i'n't, then," interjected Jennie. "'E's a bloomin' mean un. 'E took a knoife an' cut open me doll."

"'Ush, Jinnie, 'us.h.!.+" put in the nurse. "Don't yer tell tiles on 'Arry. 'E didn't mean ter 'urt yer doll. 'Twas a haxident."

"No, 'twasn't a haxident," said Jennie. "'E done it a-purpice."

"Well, wot if hi did?" retorted Harry. "Didn't yer pull the tile off me rockin'-'orse?"

"Well, never mind," said Bradley, seeing how strained things were getting. "Don't quarrel about it now. It's all done and gone, and I dare say you were both a little to blame."

"'Hi war'n't!" said Harry, and then the subject was dropped. The children romped in and out through the library and halls for some time, and the Bradleys and Perkinses compared notes on various points of interest to both. After a while they again reverted to the subject of their children.

"Does Harry go to school?" asked Bessie.

"No, we think he's too young yet," returned Mrs. Bradley. "He learns a little of something every day from Harriet, who is really a very superior girl. She is a good servant. She hasn't been in this country very long, and is English to the core, as you've probably noticed, not only in her way of comporting herself, but in her accent."

"Yes, I've observed it," said Bessie. "What does she teach him?"

"Oh, she tells him stories that are more or less instructive, and she reads to him. She's taught him one or two pretty little songs-- ballads, you know--too. Harry has a sweet little voice. Harry, dear, won't you sing that song about Mrs. Henry Hawkins for mamma?"

"Don't warn'ter," said Harry. "Hi'm sick o' that bloomin' old song."

"Seems to me I've heard it," said Thaddeus. "As I remember it, Harry, it was very pretty."

"It is," said Bradley. "It's the one you mean--'Oh, 'Lizer! dear 'Lizer! Mrs. 'Ennery 'Awkins.' Harry sings it well, too; but I say, Thad, you ought to hear the nurse sing it. It's great."

"I should think it might be."

"She has the accent down fine, you know."

"Sort of born to it, eh?"

"Yes; you can't cultivate that accent and get it just right."

"I'll do 'Dear Old Dutch' for yer," suggested Harry. "Hi likes thet better 'n 'Mrs. 'Awkins.'"

So Harry deserted "Mrs. 'Awkins" and sang that other pathetic coster-ballad, "Dear Old Dutch," and, to the credit of Harriet, the nurse, it must be said that he was marvellously well instructed. It could not have been done better had the small vocalist been the own son of a London coster-monger instead of the scion of an American family of refinement.

Thus the day pa.s.sed. Jennie proved herself quite as proficient in the dialect of Seven Dials as was Harry, or even Harriet, and when she consented to stand on a chair and recite a few nursery rhymes, there was not an unnoticed "h" that she did not, sooner or later, pick up and attach to some other word to which it was not related, as she went along.