exacted, as no harm had been done, and he and Gus were such
respectable boys. What would happen to Joe, he could not tell, but
he thought a good whipping ought to be added to his share.
Of course, the affair made a stir in the little world of children; and
when Frank went to school, feeling that his character for good
behavior was forever damaged, he found himself a lion, and was in
danger of being spoiled by the admiration of his comrades, who
pointed him out with pride as “the fellow who ran off with a
steam-engine.”
But an interview with Judge Kemble, a fine of twenty-five dollars,
and lectures from all the grown people of his acquaintance,
prevented him from regarding his escapade as a feat to boast of.
He discovered, also, how fickle a thing is public favor, for very
soon those who had praised began to tease, and it took all his
courage, patience, and pride to carry him through the next week or
two. The lads were never tired of alluding to No. 11, giving shrill
whistles in his ear, asking if his watch was right, and drawing
locomotives on the blackboard whenever they got a chance.
The girls, too, had sly nods and smiles, hints and jokes of a milder
sort, which made him color and fume, and once lose his dignity
entirely. Molly Loo, who dearly loved to torment the big boys, and
dared attack even solemn Frank, left one of Boo’s old tin trains on
the door-step, directed to “Conductor Minot,” who, I regret to say,
could not refrain from kicking it into the Street, and slamming the
door with a bang that shook the house. Shrieks of laughter from
wicked Molly and her coadjutor, Grif, greeted this explosion of
wrath, which did no good, however, for half an hour later the same
cars, all in a heap, were on the steps again, with two headless dolls
tumbling out of the cab, and the dilapidated engine labelled, “No.
11 after the collision.”
No one ever saw that ruin again, and for days Frank was utterly
unconscious of Molly’s existence, as propriety forbade his having
it out with her as he had with Grif. Then Annette made peace
between them, and the approach of the Twenty-second gave the
wags something else to think of.
But it was long before Frank forgot that costly prank; for he was a
thoughtful boy, who honestly wanted to be good; so he
remembered this episode humbly, and whenever he felt the
approach of temptation he made the strong will master it, saying to
himself “Down brakes!” thus saving the precious freight he carried
from many of the accidents which befall us when we try to run our
trains without orders, and so often wreck ourselves as well as
others.
Chapter 12 The Twenty-Second of February
Of course, the young ladies and gentlemen had a ball on the
evening of that day, but the boys and girls were full of excitement
about their “Scenes from the Life of Washington and other brilliant
tableaux,” as the programme announced. The Bird Room was the
theatre, being very large, with four doors conveniently placed.
Ralph was in his element, putting up a little stage, drilling boys,
arranging groups, and uniting in himself carpenter, scene-painter,
manager, and gas man. Mrs. Minot permitted the house to be
turned topsy-turvy, and Mrs. Pecq flew about, lending a hand
everywhere. Jill was costumer, with help from Miss Delano, who
did not care for balls, and kindly took charge of the girls. Jack
printed tickets, programmes, and placards of the most imposing
sort, and the work went gayly on till all was ready.
When the evening came, the Bird Room presented a fine
appearance. One end was curtained off with red drapery; and real
footlights, with tin shades, gave a truly theatrical air to the little
stage. Rows of chairs, filled with mammas and little people,
occupied the rest of the space. The hall and Frank’s room were full
of amused papas, uncles, and old gentlemen whose patriotism
brought them out in spite of rheumatism. There was a great
rustling of skirts, fluttering of fans, and much lively chat, till a bell