Betty's Happy Year

She looked like a fair, sweet Portia, and her wares were all books. She did a fine trade, for Jeanette was a general favorite, and the books found a ready sale.

July was in charge of Fred Brown, and he represented “Young America.”

Although a big boy, he dressed himself in the garb of a little one, and blew his tin trumpet and waved his flag with all the boisterousness of a child of ten on Independence Day.

His booth was a mass of flags and bunting and fireworks, and he sold anything he could find that was patriotic, from copies of the Declaration of Independence to a package of torpedoes.

He also had the lemonade for sale, as that seemed to him to be a Fourth of July beverage. He had persuaded a few men, the best speakers he knew, to deliver occasional short orations, so, with these attractive novelties, it was no wonder that his booth was well attended all the time.

August was left to Dorothy Bates. She was one of the prettiest of all, though one of the simplest in her costume and manners.

She was a Summer Girl; and dressed in a white duck outing-suit, her sailor-like blouse turned in at the throat and turned back at the wrist, she was a charming picture.

She had no booth, but sat in a hammock beneath a cleverly contrived shade-tree. About her, on what represented grass and sand, were camp-stools, and her visitors were served with ice-cream and little cakes. Also, she sold fans and parasols, and so gay and winsome was pretty Dorothy that the camp-stools were always occupied, while others stood waiting their turn.

September was Betty’s month. She had had a beautiful Diana hunting-costume made for her, and in the dark-green cloth, with its black braid and gilt buttons, Betty’s slim, straight young figure looked very picturesque. Her booth was a sort of tent, with the flap turned back, and she sold sporting goods of all sorts.

Some kind shopkeepers had donated fishing-rods and reels, trout flies, game-bags, bows and arrows, and many such wares. Betty was happy and gay, and her dark curls clustered round her merry, rosy face as she wheedled her patrons into making further purchases of all sorts of wares.

October was Lena Carey’s choice. She used all the traditional features of Hallowe’en, and in a semi-darkened tent she told fortunes to gullible victims. Dressed as a witch in a red robe, a black cape, and a red peaked hat, she fondled her own pet black cat, though old Tabby would not look weird and mysterious.

The interior of Lena’s tent was scarefully decorated with bats and strange devices, and was adorned with lighted Jack-o’-lanterns.

Lena was clever at fortune-telling, and, as her clients were not exacting as to methods, she managed to satisfy them all with most pleasant, even if most improbable, promises for the future.

Next came November, which was Martha’s. At first it had not seemed easy to think of a character for Martha appropriate to November. But as Betty looked at the round, stolid face, full of wholesome good nature, but not piquant or fascinating, she exclaimed:

“Good gracious, Martha! You’re just like your grandmother. Do chirk up and giggle sometimes!”

Then her own speech gave her an idea. “Martha,” she cried, “that’s just it! You shall be your own grandmother! November is the Thanksgiving month, and the very spirit of the Thanksgiving feast is the Grandmother.”

So chubby-faced Martha was transformed into the dearest old lady you ever saw – white hair, cap, and spectacles; plain gray gown, with kerchief crossed on her bosom, and knitting work beside her; everything of old-fashioned style, even her reticule and black silk mitts.

Mr. Irving, true to his word, assisted with Martha’s booth. It was indeed a realistic old-fashioned New England kitchen, with its settings represented as faithfully as possible. And the homely old New England supper viands that were served there were so good and delectable that Martha’s booth was crammed with people from opening to closing time.

December, as you’d doubtless guess, was a Christmas tree.

Although it was really March, so splendid was the great tree, decorated, and lighted elaborately, and so jolly was Ralph Burnett, who stood by as Santa Claus, that it was difficult not to think it was Christmas eve.

On the tree everything was for sale. The wares first, and, when they were gone, the decorations, and even the electric lights and candles were sold.

Indeed, everything in the whole place was sold. As the evening wore on, all the supplies gave out, and the frantic “months” ran around to each other’s booths trying to beg or borrow something to sell. The cash-boxes were full of jingling coins, yet the buyers were unsatisfied. The Fresh Air Club had not expected such a large and generous audience, and they stood in their dismantled booths, resolved to have even a larger and finer bazaar, next winter.

“And, you see, Grandpa,” said Betty to Mr. Irving, “Martha did have a successful part as November, and her full share of custom. Why, Martha’s kitchen was full of people all the time. Constance was perfectly lovely, sitting in state on her throne, but, now and then, there weren’t many people around her booth.”

“Well, Betty, sometimes people would rather eat than buy flowers.”

“Yes; that’s why I felt sure Martha’s booth would be a success. But, of course, I sha’n’t say anything to Constance about it.”

And Constance never mentioned the subject, but Martha was never slighted by the girls again.

VI

BETTY’S PRACTICAL JOKE

One evening, soon after the bazaar, the McGuires were dining with the Irvings, and naturally were discussing the very successful entertainment.

“And I think,” Mr. Irving remarked, “that the young chap who took the part of ‘April Fool’ was one of the hits of the evening. He was so merry and good-natured, and yet so full of quips and pranks, why, he nearly fooled me two or three times!”

“Oh, pshaw, Grandpa,” said Betty, saucily, “it would be easy enough to fool you; you’re so – so honest and good-natured, you know.”

Mr. Irving looked at the roguish, smiling face with pretended severity.

“Indeed, Miss Curlyhead! So you think it easy to fool your simple-minded old grandfather, do you? Well, little lady, you’re greatly mistaken! In fact, you’re quite wrong! Fool me! Humph! Why, when I was in college, the boys said I was the only one they could never play a practical joke on!”

Mr. Irving looked very proud of his record for shrewdness, but his eyes twinkled as he saw Betty’s incredulous smile.

“All right, Miss Mischief,” he went on, “if you doubt my word, try it. I’ll wager you a hat you can’t get off a joke upon your unsuspecting old grandfather that I don’t see through before it reaches its climax. Fool me, indeed!”

“I don’t want to fool you, Grandpa,” said Betty, demurely, “only I think I could – that’s all.”

“You little rogue, you do, do you? Well, the burden of proof rests with you.”

“You know you wagered a hat,” said Betty, smiling; “did you mean it?”

“Well, my child, I’ll own up that I said ‘wager a hat,’ because that’s a slang phrase – or at least it was in my youth – that doesn’t mean anything in particular, and I said it without thinking. But I’ll stand by it. You shall have the prettiest hat in Boston if you succeed in playing even the mildest little joke on your old grandfather.”

“Now, Father,” said Mrs. McGuire, “I don’t think practical jokes are nice at all; and I don’t think you ought to put Betty up to such nonsense.”

“As a rule, my dear, I agree with you; and I don’t want Betty to get the habit of doing such things. But this is an exceptional case. And, too, a good-natured joke does no harm, especially if the victim invites it himself.”

“I think you’re safe, Grandfather,” said Jack. “I don’t believe Betty or anybody else could fool you. You’re too quick.”

“Thank you for that compliment, my boy,” said Mr. Irving; “and then, too, remember that I am forewarned.”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Irving, laughing at the conversation; “I think your chances for a new hat from Grandfather are slim, Betty dear.”

“I really don’t need a new hat – just now,” said Betty, thoughtfully, “but, all the same, I’d like to win that one, and I’m going to try.”

Betty’s dark head wagged in a determined fashion, and, after a little further chaff, the subject was dropped.

But the next day Betty took it up again with Jack.

“I want to play a perfectly splendid joke on Grandpa,” she said, “one that he will remember all his life.”

“Well,” returned Jack, “you’re modest in your desires, aren’t you!”

“But I do want to, Jack. Think what fun it would be! Now, help me think of something, do!”