Betty's Happy Year

“Let me see; I can’t think of things in a minute, you know. But here’s one thing; next Friday is the first of April – you might play an April Fool Joke.”

“Oh, yes,” cried Betty, gleefully, “that’s just the thing! Anything is allowable on April Fool’s Day. Now, what shall it be?”

“Betty, if you want a really fine affair, we must give some thought to it. Neither do we want any simple joke that we’d make up ourselves. But let’s try something classic. Now there’s an old story called ‘Trajan’s Jest,’ or somebody’s, and I’ll look it up, and perhaps we can adapt it to modern times.”

“Oh, Jack, I don’t want any old Roman performance, with togas and sandals!”

“No, goosey, not that. But just wait till I think it all out. Oh, Betty, it’ll be fine! Just you wait!”

So Betty waited while Jack looked into some reference books, and when he found what he wanted, they soon had their heads together over the volume. After an hour of reading, chattering, laughing, and planning, Jack said:

“And so, you see, it’s all clear sailing, if you girls can only carry it out in the right way.”

“Oh, we can!” cried Betty. “Dorothy is so very dramatic, and Jeanette will be lovely in her part. Mine is the hardest.”

“Of course it is; but it’s your joke, you know. Shall we tell Mother about it?”

“I’d rather not – till it’s over. It’s all right, you know; she wouldn’t disapprove, but she’d think we couldn’t do it.”

“It seems as if you ought to tell her.”

“Oh, I’ll tell her that we’re going to play the joke. Here she comes now. Come in, Mother!”

Mrs. McGuire came into the library where the children were. “What is it, dear?” she said.

“Why, we’ve planned the joke for Grandpa,” said Betty, her eyes dancing with fun, “and it’s going to take a lot of acting. And, Mother, I don’t want to tell you about it till it’s all over. You don’t mind, do you?”

“No, child; that is – I suppose, of course, it’s nothing wrong or impolite.”

“Oh, no; it’s all perfectly correct and proper. Dorothy and Jeanette and I are to do it, but Jack planned it all. And, Mother, we’ll want the big carriage on Friday afternoon.”

“All right, deary; now, mind, you are quite sure, aren’t you, I wouldn’t disapprove?”

“Yes, Mother,” and Betty’s honest eyes were clear and frank. “It’s a jolly joke, but there’s nothing wrong about it, is there, Jack?”

“Not a thing,” said Jack, chuckling. “I’ll look out for the girls, Mother. The whole affair won’t take an hour.”

“Very well, then; go on. Your grandfather will be as pleased as yourselves if it succeeds.”

There was much more planning, and then, when the whole affair was explained to Dorothy and Jeanette, they entered into the scheme with glee.

“It’ll be just like amateur theatricals!” cried Dorothy, clapping her hands. “We must rehearse our parts. Oh, won’t it be fun?”

“Can you dress up to look like a young lady?” said Jack. “Not a disguise, you know, but just make yourself look as if you were eighteen or twenty years old?”

“Oh, yes,” declared Dorothy. “I’m almost sixteen, anyhow. And I’ll wear one of sister Ethel’s dresses, and do my hair up high. I’ll wear a hat of hers, too, one of her prettiest ones.”

“Oh, not too fancy, you know,” warned Jack. “You must dress plainly.”

“All right; I’ll wear a small hat and a dotted veil. Oh, I’ll look grown up; never fear.”

“Jeanette will, too,” said Betty; “she looks older than she is, anyhow. What’ll you wear, Jean?”

“I’ll wear one of Mother’s gowns,” said Jeanette, smiling. “She’s so small and slender, her things just about fit me. Black, I think, with white collar and cuffs.”

“I’ll wear a long cloak,” said Betty, “and a thick, dark veil, so Grandpa can scarcely see my face at all.”

“And glasses,” said Jack. “I’ll get you a pair of dark spectacles, so he won’t see your eyes at all. Now let’s write the letter.”

Then, all suggesting, but Jack doing most of it, the following letter was composed, and was copied by Jeanette:

Mr. William Irving,

Dear Sir: Although I have been in more fortunate circumstances, I am now quite poor. I desire a position as secretary, and I apply to you, because my great-uncle Roger Arundel used to be in your class at college, and I have often heard him speak of your kind heart and generous disposition. I will call at your office, to see you about the matter, this afternoon at three o’clock. Please let me speak to you, even if you cannot give me a position.

    Yours truly,
    Frances Arundel.

“Was there a Roger Arundel in Grandpa’s class?” asked Betty, looking admiringly at the letter.

“I don’t know of any,” said Jack; “I made up the name.”

“Then of course there wasn’t,” said Betty. “Why didn’t you choose a name from his class list?”

“Oh, I didn’t quite like to do that. It didn’t seem right. But it won’t matter. You girls will have to manage the Roger Arundel item. Now, are you sure you understand your parts? Come on, let’s rehearse. I’ll be Grandpa.”

They rehearsed for an hour or more, and declared they understood their parts perfectly.

“But you must disguise your voice more, Betty,” said Jack. “Talk as if you had a cold in your throat.”

So Betty tried again and succeeded in achieving a hoarse, harsh whisper.

“That’ll do,” said Jack, approvingly. “Talk like that and you’ll be all right.”

At last the first of April came, and the other girls came over to Betty’s to start off together on their escapade.

Mrs. McGuire had been taken into the secret at the last moment, thus having had no chance inadvertently to give a hint to the unsuspecting victim.

She helped the three girls to make themselves look as much as possible like full-grown young ladies. And, indeed, the fact that they all wore long dresses and had their hair done up high so changed their appearance that little further disguise was necessary.

Dorothy wore a tailor-made suit of her sister’s. It was of dark-blue cloth and somewhat worn, an old one having been chosen on purpose. A small blue straw hat, with a few roses, was very becoming, and the effect of it, with its carefully adjusted veil, was to make her look fully nineteen or twenty years old.

Jeanette, in a plain little black suit and white shirt-waist, looked a very demure young lady. Her trim black hat showed no touch of color, and her sad little face assumed a pathetic expression that made Jack laugh.

“You’ll do, Jeanette!” he exclaimed; “you’re just a picture of ‘a young lady in reduced circumstances.’”

But Betty was the most disguised of all. This was necessary, for Mr. Irving scarcely knew the other two girls, anyhow, and the success of the scheme all depended on his not recognizing Betty.