WILLING HELPERS

“Thump, thump, thump!” a thunderous rap at the door of Shirley’s shop brought the four girls on the run from the back room, where they had been doing the last of the window cleaning.

“It’s Bob and Phil! Good for them!” shouted Bet. “Let them in, you’re nearest, Kit!”

The two boys entered the doorway in a very supplicating manner, their hats held humbly in their hands.

“We want work, ladies! Can we get something to eat?” begged Bob without a smile.

“You would, Bob Evans! Thinking of food the first thing!” scolded Joy.

“Been out of a job for two months,” added Phil.

“Then I suppose you want something to eat, too?”

“Yes ma’am, I’d like nothing better than a handout.”

“You’ll earn it first, you lazy things,” exclaimed Kit.

“Always taking the joy out of life, isn’t she?” Bob pretended to be sad.

“Now what do you boys want to do?” Bet was in her snappiest form, business-like and full of energy. “You can paint that strip around the wall where we’ve marked it, or you can paint the window, or you can paint chairs or tables. Now just take your choice of work, I don’t care what you do, as long as you paint.”

“But I wanted to do basketry or clay figures,” teased Bob. “Didn’t you, Phil?”

“No indeed. I wanted to paint. I’m a noble soul. I’m just dying to paint, in fact I must paint!”

“Then get to work!” cried Kit. “And don’t waste so much time! This is our busy day. No parking here!”

“Slave drivers! No hand-out, and not a minute to collect our thoughts!”

“You don’t need to worry, Bob, it won’t take you that long to collect your thoughts! One second will be enough,” retorted Joy.

“And we don’t get anything to eat?” asked Phil.

But while the merry nonsense went on the two boys were preparing the paint and getting ready to work. Phil took a step ladder and began on the outside of the store, painting the frame of the window in bright orange.

“There now that stands out, all right,” he exclaimed as he finished the job. “You can see that a mile off.”

Bob finished the frame on the inside, about the same time and together they started on the broad strip that was marked off around the walls.

“Say lady, it’s eleven o’clock. Can’t we have that hand-out?” cried Bob Evans.

“Not yet. Why you’ve only been working an hour!” exclaimed Bet indignantly. “Who ever heard of such a thing!”

“Let’s strike!” Phil dropped his paint brush and settled himself in an easy chair. “No hand-out, no more work!”

“That’s right!” agreed Bob, capturing another chair.

“Oh you terrible boys! We might as well do it ourselves if we’ve got to stop every hour and feed you. There’s nothing ready yet anyway.” Bet frowned on her friends.

But just at that moment Uncle Nat appeared with two very large hampers and Bob and Phil each secured a basket.

“Now who’s to say when?” laughed Bob. “Who’s boss now, answer me that?”

“We are in the power of two tyrants who won’t work!” said Kit dramatically.

“Take that back, Kit Patten, or you’ll not get a bite of lunch. Say you’re sorry!” teased Phil.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’ll take it back!” laughed Kit.

“I’ll tell you what, boys.” It was Shirley’s voice from the rear room, where she was cleaning out the big closet for a dark room. “We do want that strip painted before lunch. It won’t take you more than ten minutes. While we are fixing up this table and unpacking the baskets, you finish that.”

“Right-O, Shirley!” The boys were on their feet instantly and they went to work without another word.

“Oh girls, doesn’t it look perfectly wonderful!” exclaimed Bet, coming into the room just as the two boys laid aside their brushes. “Now you shall eat!”

“A crust of bread and a glass of water, I suppose!”

“You suppose nothing of the sort. You know Auntie Gibbs put it up and therefore it has to be good!” exclaimed Kit. “But you boys won’t get a bite to eat until you’ve washed your faces.”

“Now we rebel! This is the limit. The worm turns at last. We’re going to eat this way.” And they did.

Auntie Gibbs had outdone herself on the lunch. There was fried chicken and apple fritters, still piping hot. There was jelly and hot biscuits. The table was loaded.

“Here Kit, open up that box of marshmallows. And put one in each cup of cocoa.”

“One! Why you stingy thing. I’ll not drink it unless I have three!” exclaimed Bob.

“All right, give the child what he wants!” Bet agreed.

“Auntie Gibbs must have thought we were going to feed all of Lynnwood. Sending down a lunch this size!” laughed Shirley.

“But that’s so much better than not having enough. Wait until we’ve finished it, there won’t be much left. I know what kind of an appetite I have, and when Bob gets to work he’ll eat about half of what’s here.”

“Aren’t you going to wash that orange streak off your face, Phil?” asked Bet.

“No. It’s a beauty mark.”

While the young people were making merry over their lunch, the door of the shop opened and shuffling feet were heard outside in the front room.

Bet jumped up excitedly, “Maybe it’s a customer! Oh girls!”

“Oh, I hope it isn’t!” exclaimed Shirley. “We haven’t got anything for sale yet.”

“Oh, how do you do, Mr. Gruff,” Bet’s voice was heard from the back room. “You are our first visitor.”

“What you doing here?” Peter asked abruptly.

“Listen to the old grouch,” whispered Joy to Shirley. “One would think he owned this store.”

“Ssh! Keep quiet, Joy. Let’s hear what he’s saying.”

Bet answered the old man in her sweetest manner. “We’re opening an art shop. We’ll be your next door neighbor, Mr. Gruff.”

“What are you going to sell? Antiques?”

“Not just at present. Perhaps later we may,” answered Bet.

“Don’t do it. There’s no money in antiques! Not a penny. Of course if you want them, I’ll be able to get them for you. I go to all the auctions. I went away out to Connecticut the other day to get some old lamps.”

“And did you get them? What were they like?” questioned Bet.

“I didn’t get them. They went too high. That’s the reason I say there’s no money in antiques. It used to be one could pick up things for almost nothing.”

“Yes people learned to value their old things.”

“Are you Colonel Baxter’s girl? I thought so! Now there’s a man who knows antiques. Can’t get ahead of him on a buy. He knows just what a thing should sell for and half the time he can tell me to a penny what I paid for it.”

Bet laughed heartily at this, for she remembered her father telling her how old Peter had tried to sell him some candlesticks at an exorbitant price.

“Seein’ as it’s you, Colonel Baxter,” he had said, “You can have this pair of candlesticks for fifteen dollars.”

“Too much, Mr. Gruff,” the Colonel answered emphatically.

“Ten dollars then, Colonel Baxter. I won’t be making a penny on them, not one.”

“No, Peter, I’ll be going to an auction myself soon, and I can pick up candlesticks anytime.”

“Now Colonel Baxter, bein’ as it’s you, I don’t mind losing a little money on those sticks. Ain’t they beauties now? You can have the pair of them for seven dollars. Will you take them with you or shall I send them up to the Manor?”

“That’s too much, Peter. You know you got those candlesticks thrown in when you bought that highboy and the gate-leg table.”

Peter Gruff had been so thunderstruck at the Colonel’s correct guess that he had stood open-mouthed, staring, and without a word he had placed the candlesticks on the shelf and began rubbing his hands together in great agitation.

The old furniture dealer was tricky, and Bet wondered now what he was prying around the shop for.

“You won’t need that back room, will you? Maybe you’ll let me store some things here.” He started toward the rear.

“Oh, we are going to use all the rooms. Shirley Williams is going to have a photographic shop in the back room. Maybe you’ll want your picture taken when we open for business.”

The old man started and a look of fear came into his eyes. “What would I want a picture for?” he snarled, watching Bet anxiously, for the last time that Peter Gruff had been photographed was by the police, and that episode he wished forgotten.

“Come in and have a cup of cocoa with us, Mr. Gruff,” invited Shirley.

“Oh yes,” insisted Bet. “Here take this chair!” The girls had led him into the back room, where the young people greeted the old man joyously.

He took the proffered cup, accepted sandwiches and a good helping of chicken and didn’t stop until he had eaten greedily all that was passed him, smacking his lips at each bite.

Joy and Kit got to laughing at the shocking table manners of the old man and had to leave the room.

When he was finally satisfied he began, “Don’t think of handling antiques. No money in them. Once upon a time,” the old man started again, “one could buy a wagon load of them for a dollar and sell maybe one old chair for fifty dollars. Then it was worth while to handle antiques. Why many a time I’ve started out with my wagon full of pots and pans and dishes, and exchanged a new platter that cost me twenty-five cents for a dish that I finally sold for twenty-five dollars.”

No one spoke for a moment. They felt shocked at the old man’s method of working. But he did not notice and went on.

“All the old farmers’ wives wanted things up to date and so they just gave away the old things that had been in the family for a hundred years and got some shiny new stuff.”

Joy and Kit interrupted the conversation by exclaiming: “Oh Bet I think that paint is dry enough so we can put the covering in the show window. Come and see!”

And old Peter Gruff rose with the others, after helping himself to three more sandwiches which he put in his pocket.

Bet and Shirley decided to frame some of the prints in the narrow gilt frames that Colonel Baxter had purchased for them. And in a few minutes they had them in the window.

“Let’s go outside and see what it looks like!” exclaimed Bet excitedly.

The girls walked up and down in front of the store.

“Let’s pretend we’re just walking by on our way down town. Would it attract your eye?” asked Shirley, seriously.

“Not exactly attract,” laughed Bet. “I should say it hits the eye. You can’t pass up that orange window.”

The girls placed their window display very carefully, putting only a few prints in so that they would show up.

“What we should have is a pretty vase or a vanity box or something of that sort to put in with these prints.”

It looked to the girls as if old Peter had come to stay. As Shirley was going through her prints, he noticed the picture of the queen’s fan and became quite excited. “That’s an antique, isn’t it?” he asked.

“Yes, it is a fan that belongs to my father,” answered Bet, annoyed at the old man for interrupting their work.

“Let’s see the fan,” he begged, as if the girls had refused.

“We haven’t got it here; it belongs to Colonel Baxter,” Shirley answered.

But the old man didn’t seem to believe them, for he poked his way into every corner of the shop, and in the dark-room he made a careful search, much to the amusement of the girls.

Then he sat down near Shirley and Bet as they framed more art prints.

“Now what’s them for?” he asked. “Them pictures of birds?”

“Oh we expect to sell them to someone. Don’t you think they’re pretty?”

“Maybe,” said old Pete. “That is somebody might like them. It’s funny what people will buy.”

But Peter Gruff was restless. He had hoped to find the fan and as he saw another print he picked it up and studied it carefully.

“Where did Colonel Baxter get the fan?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” answered Bet. “He has it, that’s all I know.”

Old Peter arose and once more started in a search of the rooms, unwilling to believe that the fan was not hidden in the shop. Wherever the girls wanted to work they stumbled into him.

At last Kit had an idea. “See this lovely picture, Mr. Gruff. It’s only five dollars. Don’t you think you’d like to buy it?”

The old man stammered, “No, no!” but Kit interrupted:

“And even if you don’t want it for yourself, it would make a splendid Christmas present for some of your friends.”

“Pay five dollars for a picture! Why there ain’t a soul in the world that I care five dollars for!”

Peter Gruff left in a hurry. “Five dollars for one little picture!” he muttered to himself. “And such a skimpy frame. Why it’s not worth fifty cents. Such prices! Such robbery!” The old man disappeared into the depths of his musty shop muttering:

“Just because I went in to see what they were up to and ate a little morsel of their lunch, they thought I was going to buy one of their pictures for five dollars! And me with my shop full of the finest colored pictures, handpainted too!” And in his excitement he actually dusted off the top of a table.

“That was a mean trick, Kit Patten, to scare the poor fellow like that. How would you like it?” exclaimed Bob Evans with a serious face.

“Well I tried to be polite at first. I told him it was our busy day and he didn’t pay any attention. And he wouldn’t move: just kept on talking.”

“You’ve broken his heart,” exclaimed Phil dramatically. “His head is bowed with grief.”

“And it ought to be!” stormed Kit, her eyes snapping, her cheeks scarlet. “He’s wasted a full hour of my time.”

The boys shouted with laughter. It was not often that they could succeed in getting Kit nettled. She was so even-tempered that they had almost given up teasing her. Bet, on the contrary was an easy prey, for her temper flared up at a second’s notice.

But just now she was cool and composed: “Oh come on, Kit don’t be silly. There’s enough to do, goodness knows, without you staging a temper fit.”

“Guess you’re right, Bet. I’ll be good.” Kit was all smiles in a minute as she grabbed a dust mop to give the floor another cleaning before the rug was put down.

“I’m tired out completely!” Bob cried suddenly and dropped into the nearest chair.

“Bob Evans,” screamed Joy. “There you’ve gone and ruined my chair. And it took me a good hour to paint it!”

Bob jumped to his feet, “Oh I’m so sorry, Sis. I didn’t see it!”

But even the provoked Joy could not keep from laughing as Bob turned around. His trousers were streaked with paint.

“Oh turn around, Bob! Let’s see you. You look like a winter sunset!” shouted Phil.

“Let us have those pants to frame,” Bet laughed.

“And say Bob, you could go outside and strut up and down the sidewalk and be a walking advertisement for Shirley’s Shop.”

“Now you’ve broken my heart, too!” moaned Bob.

“Then take my advice and go over and weep on Peter’s shoulder, and I, for one, won’t miss you. Making me do all that work over again!”

“Here boys, get to work, you’re only getting into mischief by standing around. Help me with this rug, it isn’t straight.” And the boys jumped to attention at Bet’s order and arranged the rug to suit her.

“There now, isn’t that cozy?” exclaimed Kit. And they all stood back and admired the work that had transformed the old store into a cozy room.

“I think it’s just lovely,” said Bet, with a sigh of happiness.