rogue! You traitor! Jo, how could you?” cried the three girls, as Snodgrass led her friend triumphantly forth and, producing both a chair and a badge, installed him in a jiffy.
“The coolness of you two rascals is amazing,” began Mr. Pickwick, trying to get up an awful frown and only succeeding in producing an amiable smile. But the new member was equal to the occasion, and rising, with a grateful salutation to the Chair, said in the most engaging manner, “Mr. President and ladies—I beg pardon, gentlemen—allow me to introduce myself as Sam Weller, the very humble servant of the club.”
“Good! Good!” cried Jo, pounding with the handle of the old warming pan on which she leaned.
“My faithful friend and noble patron,” continued Laurie with a wave of the hand, “who has so flatteringly presented me, is not to be blamed for the base stratagem of tonight. I planned it, and she only gave in after lots of teasing.”
“Come now, don’t lay it all on yourself. You know I proposed the cupboard,” broke in Snodgrass, who was enjoying the joke amazingly.
“Never mind what she says. I’m the wretch that did it, sir,” said the new member, with a Welleresque nod to Mr. Pickwick. “But on my honor, I never will do so again, and henceforth devote myself to the interest of this immortal club.”
“Hear! Hear!” cried Jo, clashing the lid of the warming pan like a cymbal.
“Go on, go on!” added Winkle and Tupman, while the President bowed benignly.
“I merely wish to say, that as a slight token of my gratitude for the honor done me, and as a means of promoting friendly relations between adjoining nations, I have set up a post office in the hedge in the lower corner of the garden, a fine, spacious building with padlocks on the doors and every convenience for the mails, also the females, if I may be allowed the expression. It’s the old martin-house, but I’ve stopped up the door and made the roof open, so it will hold all sorts of things, and save our valuable time. Letters, manuscripts, books, and bundles can be passed in there, and as each nation has a key, it will be uncommonly nice, I fancy. Allow me to present the club key, and with many thanks for your favor, take my seat.”
Great applause as Mr. Weller deposited a little key on the table and subsided, the warming pan clashed and waved wildly, and it was some time before order could be restored. A long discussion followed, and everyone came out surprising, for everyone did her best. So it was an unusually lively meeting, and did not adjourn till a late hour, when it broke up with three shrill cheers for the new member. No one ever regretted the admittance of Sam Weller, for a more devoted, well-behaved, and jovial member no club could have. He certainly did add “spirit” to the meetings, and “a tone” to the paper, for his orations convulsed his hearers and his contributions were excellent, being patriotic, classical, comical, or dramatic, but never sentimental. Jo regarded them as worthy of Bacon, Milton, or Shakespeare, and remodeled her own works with good effect, she thought.
The P. O. was a capital little institution, and flourished wonderfully, for nearly as many queer things passed through it as through the real post office. Tragedies and cravats, poetry and pickles, garden seeds and long letters, music and gingerbread, rubbers, invitations, scoldings, and puppies. The old gentleman liked the fun, and amused himself by sending odd bundles, mysterious messages, and funny telegrams; and his gardener, who was smitten with Hannah’s charms, actually sent a love letter to Jo’s care. How they laughed when the secret came out, never dreaming how many love letters that little post office would hold in the years to come!
Chapter 11
EXPERIMENTS
“The first of June! The Kings are off to the seashore tomorrow, and I’m free! Three months’ vacation—how I shall enjoy it!” exclaimed Meg, coming home one warm day to find Jo laid upon the sofa in an unusual state of exhaustion, while Beth took off her dusty boots, and Amy made lemonade for the refreshment of the whole party.
“Aunt March went today, for which, oh be joyful!” said Jo. “I was mortally afraid she’d ask me to go with her. If she had, I should have felt as if I ought to do it, but Plumfield is about as festive as a churchyard, you know, and I’d rather be excused. We had a flurry getting the old lady off, and I had a fright every time she spoke to me, for I was in such a hurry to be through that I was uncommonly helpful and sweet, and feared she’d find it impossible to part from me. I quaked till she was fairly in the carriage, and had a final fright, for as it drove off, she popped out her head, saying, ‘Josyphine, won’t you—?’ I didn’t hear any more, for I basely turned and fled. I did actually run, and whisked round the corner where I felt safe.”
“Poor old Jo! She came in looking as if bears were after her,” said Beth, as she cuddled her sister’s feet with a motherly air.
“Aunt March is a regular samphire, is she not?” observed Amy, tasting her mixture critically.
“She means vampire, not seaweed, but it doesn’t matter. It’s too warm to be particular about one’s parts of speech,” murmured Jo.
“What shall you do all your vacation?” asked Amy, changing the subject with tact.
“I shall lie abed late, and do nothing,” replied Meg, from the depths of the rocking chair. “I’ve been routed up early all winter and had to spend my days working for other people, so now I’m going to rest and revel to my heart’s content.”
“Hum!” said Jo; “that dozy way wouldn’t suit me. I’ve laid in a heap of books, and I’m going to improve my shining hours reading on my perch in the old apple tree, when I’m not having l—”
“Don’t say ‘larks!’ ” implored Amy, as a return snub for the “samphire” correction.
“I’ll say ‘nightingales’ then, with Laurie. That’s proper and appropriate, since he’s a warbler.”
“Don’t let us do any lessons, Beth, for a while, but play all the time and rest, as the girls mean to,” proposed Amy.
“Well, I will, if Mother doesn’t mind. I want to learn some new songs, and my children need fitting up for the summer. They are dreadfully out of order and really suffering for clothes.”
“May we, Mother?” asked Meg, turning to Mrs. March, who sat sewing in what they called “Marmee’s corner.”
“You may try your experiment for a week and see how you like it. I think by Saturday night you will find that all play and no work is as bad as all work and no play.”
“Oh, dear, no! It will be delicious, I’m sure,” said Meg complacently.
“I now propose a toast, as my ‘friend and pardner, Sairy Gamp,’ says. Fun forever, and no grubbage,” cried Jo, rising, glass in hand, as the lemonade went round.
They all drank it merrily, and began the experiment by lounging for the rest of the day. Next morning, Meg did not appear till ten o’clock. Her solitary breakfast did not taste nice, and the room seemed lonely and untidy, for Jo had not filled the vases, Beth had not dusted, and Amy’s books lay scattered about. Nothing was neat and pleasant but “Marmee’s corner,” which looked as usual. And there Meg sat, to “rest and read,” which meant to yawn and imagine what pretty summer dresses she would get with her salary. Jo spent the morning on the river with Laurie and the afternoon reading and crying over The Wide, Wide World up in the apple tree. Beth began by rummaging everything out of the big closet where her family resided, but getting tired before half done, she left her establishment topsy-turvy and went to her music, rejoicing that she had no dishes to wash. Amy arranged her bower, put on her best white frock, smoothed her curls, and sat down to draw under the honeysuckle, hoping someone would see and inquire who the young artist was. As no one appeared but an inquisitive daddy-long-legs, who examined her work with interest, she went to walk, got caught in a shower, and came home dripping.
At teatime they compared notes, and all agreed that it had been a delightful, though unusually long day. Meg, who went shopping