“Yes, she makes me think of the German girls, she looks so fresh and quiet, and dances like a lady.”
Jo quite glowed with pleasure at this boyish praise of her sister, and stored it up to repeat to Meg. Both peeped and criticized and chatted till they felt like old acquaintances. Laurie’s bashfulness soon wore off, for Jo’s gentlemanly demeanor amused and set him at his ease, and Jo was her merry self again, because her dress was forgotten and nobody lifted their eyebrows at her. She liked the “Laurence boy” better than ever and took several good looks at him, so that she might describe him to the girls, for they had no brothers, very few male cousins, and boys were almost unknown creatures to them.
“Curly black hair, brown skin, big black eyes, handsome nose, fine teeth, small hands and feet, taller than I am, very polite, for a boy, and altogether jolly. Wonder how old he is?”
It was on the tip of Jo’s tongue to ask, but she checked herself in time and, with unusual tact, tried to find out in a roundabout way.
“I suppose you are going to college soon? I see you pegging away at your books—no, I mean studying hard.” And Jo blushed at the dreadful “pegging” which had escaped her.
Laurie smiled but didn’t seem shocked, and answered with a shrug, “Not for a year or two; I won’t go before seventeen, anyway.”
“Aren’t you but fifteen?” asked Jo, looking at the tall lad, whom she had imagined seventeen already.
“Sixteen, next month.”
“How I wish I was going to college! You don’t look as if you liked it.”
“I hate it! Nothing but grinding or skylarking.w And I don’t like the way fellows do either, in this country.”
“What do you like?”
“To live in Italy, and to enjoy myself in my own way.”
Jo wanted very much to ask what his own way was, but his black brows looked rather threatening as he knit them, so she changed the subject by saying, as her foot kept time, “That’s a splendid polka! Why don’t you go and try it?”
“If you will come too,” he answered, with a gallant little bow.
“I can’t; for I told Meg I wouldn‘t, because—” There Jo stopped, and looked undecided whether to tell or to laugh.
“Because what?” asked Laurie curiously.
“You won’t tell?”
“Never!”
“Well, I have a bad trick of standing before the fire, and so I burn my frocks, and I scorched this one, and though it’s nicely mended, it shows, and Meg told me to keep still so no one would see it. You may laugh, if you want to. It is funny, I know.”
But Laurie didn’t laugh; he only looked down a minute, and the expression of his face puzzled Jo when he said very gently, “Never mind that; I’ll tell you how we can manage: there’s a long hall out there, and we can dance grandly, and no one will see us. Please come.”
Jo thanked him and gladly went, wishing she had two neat gloves, when she saw the nice, pearl-colored ones her partner wore. The hall was empty, and they had a grand polka, for Laurie danced well, and taught her the German step, which delighted Jo, being full of swing and spring. When the music stopped, they sat down on the stairs to get their breath, and Laurie was in the midst of an account of a students’ festival at Heidelbergx when Meg appeared in search of her sister. She beckoned, and Jo reluctantly followed her into a side room, where she found her on a sofa, holding her foot, and looking pale.
“I’ve sprained my ankle. That stupid high heel turned and gave me a sad wrench. It aches so, I can hardly stand, and I don’t know how I’m ever going to get home,” she said, rocking to and fro in pain.
“I knew you’d hurt your feet with those silly shoes. I’m sorry. But I don’t see what you can do, except get a carriage, or stay here all night,” answered Jo, softly rubbing the poor ankle as she spoke.
“I can’t have a carriage without its costing ever so much. I dare say I can’t get one at all, for most people come in their own, and it’s a long way to the stable, and no one to send.”
“I’ll go.”
“No, indeed! It’s past nine, and dark as Egypt. I can’t stop here, for the house is full. Sallie has some girls staying with her. I’ll rest till Hannah comes, and then do the best I can.”
“I’ll ask Laurie; he will go,” said Jo, looking relieved as the idea occurred to her.
“Mercy, no! Don’t ask or tell anyone. Get me my rubbers,y and put these slippers with our things. I can’t dance any more, but as soon as supper is over, watch for Hannah and tell me the minute she comes.”
“They are going out to supper now. I’ll stay with you; I’d rather.”
“No, dear, run along, and bring me some coffee. I’m so tired, I can’t stir!”
So Meg reclined, with rubbers well hidden, and Jo went blundering away to the dining room, which she found after going into a china closet, and opening the door of a room where old Mr. Gardiner was taking a little private refreshment. Making a dart at the table, she secured the coffee, which she immediately spilled, thereby making the front of her dress as bad as the back.
“Oh, dear, what a blunderbuss I am!” exclaimed Jo, finishing Meg’s glove by scrubbing her gown with it.
“Can I help you?” said a friendly voice. And there was Laurie, with a full cup in one hand and a plate of ice in the other.
“I was trying to get something for Meg, who is very tired, and someone shook me, and here I am in a nice state,” answered Jo, glancing dismally from the stained skirt to the coffee-colored glove.
“Too bad! I was looking for someone to give this to. May I take it to your sister?”
“Oh, thank you! I’ll show you where she is. I won’t offer to take it myself, for I should only get into another scrape if I did.”
Jo led the way, and as if used to waiting on ladies, Laurie drew up a little table, brought a second installment of coffee and ice for Jo, and was so obliging that even particular Meg pronounced him a “nice boy.” They had a merry time over the bonbons and mottoes, and were in the midst of a quiet game of “Buzz,” with two or three other young people who had strayed in, when Hannah appeared. Meg forgot her foot and rose so quickly that she was forced to catch hold of Jo, with an exclamation of pain.
“Hush! Don’t say anything,” she whispered, adding aloud, “It’s nothing. I turned my foot a little, that’s all,” and limped upstairs to put her things on.
Hannah scolded, Meg cried, and Jo was at her wits’ end, till she decided to take things into her own hands. Slipping out, she ran down and, finding a servant, asked if he could get her a carriage. It happened to be a hired waiter who knew nothing about the neighborhood and Jo was looking round for help when Laurie, who had heard what she said, came up and offered his grandfather’s carriage, which had just come for him, he said.
“It’s so early! You can’t mean to go yet?” began Jo, looking relieved but hesitating to accept the offer.
“I always go early—I do, truly! Please let me take you home. It’s all on my way, you know, and it rains, they say.”
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That settled it; and, telling him of Meg’s mishap, Jo gratefully accepted and rushed up to bring down the rest of the party. Hannah hated rain as much as a cat does so she made no trouble, and they rolled away in the luxurious closed carriage, feeling very festive and elegant. Laurie went on the box so Meg could keep her foot up, and the girls talked over their party in freedom.
“I had a capital time. Did you?” asked Jo, rumpling up her hair, and making herself comfortable.
“Yes, till I hurt myself. Sallie’s friend, Annie Moffat, took a fancy to me, and asked me to come and spend a week with her when Sallie does. She is going in the spring when the opera comes, and it will be perfectly splendid, if Mother only lets me go,” answered Meg, cheering up at the thought.
“I saw you dancing with the redheaded man I ran away from. Was he nice?”
“Oh, very! His hair is auburn, not red, and he was very polite, and I had a delicious redowaz with him.”
“He looked like a grasshopper in a fit when he did the new step. Laurie and I couldn’t help laughing. Did you hear us?”
“No, but it was very rude. What were you about all that time, hidden away there?”
Jo told her adventures, and by the time she had finished they were at home. With many thanks, they said good night and crept in, hoping to disturb no one, but the instant their door creaked, two little nightcaps bobbed up, and two sleepy but eager voices cried out—
“Tell about the party! tell about the party!”
With what Meg called “a great want of manners,” Jo had saved some bonbons for the little girls; and they soon subsided, after hearing the most thrilling events of the evening.
“I declare, it really seems like being a fine young lady, to come home from the party in a carriage and sit in my dressing gown with a maid to wait on me,” said Meg, as Jo bound up her foot with arnicaaa and brushed her hair.
“I don’t believe fine young ladies enjoy themselves a bit more than we do, in spite of our burned hair, old gowns, one glove apiece, and tight slippers that sprain our ankles when we are silly enough to wear them.” And I think Jo was quite right.