# Half a Dozen Boys/Chapter 4
### CHAPTER IV.
#### THE OTHER BOYS.

Bess was in her element.
“Cousin Bess,” Rob had said that morning, “may some of us boys come up to-night, or will we be in the way?”
“Not a bit of it!” replied Bess heartily; “I wish you would. Who are coming?”
“Oh, just the regular crowd, Ted and Phil and Bert and Sam. The boys wanted me to ask if we might, for fear you’d be out, or busy, or something.”
That afternoon the first flakes of a snowstorm were falling, as Bess started to make her usual pilgrimage to Fred, and by evening it lay over all things soft and white.
“I am afraid your boys won’t come,” said Mrs. Carter, as they sat lingering over their dinner. “It is too bad, when you are all ready for your candy-pull.”
“Don’t you worry,” predicted Bess, as she ​slyly dropped a morsel in front of the nose of Fuzz, who for once lay asleep. “It will take more than this snow to keep those boys away, unless Teddy has one of his colds and can’t come. I wish Fred could have been here.”
“Why didn’t you have him?” asked her mother.
“Have him!” echoed Bess. “It is easy to say ‘have him,’ but except for half a dozen drives, he has refused to go out at all; and he won’t see any of the boys but Rob. Poor Rob tries to be very devoted, but I dimly suspect Fred is occasionally rather cross.”
“Who could blame him?” said Mrs. Carter.
“Rob takes it very meekly,” Bess went on, as she slowly peeled an orange. “Fred never shows that side to me, but I think it is there. But it is really scandalous the way Mrs. Allen goes on. Fred is left to himself the whole time, just when he needs so much help physically, mentally, and morally.”
“I wish you could have him all the time, Bess,” said her mother. “You are good for him, and he enjoys you.”
Let’s adopt him, mother! He’s splendid ​material to work on, and I would take him in a minute if I could. Think of me with an adopted son!” And Bess drew herself up with an air of majesty as she began to devour her orange. Suddenly she laughed.
“I was so amused the other day, Saturday it was, when I went down to Fred’s in the afternoon. I was later than usual, and Rob happened to be there ahead of me. You know I always go right in without stopping to ring, and that day, as I went, I heard loud voices in the back parlor. I went in there, and found that the boys had evidently been having a quarrel, for Fred had turned his back to Rob, and was decidedly red in the face; while Rob sat there, the picture of discomfort, his face pale, but his eyes fairly snapping. He departed as soon as I went in, and neither boy would tell me what was the trouble. Fred said he didn’t feel well, and didn’t want to see Rob, any way. I offered to go away too, but he wouldn’t allow that.”
“What did Rob say for himself?” asked Mrs. Carter.
“He said he supposed Fred was angry at ​something he had said in fun. He was quite distressed over it, and offered to apologize, but I advised him to just wait a few days till Fred recovered from his tempers.”
“Much the best way,” assented Mrs. Carter. “Fred mustn’t grow tyrannical. Here come the boys.”
It was a needless remark, for at that moment there was heard a sudden chattering of young voices, the sound of ten feet leaping up the steps, and the laughter and stamping as the boys shook off the snow. Fuzz darted to the door, barking madly, while an echo from without took up his voice and multiplied it fivefold. Bess picked up the wriggling little creature, who was carried off by Mrs. Carter; then she admitted her young guests, who came in all talking at once.
“Such a deep snow!”
“Five or six inches, at least!”
“I tell you, that fire looks dandy!”
“Phil fell down just below Bob’s gate.”
“Good evening. Miss Bessie. So jolly of you to let us come!”
“I am ever so glad to have you care to ​come, boys. But come right in to the fire and dry those wet feet. Phil, I am glad to see you wore rubber boots.”
“They’re all full of snow where I fell down,” answered Phil, as he struggled to pull them off. “Here, Bob, help a fellow, will you?”
And the boots came off with a jerk, while a shower of half-melted snow proved the truth of his statement.
As the lads drew their chairs to the fire and prepared to toast their toes, a moment must be given up to glancing at them, as they sit recounting to their hostess their varied experiences in the storm.
At her left hand sat Phil Cameron, a short, slight, delicate-looking boy of thirteen, whose gray eyes, large mouth, pug nose, and freckled face laughed from morning till night. Everybody liked Phil, and Phil liked everybody in return. His invariable good temper, and a certain headlong fashion he had of going into the interest of the moment, made him a favorite with the boys; while his elders admired him for his charming manners and his wonderful soprano voice, for he and Rob had the best ​voices in the little village choir. Though not overwhelmed with too much conscience, Phil was a thoroughly good boy, and one that his teachers and older friends petted without knowing exactly why they did so.
Beyond him sat his great friend and boon companion in all their athletic games, Bert Walsh, the doctor’s son, a lad whose poet’s face, with its great, liquid brown eyes, and whose slow, deliberate speech, gave mo indication of the force of character that lay below. Like Phil, he was fond of all out-of-door sports, but, unlike him, he was fond of books as well. A strong character, emphatic in its likes and dislikes, Bert’s finest trait was his high sense of honor, that was evident in his every act.
On the other side of Bess was the minister’s son, Teddy Preston, the oldest of eight children, a frank, healthy, happy boy, good and bad by turns, but irresistible even in his naughtiness. Brought up in a home where books and magazines were always at hand, though knees and toes might be a little shabby, Ted had contrived to pick up a vast amount of information about the world at large; and, added to that, he had ​the happy faculty of telling all he knew. With an easy assurance he slipped along through life, never embarrassed, and taking occasional well-merited snubs so good-naturedly that his friends might have regretted giving them had they not known only too well that they slid off from his mind like the fabled water from a duck’s back. A year younger than Phil, his yellow head towered far above him, and he outgrew his coats and trousers in a manner entirely incompatible with the relative sizes of the family circle to be clothed, and of the paternal salary. But Ted never minded that. He carried off his shabby clothes as easily as Bert did his perfectly fitting suits, and seemed in no way concerned about the difference.
A year older than any of the other lads was Sam Boeminghausen, a short, sturdy boy, a real German, blond, phlegmatic, and good-humored. But his light blue eyes had a look of determination that suggested that the day might come when Sam would be something or somebody. His father had recently made a large fortune in Western cattle-ranching, and, as yet, the family had not entirely adapted ​themselves to their new surroundings. Sam's grammar was erratic, and his expensive garments had the look of being made for another and a larger boy. But time would change that, and under the careless speech and rough manners Bess could see the possibilities of a glorious manhood.
On the floor at Bessie's feet sat our old friend Rob, poking the fire with the tongs. The light fell on his fine, soft, brown hair, delicate skin, and great, laughing dark eyes. Rob was the descendant of a long line of refined ancestors, a real little gentleman, and he showed it from the perfect nails on his small slim hands, brown as berries though they were, to the easy position in which he now sat, with one foot curled under him. A gentle, shy boy, affectionate and easily managed, he was an inveterate tease, and full of a quiet fun that sparkled in his eyes and laughed in his dimples.
But while we have been gazing at the five lads, all so different from one another, there was a sudden burst of applause as Bess rose, saying,—
"Now, boys, if you are all dry, I am going ​to invite my company out into the kitchen. What do you say to making molasses candy and popcorn balls? It is just the night for it.”
“That’s just dandy!” exclaimed Ted, springing up with a force that sent his chair rolling back some inches.
“Ted, if you talk slang I sha’n’t give you any to eat,” said Bess laughingly. “But come, boys.” And she led the way into the large kitchen, where her mother soon followed them with five large gingham aprons in which she proceeded to envelop the lads, in spite of their derisive comments.
“I am not going to have you spoil your clothes, children, for then your mothers will scold us. Now, if I can’t help you, Bess, I am going to stay with Fuzz; and I leave you to do your worst.”
“Don’t go, Mrs. Carter,” implored Ted, and the others echoed him; but Mrs. Carter was not to be bribed, even by Phil’s noble offer to let her do his share of the work.
“I will eat your share of the candy, Phil, but I am going to stay with Mr. Carter and Fuzz. I’ll come and look at you by and by.” And, ​drawing her white shawl around her, she was gone.
Bess quickly divided her forces. Rob and Ted were set to shelling the corn, while Phil and Bert scorched it and their faces at the same time. The impressive duty of stirring the molasses she reserved for herself, assisted at times by Sam.
For a short time all went well. But just as the bright new pan was nearly full of the white kernels, and the molasses was beginning to show its threads, a sudden determined bark was heard at the door, and the scratching of two active little paws. Then followed the sound of Mrs. Carter’s voice in warning tones,—
“Fuzzy mustn’t scratch the doors! No, no! Grandma ’pank.”
An instant’s pause was succeeded by a fresh onslaught on the door by the small delinquent who scorned “grandma’s” threats, having learned from past experiences that patience would carry the day.
“It’s Fuzz,” said Rob. “Can’t I let him in, Cousin Bess?”
“I wouldn’t, Rob; he will be so in the way.”
​Another assault followed, while the boys laughed irreverently as Mrs. Carter’s voice was again heard, protesting,—
“Come here, Fuzz! Come to grandma! Mustn’t scratch! Come play ball!”
“You’d better let him come,” said Bert, as he waved the corn-popper to and fro.
“I suspect I shall have to, if we are to get any peace. But you must all promise not to give him one bit of the candy if he comes; it always makes him sick. Now promise.”
“Yes, yes,” said the boys.
Rob, who was through with his labors, went to open the door, and Fuzz came rushing into the midst of the group, growling, squealing, and wagging his tail in his delight at having conquered, as usual.
Suddenly there was a crash, a yelp, and a cry of rage from Ted. The boys had set the full pan of corn into a chair. Fuzz, liking the flavor of popcorn as well as any boy, had gone to get some; and, standing with his forefeet on the edge of the dish, to eat at his leisure, he had tipped the pan, corn and all, over on the top of his curly head.
​“Never mind, the floor looks clean. We’ll pick it up,” said Phil consolingly.
So the four boys dropped on their knees and began to collect the scattered kernels, eating industriously the while; and Bess, yielding the spoon to Sam, made futile attempts to catch Fuzz, who frisked about, now on Rob's back, now rubbing back and forth under Ted's nose.
The candy was finished and set out in the snow to cool, while ten hands were washed and buttered, ready to make the corn-balls and to pull the candy. Fuzz, meanwhile, had wandered back to the parlor.
“This is fine!” said Bert, scientifically rolling the balls into shape. “But what ails yours, Sam?”
“I don’t know,” replied that youth, as he patted and poked at a mass that insisted on sticking to his fingers, but obstinately refused to hold itself together. “It won’t stick to itself half as much as it does to me.”
“Why don’t you throw it away and start fresh?” was Phil’s suggestion.
“I can't. It won’t throw.” And the boys ​shouted, for Sam’s tone was discouragement itself.
“Did you put enough butter on?” queried Bess, who stood at the other side of the room, working with Rob and Phil.
“Butter—No! I forgot to use any,” replied Sam, with an accent of mild disgust.
“Isn’t that candy outside ’most cold?” asked Ted anxiously. “I am afraid it will be covered up in the snow.”
“I'll go see,” said Bert, extricating himself.
He went outside, but reappeared announcing, “It’s cool,” as he displayed one of the platters in proof of his statement. “Isn’t there another dish, Miss Bess?”
“Two more, Bert, one platter and the little deep plate. You know there was just a little left, and I put it in there. They are right where the other was.”
“I’ll go and help him look,” and Sam departed, glad of a chance to scrape off the sticky compound on his fingers.
The platter soon came to light, but the boys reported the small plate as missing.
“I don't see where it can have gone,” said ​Bess. “But never mind. Come in before you freeze, boys.”
The next moment, screams of hysterical laughter were heard from the parlor, and Mr. Carter opened the kitchen door, saying,—
“Just see here a minute.”
The boys ran into the next room, and Bess followed, to find Mrs. Carter lying back in her chair, while tears of mirth ran down her cheeks. Before her sat Fuzz, the image of dejection and shame, with the long, soft locks about his nose and mouth smeared and stiffened with the fast-drying molasses until they resembled so many dingy spines. As the boys came in, with a sheepish wag of his tail, he sat up straight and deprecatingly waved two little forepaws, one of which was caught and held fast in the missing dish of candy.
As soon as any one could speak, the mystery was explained. Fuzz had teased to go out of doors, and his master, not thinking of the candy, had let him have his own way. He found the candy, promenaded across the small platter once or twice, and then settled himself for a feast, unmindful of the fact that, while he ​was eating, one paw, resting on the soft candy in the little dish, was rapidly sinking down into it. By the time his appetite was satisfied, the cold had hardened the candy until the foot was held fast. Just then he heard Bert coming out, and, with a startled yelp and a clatter, Master Fuzz guiltily fled, plate and all, to the front steps, where his master had let him in. While Bess and the boys finished the candy, now almost too hard to pull, Mrs. Carter took the dog in hand and, after many trials, succeeded in freeing him from his trap.
Then five sticky but very happy lads, each with a piece of adhesive candy, settled themselves around the fire once more, with Bess in their midst.
“Only half an hour more we can stay,” sighed Ted, who was luxuriously seated in the wood-basket. “It’s been an immense lark, Miss Bess!”
“Yes,” said Phil, trying to let go of his candy, while he put on the slipper that Rob had just knocked from his toe where he was balancing it, “this is the best fun I’ve had since Christmas.”
​“Is it still snowing?” asked Bess.
“Yes,” said Bert. “It will spoil all the skating. The snow has held off so long, but it has come to stay.”
“It will be just dandy coasting, though,” said
Ted.
“Teddy,” interrupted Bess, “if you say ‘dandy’ again. I’ll take your candy away from you. I’ll tell you, boys, let’s form an anti-slang society; I really think you use too much for the parlor. It is well enough if you must have a little on the ball-field, but I don’t like it in the house, so much of it.”
“But, Miss Bess,” urged Phil, “if we use it in our games we can’t stop, and the first we know it just comes out, whatever we are doing.”
“Then drop it entirely, if it must be so. You boys don’t want to hear me say, ‘I’ll bet,’ and ‘dandy,’ and ‘bully,’ now do you?”
“I hain’t never used any of them words,” said Sam, raising his head with a proud consciousness of innocence.
Ted and Phil glanced at each other, and Rob's eyes looked wicked, but he never moved a muscle.
​It was Bert who came to the rescue.
“What a shame Fred couldn’t be here, Miss Bess! We fellows miss him awfully.”
“I’ll tell him you said so, Bert. He will be glad enough to know it, for he has such a dread of his old place getting filled, as time goes on.”
“Why didn’t he come?” asked Phil, turning his corn-ball from side to side, to see where to take the next bite.
“I knew it would be no use to ask him,” Bess replied. “I think you boys would be so good for him, but he dreads to see you.”
“I went there twice,” remarked Ted from his basket, “but the girl said he had told her not to let any one see him but you and Bob. He was such a jolly lad that I just want to see him again. Has he changed any. Miss Bessie?”
“Very little, Ted,” answered Bess. “Now, if you will get up long enough to let me have a stick for the fire, then I propose we have some games while you stay. What shall it be?”
Dumb crambo carried the day, and Bess, Ted, and Rob were chosen as actors. In the midst of an elaborate dental scene, where Rob extracted a tooth with the tongs, and filled ​another with hammer and chisel, the clock struck nine, and Sam started up.
“I must go home,” he said reluctantly.
“Must you go, Sam?” asked Bess, and Ted added,—
“Oh, stay just ten minutes more. We’ll be through this word then.”
“I’d like to,” said Sam wistfully, “but I told father I’d leave at nine. You boys can stay if you want to, but I must go.”
“I am sorry you have to leave us, Sam,” said Bess; “but you are right, if you promised your father. Are you all going?” For the others had trooped to the door.
“I must,” said Bert, and the others joined him.
There was a great sorting-out of overcoats and hats, and Phil’s feet were with difficulty stowed away in his rubber boots.
“Good-night, Miss Bess; I’ve had a dandy time,” said Ted, with a wink.
“You have given us a very pleasant evening,” said Sam, with a flourish that was intended to be easy and graceful; while Phil added,—
“Tell Fred to come next time.”
​“Good-night! good-night!” screamed a chorus, as they darted out into the snow, where Phil at once stumbled and fell into a drift, from which he was pulled by Rob and Bert.
Bess returned to the parlor fire and sat down on the rug, while Fuzz, his paw now freed from his candy, climbed into her lap and imprinted sticky caresses on her nose. As she sat there, thinking over her boys, her mother joined her.
“Well, Bessie, has it been a success?”
“I should think so! How funny the boys are! Ted will wear me out with his constant ‘dandy;’ that is his great word now. But Rob is the boy of them all. Mother, next time I’ll have Fred here, if I have to bring him by force.”
“I wish you could. Would it do any good to ask him up here for a day or two? I shouldn’t mind him in the least, and it might be a change for him.”
“I wish he would come. That house is the worst place for him. His parents neglect him, the servants coddle him, and he tyrannizes over them all. He needs a good, wholesome, everyday atmosphere.”
​“Try to get him to come, then,” said Mrs. Carter. “I really should like to have him here, and if you can give the time to him, it will be real mission work.”
“I’ll try,” said Bess, “but I fear me. Oh, mother!” And, lying back on the rug, she laughed hysterically.
“Well?”
“That Sam Boeminghausen will be the death of me! To-night he had a piece, a large piece of candy in his hand when I passed the corn-balls. Instead of taking one in his other hand, he coolly replied: ‘Just wait till I git this down.’ And he actually kept me standing there while he deliberately devoured his candy.”
“Bess!”
“It’s a fact, and I was left speechless.”
“After all,” said Mrs. Carter meditatively, “I rather like the boy’s idea. He was going to make a ‘clean sweep,’ as Teddy would say, and not have any scraps left over. And I did think his going home when he wanted so much to stay was really heroic.”
A yelp from Fuzz cut short the conversation.