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Show OUR OUTING. BY MARY KYLE DALLAS. Sally Jane and I had calculated on having an outing for quite a considerable time, but one thing or another kept putting it off, and so it got to be June before Sally Jane and I got a chance for our holiday. But one Monday, as we were helping with the starched things, Sally Jane said to me: "Jemmy," (my name is Jemima, but it's such a solemn name for common use that I'm always called Jemmy. "Jemmy, today's washday, and tomorrow is ironing day, and Wednesday finishing up, and Thursday baking, and Friday sweeping day, but don't yu think we could get old Mrs. Ruby to come over and scrub Saturday, and have or outing then?" So I considered a minute, and said: "Well, Sally, I shouldn't wonder." So we settled that we would. "For, Said Sally, "if a body don't see the world now and then, a body gets sort o' stupid, and don't have anything to talk about, and can't hold their own in company; and as we had fifteen dollars we'd made out of pot-cheese, why, we felt independent and wouldn't be obliged to ask anyone for anything, which is a great comfort to two single young women, living with an uncle as close and careful with this money and Uncle Jeffries is. That night I told Aunt Jeffries that Sally and I were going to take our outing on Saturday and go to New York, and she looked solemn, and said, in a loud whisper to nobody in a way she has that makes you think of ghosts: "When I was a gal, young women were keepers at home and not gadders about;" but I just poked Sally under the table with my foot, not to say anything, and we both knew that, old as she was, Aunt Jeffries went out ten times to our one. As for Uncle Jeffries, he only said he hoped we'd remember traveling came expensive; but when I told him we'd saved up what we needed out of the pot-cheese which he gave us to dress on, he brightened up and said he supposed, since we were so forehanded, we'd bring him home a present of a dozen new handkerchiefs, especially as he was going to lose our services for the day. We had hired Mrs. Ruby ourselves, but we didn't make any remark. Old gentlemen air peculiar, poor things, and uncle took us in when pa and ma died, you know, and we hadn't married off early. So that was settled. We were to take our outing Sturday, and to be up, bright and early, to take the stage for the five o'clock train. It's singular how news flies. Before Tuesday night everybody in the county seemed to have found out wee were going to New York, and folks began to call in with commissions for us. Mrs. Potter wanted a new muslin, and Pamela Potter wanted none yards of sky blue ribbon, and old Mrs. Jack wanted a new crepe vail, and Martha Hack a Japanese umbrella, and Miss Guild, the minister's sister, she wanted ten copies of "Advice to Young Gals" for the ten best Sunday scholars at vacation, and some lawn for her brother's cravats/ And so they kept coming in, one after the other, and I think Emma Prinker was the last. She only wanted us to call at her brother's office and get a hat in a box that was to be left there for her. We intended to get ourselves two white muslins, or white with needle stripes of blue or buff, and two straw bonnets and ribbon. That would leave us just enough for a pair of black mits [mitts] each and our fares and a mice New York lunch, and go and see a show of some kind. We thought it would be the museum. We made out a long list of what they wanted us to buy, for fear we we'd forget something, and started off in the stage at half past four Saturday morning. It was a mighty hot day - seemed to get more'n more broiling every hour. The stage was bad enough, but when we got to the cars we roasted. If you opened the window you got cinders in your eyes. And naturally New York wasn't very cool. The streets were like bake ovens, and the stores were as cool as if they were air-tight. "Dear me, Jemmy," said Sally Jane to me, "if it wasn't for all this shopping, I should say the best thing we could do was to go straight to the coolest place we could find and take ice-cream and soda-water; but we've got to get this buying off our minds." "I should think we had," said I, "We've got forty-eight purchases to make, half of ‘em to match goods." And I gave a little groan, for matching is something I do despise: and I've despised it more since that day. The stores were just open when we got to town, and it was half past three o'clock before we finished our last matching; both of us were loaded down, and we hadn't so much as thought of our own muslins, nor our bonnets, though we had bought uncle his handkerchiefs and aunt some calico. "Through at last, Jemmy," said Sally Jane, looking at me over the top of her pile of bundles; "and I'm afraid it's too late to see any show, or to get our muslins and ribbons. We can suit ourselves pretty well at the store at home, I suppose. We could go over and spend the rest of the afternoon and take tea with Cousin Betsy, though." "That's a good idea," I said. "It will rest us. And we haven't seen cousin Betsy for a year - Not since - Why, what's the matter, Sally Jane?" And I stopped short, for she was staring at me as if she'd been struck. "What's the matter, Sally?" "We've forgot something," Said Sally. "Emma Prinker's hat-box." "Thank goodness, that won't have to be matched." Said I, cross as could be. "It's at her brother's office. No._ Maiden Lane. "Sally, we're up at Twenty-fifth street - it's an hour's journey. I've a mind to keep on forgetting it." "That won't do. There'd be ill feeling," said Sally; so we carried our bundles into the stage that seemed to us to go nearest to Maiden Lane, and off we went. Nothing happened to us until we got to Maiden Lane, and found No._ and Emma Prinker's brother. He was a crossish looking man, and when we mentioned the box, he said: "Emma wanted I should fetch it up for her - but I struck. I ain't an express; if I was I'd charge for it. It isn't here. I sent the man over with it to Cudlip & Carriers, three doors form the depot; thought she could take it up herself when she came down. I meant to send a postal about it, but I suppose I didn't. He hadn't asked us to sit down, so we stood, and now he walked off without a word more. So away we went up to the depot, and there, to be sure, was Cudlip & Carriers, and in we walked, and said to a young clerk sitting on a box: "Will you please let us have the hat-box that was sent here by Miss Prinker's brother?" "A what? Am ash-box?" asked the clerk. "Hat" said I. "Go and see if there's a hat here for anybody," said the clerk to a little boy. And he went away, and came back and said there wasn't. But pretty soon there came along a real pretty-spoken, nice young man, and after we'd explained he want and inquired. And he came back and said there was a box with Emma Prinker on it. So we thanked him, and he went and brought it. It was a great square thing, made of pine wood, with two iron handles and a big padlock, and marked with great black letters, "Emma Prinker." I looked at sally and she [lines obscured by fold] "You didn't expect such a large box, did you, ladies?" said the polite young gentleman. So I said we didn't, and thanked him. And then we piled our parcels on top of it, and took each handle and walked off with it. New York is full of the sauciest folks. As we walked along Broadway carrying our box, almost everybody that came up behind us would read off the name on the back. "Emma Prinker." And some would say, "I wonder which is Emma," and some, "Wonder what Emma has in that box." And we were glad enough to get o the depot, I can tell you. We hadn't had a bit of anything to eat since four that morning, and we ran straight to the restaurant in the depot and sat down to a table. We ordered some sandwiches and some iced tea and some cream-and it was just put on the table before us then-whang went the great bell, and "Last train for Dillytown!" screamed the man at the gate. "Can't stop to eat," said I. "Pay for it anyhow, Mum," said the waiter. So we paid and flew. We hardly got on the train in time as it was on account of that pesky hat-box of Emma Prinker's which we had to send as freight, and being so dead tired, and missing the stage, we had to hire a wagon to take us home. Sally paid for us, though I wanted to, I found I'd had my pocket picked, where or how, I never could guess. About ten o'clock we got home. Every-body had gone to bed, and uncle said it wasn't seemly for gals to stay out to such an hour, when he let jus in, and aunt called down stairs that "when she was a young, woman that were always gadding wasn't thought well of;" and we hunted up a little cold shortcake, and some milk, and took it up to our own room, and Sally cried; but what I said was what Mr. Prinker had said to me: "I ain't an express-if I was, I'd charge for it." And I made up my mind what to do next time/ But Sally and I don't talk much, and nobody knows what sort of an outing we had, and were spoken of in the family and out of it as very gay young women, who are always going to New ork to enjoy ourselves. If we ever go again, we will. N.Y. Ledger. |