Belles on their Toes

Martha," said Frank.
    "Ast Frank," said Bill.
    "I don't know why I work here," Tom shook his head dully. "Seventeen years with the family, and when I start to get a little old they try to poison me. A hundret and twenty million people in the country, and I got to be the one who works here."
    "No," said Anne. "Don't drink it, Tom. It was only a joke, and not a very good one, I guess. We're sorry, Tom."
    Tom stepped back with dignity, favored us with a withering glance, and drained his glass. Then he stalked out of the room, descended to the kitchen, and returned with the bottle of castor oil and a spoon. He handed them to Ernestine, and he didn't forget to bow.
    "Here, Doochess," he said. "I know who put him up to it. I seen that guilty look. I ain't deef, you know. I ain't blind. Now you get the rest of them to take their medicine, like the doctor said."
    He left the room again, only this time he backed out, bowing, curtsying, and grasping his forelock.
    Ernestine tried to hand the bottle to Anne, but Anne wouldn't take it.
    "It's your responsibility," Ernestine said. "You're the oldest."
    "Tom's right," Anne replied. "I seen that guilty look too, Doochess, so it's up to you. I delegate the responsibility."

4
COMPLETELY DEAD

    Martha was red haired, freckled, and oblivious to the fact that within the last year she had grown tall, slender, and curvy—very curvy. The realization was to come in time—about the time that the freckles, with considerable prompting from Martha, started to disappear.
    But for the moment she preferred blue serge bloomers to skirts, middie blouses to sweaters, and bicycles to rumble seats.
    Martha was casual, easy going, steady, and a favorite with everybody. Efficiency came to her naturally, partly because of her temperament, partly because she was at the age when the mere mention of work had a depressing effect. If possible, work was to be avoided altogether. If not, it was to be disposed of as rapidly as possible, and with a minimum of fatigue. Hence, efficiency.
    She had just finished her sophomore year in high school, during which she had broken Anne's and Ernestine's previous records by carrying home her own books less than a dozen times. She accepted male carriers matter-of-factly, without attributing their attention to anything going on under her very nose. Our house was almost two miles from Montclair High School, and Anne and Ernestine used to say that Martha selected her gentlemen friends solely on their ability to carry heavy weights for long distances.
    We recovered from chicken pox in a comparatively short time, and Martha took over the job of supervising the packing for Nantucket. She had Frank and Bill bring three trunks from the attic to the upstairs hall. We carried our clothes to her, and she made sure we had everything we needed before she let us put them in the trunks. Martha herself was established in a comfortable chair, and didn't have to move.
    To simplify the matter of logistics, Martha had drawn up a number of check-off lists, from which she seemed to derive more than her share of satisfaction. Martha usually was on the receiving end of orders from Anne and Ernestine, and it was a special pleasure for her to have an opportunity to boss them now.
    "Name!" she began by asking Anne, when Anne appeared in the hall with a pile of her own clothes. "Speak out loudly so I can hear you."
    "My cow," Anne replied. "It's all right to be efficient, but don't carry it too far."
    "Do you," said Martha, offering to hand her the check-off lists, "want to supervise the packing?"
    Anne admitted she didn't.
    "Then be good enough, please, just to answer a few simple questions. Name!"
    "Paavo Nurmi, the Flying Finn," Anne told her. "Age, eighteen. Hobbies, taking orders and impudence from a mere slip of a girl."
    "Speak out loudly so I can hear you," Martha said, thumbing through her papers and coming up with Anne's check-off sheet.
    "Oh, what's the use," Anne snorted. And then, shouting, answered: "Anne."
    "Good," Martha beamed. "Dresses?"
    "Six."
    Martha made a note of it. "Bathing suit?"
    "Sure does, Mr. Bones. Suits just fine."
    "Speak out loudly so I can hear you."
    "One," Anne hollered. "You're so efficient, I'll bet you're rocking with the grain of the wood."
    After running through the complete list, all the way from hairpins to shoe trees, Martha directed Anne where to stow her clothes. Then the rest of us, by ages, stepped up, gave our names, and went through the same