Belles on their Toes

lied.
    "I don't think my insurance covers this."
    "It probably does," she laughed weakly, "if you have an act-of-God clause."
    A block from the house, we saw Fourteen. The cab stopped, Tom called, and there was a streak of orange as the cat dived into his lap and then perched on his shoulder.
    "Look at that," Tom crowed, all of his complaints forgotten. "She was waiting on us. Smartest cat I ever seen, bar none."
    "Are there any other passengers or livestock we are supposed to pick up?" the driver asked.
    "No," Anne told him sheepishly.
    "No cows, goats, or other children?"
    "No."
    "You sure we got them all?"
    "Yes."
    "And may one inquire where the destination is at?"
    "Oh, excuse me," said Anne. "The Lackawanna station."
    "I thought maybe it was Overbrook. You know, the Funny Farm."
    "No," Anne said meekly. "The Lackawanna station, please."
    She leaned back in the seat and tried to adjust Jane a little more comfortably on her lap. She closed her eyes and thought of Mother, now safe in England. She thought of previous trips, when we had driven to New Bedford and taken the Nantucket boat from there. She thought of Dad—strong, gay, and dependable—sitting behind the wheel of our old Pierce Arrow, blowing his bulb horns and shouting "road hog" at the drivers who swerved for their lives as we went barreling by in a cloud of smoke.

    From Anne's standpoint, at least, the remainder of the trip to Nantucket had only about half the earmarks of a howling success—the howling half.
    The hubbub of the night-boat dock demoralized Mr. Chairman, and he yapped, howled, and had to be dragged stiff-legged along the dock and to the gangplank.
    Every two or three steps, Frank would stop and bat him to try to keep him quiet, but the wallops only made Mr. Chairman yap and howl all the louder.
    Tom, with Fourteen and the bird cage under one arm and a bulging wicker suitcase under the other, kept shouting threats about how he'd dose the dog good if it didn't shut up.
    Each of the older children held the hand of his particular younger charge, and carried a suitcase. Martha discouraged eager porters, who came running to meet us, by telling them we were too poor to afford them.
    By the time we single-filed up the gangplank, which Martha negotiated almost on her knees, the rails were lined with grinning spectators. Anne and Ernestine looked straight ahead, pretending not to notice, but the rest of us waved and grinned back.
    "Carry your bags?" said a porter who was coming down the gangplank from the ship.
    "No," shouted Frank, who sometimes read College Humor , "let them walk."
    That was the sort of joke that appealed to Tom, and he laughed deafeningly, through his nose as always. "Henc, henc, henc, henc," he cackled. "That's a hot one."
    The purser was so engrossed by our entrance that he made no pretense of checking to see whether we had enough full-fare tickets. He did insist, though, that Mr. Chairman and Fourteen be checked with the freight, down in the hold. All through the night you could hear Mr. Chairman complaining about that.
    We were allowed to keep the birds, and they ended up in Anne's stateroom, where she shared the lower berth with Jane, while Fred and Dan shared the upper. Anne wouldn't let either Jane or Dan drink any liquids after six o'clock, but the inevitable occurred anyway.
    It wasn't until the following morning, when we had transferred at New Bedford to the Nantucket boat, that Anne discovered Morton Dykes.
    Morton was an Amherst man, and a sheik whom Anne rated high on her hit caravan. He was very tall—six feet seven or eight—and thin, but quite good looking in his patent-leather hair and Oxford bags. He and Anne had had a good many dates that spring, while she was at Smith. We had often heard her talk about him, but never had seen him before.
    It wasn't necessary to check animals with the freight on the Nantucket boat. Morton bumped into Anne on the upper deck, where all of us—including the birds, dog, and cat—were gathered.
    Bumped is the word, because it soon became apparent that, so far as Morton was concerned, the meeting was not only unpremeditated and unrehearsed, but undesired.
    "For goodness' sake," said Anne, trying to straighten out her dress, which had been rumpled beyond repair by Jane, "Look who's here. Hello, Morton."
    "Hello," Morton almost whispered, edging away as if Anne had something he didn't want to catch. "Good to see you."
    "Good to see you, too," said Anne enthusiastically. When