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Updated: June 11, 2025
The boys call him 'Elizabeth, and they stop him and ask about the books he lets on to have read, and he goes and tells them, and they take it all in and jolly him terribly, and he never gets onto the fact they're kidding him. Oh, I think it's just TOO funny!" The Jolly Seventeen laughed, and Carol laughed with them. Mrs. Jack Elder added that this Erik Valborg had confided to Mrs.
From behind the dimness of the windshield a voice, annoyed, sharp: "Hello there!" She realized that it was Kennicott. The irritation in his voice smoothed out. "Having a walk?" They made schoolboyish sounds of assent. "Pretty wet, isn't it? Better ride back. Jump up in front here, Valborg." His manner of swinging open the door was a command.
Carol was exceeding sick. Her herald from the outside was Erik Valborg, "Elizabeth." Apprentice tailor! Gasoline and hot goose! Mending dirty jackets! Respectfully holding a tape-measure about a paunch! And yet, she insisted, this boy was also himself. They had Sunday dinner with the Smails, in a dining-room which centered about a fruit and flower piece and a crayon-enlargement of Uncle Whittier.
"Here's the one person I can trust!" Carol rejoiced. Vida was serious but affectionate. She bustled at Carol with, "Oh, there you are, dearie, so glad t' find you in, sit down, want to talk to you." Carol sat, obedient. Vida fussily tugged over a large chair and launched out: "I've been hearing vague rumors you were interested in this Erik Valborg.
Gurrey that he would "love to design clothes for women." Imagine! Mrs. Harvey Dillon had had a glimpse of him, but honestly, she'd thought he was awfully handsome. This was instantly controverted by Mrs. B. J. Gougerling, wife of the banker. Mrs. Gougerling had had, she reported, a good look at this Valborg fellow. She and B. J. had been motoring, and passed "Elizabeth" out by McGruder's Bridge.
Cy Bogart wants to go he's a brat but he's lively." "I don't think the doctor can go," sedately. "He said something about having to make a country call this afternoon. But I'd love to." "That's dandy! Who can we get?" "Mrs. Dyer might be chaperon. She's been so nice. And maybe Dave, if he could get away from the store." "How about Erik Valborg?
Carol saw him being profuse to the guest from Wakamin. She saw him confidentially strolling with Myrtle. She burst out to Mrs. Westlake, "Valborg and Myrtle seem to have quite a crush on each other." Mrs. Westlake glanced at her curiously before she mumbled, "Yes, don't they." "I'm mad, to talk this way," Carol worried.
"Yes." "I'm Adolph Valborg, from up by Jefferson. I'm Erik's father." "Oh!" He was a monkey-faced little man, and not gentle. "What you done wit' my son?" "I don't think I understand you." "I t'ink you're going to understand before I get t'rough! Where is he?" "Why, really I presume that he's in Minneapolis." "You presume!"
"My name is Elizabeth. I'm the celebrated musical tailor. The skirts fall for me by the thou. Do I get some more veal loaf?" merrily shrieked Dave Dyer. He had some admirable stories about the tricks the town youngsters had played on Valborg. They had dropped a decaying perch into his pocket. They had pinned on his back a sign, "I'm the prize boob, kick me."
Carol did not heed Aunt Bessie's fussing in regard to Mrs. Robert B. Schminke's bead necklace and Whittier's error in putting on the striped pants, day like this. She did not taste the shreds of roast pork. She said vacuously: "Uh Will, I wonder if that young man in the white flannel trousers, at church this morning, was this Valborg person that they're all talking about?" "Yump. That's him.
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