Dawn OHara, The Girl Who Laughed | Page 3

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DAWN O'HARA THE GIRL WHO LAUGHED
by EDNA FERBER

TO MY DEAR MOTHER WHO FREQUENTLY INTERRUPTS
AND TO MY SISTER FANNIE WHO SAYS "SH-SH-SH!"
OUTSIDE MY DOOR

CONTENTS
I THE SMASH-UP II MOSTLY EGGS III GOOD As NEW IV
DAWN DEVELOPS A HEIMWEH V THE ABSURD BECOMES
SERIOUS VI STEEPED IN GERMAN VII BLACKIE'S

PHILOSOPHY VIII KAFFEE AND KAFFEEKUCHEN IX THE
LADY FROM VIENNA X A TRAGEDY OF GOWNS XI VON
GERHARD SPEAKS XII BENNIE THE CONSOLER XIII THE
TEST XIV BENNIE AND THE CHARMING OLD MAID XV
FAREWELL TO KNAPFS' XVI JUNE MOONLIGHT, AND A NEW
BOARDING HOUSE XVII THE SHADOW OF TERROR XVIII
PETER ORME XIX A TURN OF THE WHEEL XX BLACKIE'S
VACATION COMES XXI HAPPINESS

DAWN O'HARA

CHAPTER I
THE SMASH-UP
There are a number of things that are pleasanter than being sick in a
New York boarding-house when one's nearest dearest is a married
sister up in far-away Michigan.
Some one must have been very kind, for there were doctors, and a
blue-and-white striped nurse, and bottles and things. There was even a
vase of perky carnations-- scarlet ones. I discovered that they had a
trick of nodding their heads, saucily. The discovery did not appear to
surprise me.
"Howdy-do!" said I aloud to the fattest and reddest carnation that
overtopped all the rest. "How in the world did you get in here?"
The striped nurse (I hadn't noticed her before) rose from some corner
and came swiftly over to my bedside, taking my wrist between her
fingers.
"I'm very well, thank you," she said, smiling, "and I came in at the door,
of course."
"I wasn't talking to you," I snapped, crossly, "I was speaking to the
carnations; particularly to that elderly one at the top--the fat one who

keeps bowing and wagging his head at me."
"Oh, yes," answered the striped nurse, politely, "of course. That one is
very lively, isn't he? But suppose we take them out for a little while
now."
She picked up the vase and carried it into the corridor, and the
carnations nodded their heads more vigorously than ever over her
shoulder.
I heard her call softly to some one. The some one answered with a
sharp little cry that sounded like, "Conscious!"
The next moment my own sister Norah came quietly into the room, and
knelt at the side of my bed and took me in her arms. It did not seem at
all surprising that she should be there, patting me with reassuring little
love pats, murmuring over me with her lips against my check, calling
me a hundred half-forgotten pet names that I had not heard for years.
But then, nothing seemed to surprise me that surprising day. Not even
the sight of a great, red-haired, red-faced, scrubbed looking man who
strolled into the room just as Norah was in the midst of denouncing
newspapers in general, and my newspaper in particular, and calling the
city editor a slave-driver and a beast. The big, red-haired man stood
regarding us tolerantly.
"Better, eh?" said he, not as one who asks a question, but as though in
confirmation of a thought. Then he too took my wrist between his
fingers. His touch was very firm and cool. After that he pulled down
my eyelids and said, "H'm." Then he patted my cheek smartly once or
twice. "You'll do," he pronounced. He picked up a sheet of paper from
the table and looked it over, keen-eyed. There followed a clinking of
bottles and glasses, a few low-spoken words to the nurse, and then, as
she left the room the