Two

Preparations for a children’s party usually give far more trouble to the or-ganizers than an entertainment devised for those of adult years. Food ofgood quality and suitable alcoholic refreshment—with lemonade on theside, that, to the right people, is quite enough to make a party go. It maycost more but the trouble is infinitely less. So Ariadne Oliver and herfriend Judith Butler agreed together.

“What about teenage parties?” said Judith.

“I don’t know much about them,” said Mrs. Oliver.

“In one way,” said Judith, “I think they’re probably least trouble of all. Imean, they just throw all of us adults out. And say they’ll do it all them-selves.”

“And do they?”

“Well, not in our sense of the word,” said Judith. “They forget to ordersome of the things, and order a lot of other things that nobody likes. Hav-ing turfed us out, then they say there were things we ought to haveprovided for them to find. They break a lot of glasses, and other things,and there’s always somebody undesirable or who brings an undesirablefriend. You know the sort of thing. Peculiar drugs and—what do they callit?—Flower Pot or Purple Hemp or L.S.D., which I always have thoughtjust meant money; but apparently it doesn’t.”

“I suppose it costs it,” suggested Ariadne Oliver.

“It’s very unpleasant, and Hemp has a nasty smell.”

“It all sounds very depressing,” said Mrs. Oliver.

“Anyway, this party will go all right. Trust Rowena Drake for that. She’sa wonderful organizer. You’ll see.”

“I don’t feel I even want to go to a party,” sighed Mrs. Oliver.

“You go up and lie down for an hour or so. You’ll see. You’ll enjoy itwhen you get there. I wish Miranda hadn’t got a temperature—she’s sodisappointed at not being able to go, poor child.”

The party came into being at half past seven. Ariadne Oliver had to ad-mit that her friend was right. Arrivals were punctual. Everything wentsplendidly. It was well-imagined, well-run and ran like clockwork. Therewere red and blue lights on the stairs and yellow pumpkins in profusion.

The girls and boys arrived holding decorated broomsticks for a competi-tion. After greetings, Rowena Drake announced the programme for theevening. “First, judging of the broomstick competition,” she said, “threeprizes, first, second and third. Then comes cutting the flour cake. That’ll bein the small conservatory. Then bobbing for apples—there’s a list pinnedupon the wall over there of the partners for that event—then there’ll bedancing. Every time the lights go out you change partners. Then girls tothe small study where they’ll be given their mirrors. After that, supper,Snapdragon and then prize giving.”

Like all parties, it went slightly stickily at first. The brooms were ad-mired, they were very small miniature brooms, and on the whole the dec-orating of them had not reached a very high standard of merit, “whichmakes it easier,” said Mrs. Drake in an aside to one of her friends. “Andit’s a very useful thing because I mean there are always one or two chil-dren one knows only too well won’t win a prize at anything else, so onecan cheat a little over this.”

“So unscrupulous, Rowena.”

“I’m not really. I just arrange so that things should be fair and evenly di-vided. The whole point is that everyone wants to win something.”

“What’s the Flour Game?” asked Ariadne Oliver.

“Oh yes, of course, you weren’t here when we were doing it. Well, youjust fill a tumbler with flour, press it in well, then you turn it out in a trayand place a sixpence on top of it. Then everyone slices a slice off it verycarefully so as not to tumble the sixpence off. As soon as someone tumblesthe sixpence off, that person goes out. It’s a sort of elimination. The lastone left in gets the sixpence of course. Now then, away we go.”

And away they went. Squeals of excitement were heard coming fromthe library where bobbing for apples went on, and competitors returnedfrom there with wet locks and having disposed a good deal of water abouttheir persons.

One of the most popular contests, at any rate among the girls, was thearrival of the Hallowe’en witch played by Mrs. Goodbody, a local cleaningwoman who, not only having the necessary hooked nose and chin whichalmost met, was admirably proficient in producing a semi-cooing voicewhich had definitely sinister undertones and also produced magicaldoggerel rhymes.

“Now then, come along, Beatrice, is it? Ah, Beatrice. A very interestingname. Now you want to know what your husband is going to look like.

Now, my dear, sit here. Yes, yes, under this light here. Sit here and holdthis little mirror in your hand, and presently when the lights go out you’llsee him appear. You’ll see him looking over your shoulder. Now hold themirror steady. Abracadabra, who shall see? The face of the man who willmarry me. Beatrice, Beatrice, you shall find, the face of the man who shallplease your mind.”

A sudden shaft of light shot across the room from a step-ladder, placedbehind a screen. It hit the right spot in the room, which was reflected inthe mirror grasped in Beatrice’s excited hand.

“Oh!” cried Beatrice. “I’ve seen him. I’ve seen him! I can see him in mymirror!”

The beam was shut off, the lights came on and a coloured photographpasted on a card floated down from the ceiling. Beatrice danced about ex-citedly.

“That was him! That was him! I saw him,” she cried. “Oh, he’s got alovely ginger beard.”

She rushed to Mrs. Oliver, who was the nearest person.

“Do look, do look. Don’t you think he’s rather wonderful? He’s like EddiePresweight, the pop singer. Don’t you think so?”

Mrs. Oliver did think he looked like one of the faces she daily deploredhaving to see in her morning paper. The beard, she thought, had been anafterthought of genius.

“Where do all these things come from?” she asked.

“Oh, Rowena gets Nicky to make them. And his friend Desmond helps.

He experiments a good deal with photography. He and a couple of pals ofhis made themselves up, with a great deal of hair or sideburns or beardsand things. And then with the light on him and everything, of course itsends the girls wild with delight.”

“I can’t help thinking,” said Ariadne Oliver, “that girls are really verysilly nowadays.”

“Don’t you think they always were?” asked Rowena Drake.

Mrs. Oliver considered.

“I suppose you’re right,” she admitted.

“Now then,” cried Mrs. Drake—“supper.”

Supper went off well. Rich iced cakes, savouries, prawns, cheese and nutconfections. The eleven-pluses stuffed themselves.

“And now,” said Rowena, “the last one for the evening. Snapdragon.

Across there, through the pantry. That’s right. Now then. Prizes first.”

The prizes were presented, and then there was a wailing, banshee call.

The children rushed across the hall back to the dining room.

The food had been cleared away. A green baize cloth was laid across thetable and here was borne a great dish of flaming raisins. Everybodyshrieked, rushing forward, snatching the blazing raisins, with cries of“Ow, I’m burned! Isn’t it lovely?” Little by little the Snapdragon flickeredand died down. The lights went up. The party was over.

“It’s been a great success,” said Rowena.

“So it should be with all the trouble you’ve taken.”

“It was lovely,” said Judith quietly. “Lovely.”

“And now,” she added ruefully, “we’ll have to clear up a bit. We can’tleave everything for those poor women tomorrow morning.”