The Middle Moffat (25 page)

Now a murmur was running up the street through the crowds. "Here he comes! Here he comes!" they yelled, craning their necks.

And then the oldest inhabitant really did come, in a shiny black car, nodding slowly to left and to right.

Jane waved lustily. And she cried, "Hurrah for Hannibal B. Buckle!" along with everybody else. She held her present high for him to see, too. So he would know she was not fooling yesterday when she told him she had one for him.

The oldest inhabitant saw her. And he played Hawkshaw, the detective. Imagine! On his one hundredth birthday! And then his limousine rolled on. The shouts of "Hurrah for Hannibal B. Buckle!" were caught up farther along the street, and farther still until they grew fainter and fainter, and now the next band drowned them out.

Jane decided to stay here and watch the rest of the parade go by. Then she would take a shortcut, catch up with the oldest inhabitant's part of the parade, and give him his present at eleven-forty-five on the dot.

Now came the Boy Scouts with their band; the Girl Scouts with theirs; the Campfire Girls; the Naval Reserve boys in the white middy blouses Mama had made for them; the fife-and-drum corps.

Next came the ladies of the Red Cross, the ladies of the Eastern Star, the ladies of P'fessor Fairweather's Browning Society. Jane saw Mrs. Price and waved to her.

Floats were going by now, floats that showed different scenes in the life of the oldest inhabitant.

Then came a great many little girls all dressed in white, and all carrying flowers, and next a great many little boys carrying flags. Last of all came many children who weren't really in the parade but who couldn't help marching. Clara Pringle was dragging Brud in his red express wagon, and Brud was holding a red balloon.

That was the end of the parade, for here came the street cleaners in their white canvas uniforms.

Jane tore through the town and caught up with the parade at Main Street. Since she was not part of this parade, Janey thought she should just walk the way she did in real life, not march. However, she could not help her legs moving up and down in time to the band, and she soon fell into step, marching as close to the oldest inhabitant's automobile as the policeman on the horse would let her.

And now the parade was nearing the Green. Jane looked around. What a crowd! You would hardly recognize the Green. Daisy garlands and flags everywhere. And there was a large sign at the entrance:

CRANBURY IS PROUD OF
HANNIBAL B. BUCKLE

The oldest inhabitant was mounting the grandstand now. Jane looked up at him. Suddenly the church bells rang out, peal after peal. Jane looked at the clock on the church. Eleven-forty-five! He had reached the age of one hundred! A century! Jane looked at him and she looked at her basket. Now was the time to give it to him. But how? All the town dignitaries and the superintendent of schools were surrounding him and shaking hands.

Jane sighed. She would like to give him his present now. She had been holding it so tightly it was really beginning to wilt. Two thistles had gotten lost out of the handle. Jane hoped she had not lost any of the bluets. She went over to the drinking trough thinking a little water would freshen the present. But she quickly darted back to the front line, for the speeches had begun.

The speeches were very short, even Mr. Pennypepper's. Jane was almost sorry when he stopped for he was such a jolly sight when he gave a speech. He rocked from heel to toe, rattled the keys and the coins in his pocket, and fixed his eyes now on the tip-top of the steeple of the church and now on the flag waving on the top of the flagpole.

After he spoke, a very little girl in Room One presented the oldest inhabitant with a huge silver cup, a gift from all the schoolchildren. Jane herself had given a penny toward it. So had Sylvie and Joey and Rufus. Four pennies in all from the four Moffats. Even so, Jane was glad she also had this basket for him. If she could only give it to him.

It was too bad Mr. Pennypepper did not know about the bluets. If he did he might call on her. He had a list in his hands. Now this one, now that one, he called ... but she was not on the list.

Jane ran over to the drinking trough again to revive the wilting bluets. They were still pretty, she decided.

But goodness! A tremendous cheer burst upon the air. The oldest inhabitant himself! He was speaking now. What would he think if she were not there to hear him recite his piece? Jane ducked back and regained her position. Again she held the basket forward. Perhaps he would see it and know it was his.

The oldest inhabitant's voice was very faint and nobody could hear what he said. Jane watched his mouth go up and down and knew he was talking. Nobody really cared whether they heard him or not, though. They only wanted to see him. Jane listened hard all the same. She thought she heard him say her name. She thought she heard him say at the end, "and especially I want to thank Jane, the mysterious middle Moffat, for all she has..." Then Janey could not hear any more. She was embarrassed. He was thanking her and she hadn't even given him anything yet. She looked around to see if anybody else had heard what he said. Apparently not, or they would all be staring at her in surprise.

The oldest inhabitant sat down. And the loudest cheers and applause so far rang out. The band began to play, the church bells pealed, and gradually the crowd broke up.

Now everybody was going to get a piece of cake. It was on a table in front of the white church. The oldest inhabitant was to cut the first slice, of course. Jane thought that then she would surely have a chance to give him his present. So she ducked in and out of the crowd and she finally arrived at the cake. What a birthday cake! Seven stories to it, a hundred blue candles burning on it, and his name, Hannibal B. Buckle, in gold letters.

Hannibal B. Buckle! The oldest inhabitant! But where was he? Jane looked around for him anxiously. Her hand was feeling shriveled and cramped. She would like to change her basket for a piece of this wonderful cake. Thank goodness, she thought, this was not a wedding; not a wedding, but a hundredth birthday party and everybody could eat his cake. They didn't have to sleep on it.

Where was the oldest inhabitant? Jane began to feel guilty. What kind of taking care of the oldest inhabitant was this? While she was ducking around in her efforts to get near this cake, he had become lost in the crowd.

Jane asked herself sternly whether she had really woven her way over here in order to give the oldest inhabitant his birthday present. Or had she had her mind on this wonderful cake?

But at last, accompanied by Mr. Pennypepper and the town selectmen, the oldest inhabitant reached the table. And he cut the first slice of cake! Jane stood right beside him. Now she really did have a chance to give him his present. But suddenly she felt too shy. True, he had played Hawkshaw all year and called her the mysterious middle Moffat. But now he had reached the age of one hundred and all this celebration was for him. Jane held the moist basket in the palm of her hand and wondered what to do with it. She couldn't eat a piece of cake and hold on to it and her flag, too.

"Why..." said the oldest inhabitant, "here is the mysterious middle Moffat. And is that my present?" Jane handed him the basket. At last! It was as easy as that. And he handed her a piece of cake.

"My," said the oldest inhabitant, "this is a nice present. A hundred presents really! Now come along. Party's over. You live on my street. We'll ride home together."

A ride in an automobile! Jane had had a ride in an automobile only three times before in her life. Where were the other Moffats? There was such a crowd she could not see them. She wished they could come, too. Rufus had never had a ride in an automobile.

Jane smoothed her hair and her dress. She was going to ride with Cranbury's most honored citizen. She sucked in her breath. A dignitary! That's just what she would be.

Jane and the oldest inhabitant stepped into the limousine. They waited for Miss Buckle and the driver to come. The oldest inhabitant held his basket on his knees and Jane held her flag.

"Now that you have reached the age of one hundred, do you think you will try for two hundred?" Jane asked

"Yes," he said, "I think so. What do you think?"

"Oh, I would," said Jane. "And they might celebrate that birthday in the Yale Bowl. Maybe then I could be a wave."

The oldest inhabitant nodded. And he nodded practically the whole way home. As they rode along, people waved and cheered. Jane sat scrunched up tight in the back of the seat and looked neither to the left nor the right. She did not want people to think she considered any of this cheering was for her.

Oh! There was Mama! Mama and the rest of the Moffats! They were all looking at her in astonishment. She gave them a quick apologetic wave. She hoped they could see that she wished they were here in this car, having a ride, too. However, to her delight, Mr. Buckle stopped the driver.

"Get in. Get in!" he said to all the Moffats. "We'll all ride home together."

It was lucky this automobile had extra seats. The driver just pulled them out of the floor in front of the backseat. Mama and Sylvie sat on these two seats. Rufus and Joey climbed into the front seat beside the driver, and the driver let Rufus blow the automobile horn at the corners. Jane sat in the middle, between Mr. Buckle and his daughter. She smiled at the oldest inhabitant. He didn't look any different than yesterday, when he was only ninety-nine. Jane felt happy. What a nice way for the big celebration to end, everybody riding in an automobile!

And slowly the limousine rolled home.

Eleanor Estes
(1906–1988) grew up in West Haven, Connecticut, which she renamed Cranbury for her classic stories about the Moffat and Pye families. A children's librarian for many years, she launched her writing career with the publication of
The Moffats
in 1941. Two of her outstanding books about the Moffats—
Rufus M.
and
The Middle Moffat
—were awarded Newbery Honors, as was her short novel
The Hundred Dresses.
She won the Newbery Medal for
Ginger Pye
in 1952.