Coming Up Roses by Alice Duncan Page A

kid,
then, and teach him some manners. Miss Gilhooley isn’t accustomed
to being mauled by uncouth brats.”
    “ Oh, now, Mr. May, please . .
.”
    Disregarding Rose’s protest, H.L. scowled at
the now furious father.
    “ What do you mean, manhandling my boy
like that?”
    H.L. leaned toward the man. “What do you
mean, allowing the kid to attack Miss Gilhooley?”
    Rose tried again. “But . . .”
    Disregarding Rose in his turn, the father
hollered, “He didn’t attack her!”
    The two boys drew back. The one who’d made
the dash for Rose looked as if he was feeling guilty about his
misdeed and ashamed he’d made his father angry. Rose judged him to
be around seven years old, but he was upset enough that he stuck a
thumb in his mouth. From the expression in his big, scared eyes,
Rose guessed this was a behavior he only resorted to when he was
under extreme duress. Her heart softened. Poor little tyke.
    Since the idiotic men were busy shouting
insults at each other, Rose decided to deal with the children
herself. Stepping away from the combatants, she smiled sweetly at
the boys and knelt, giving scant thought to her new yellow-checked
gingham skirt. Holding out a hand, she said, “Hello, there. My name
is Miss Gilhooley. I think you might have seen me ride in the Wild
West. Is that so?”
    The dasher, his brown eyes huge, nodded. The
other boy, younger by perhaps a year, whispered, “Yes’m.”
    “ Would you like to have a souvenir of
the Wild West?”
    Both children nodded.
    “ You interfering scoundrel, you had no
right to touch my child!”
    “ Your child had no right to attack a
woman on the street!”
    “ He didn’t attack her, and this isn’t a
street!”
    Rose shook her head, marveling at the
relative insanity of adult human males, and dipped into the small
handbag she had decided to carry with her on her outing with H.L.
She withdrew two small rosettes with blue ribbons dangling from
them. They were advertising pieces with her Wild West name, Wind Dancer , printed in gold
lettering on the ribbons.
    Buffalo Bill had created them for this exact
purpose. He claimed that you never could predict when you’d have an
opportunity to advertise the Wild West, and children loved to wear
blue ribbons. He maintained they made them feel important, and Rose
had never found a reason to disbelieve him. She supposed the idea
had originated with Annie Oakley and the championship shooting
medals she always wore during her performances.
    Although Rose normally handed out the ribbons
after a show, she always carried some with her, just in case. She
was glad for her decision to do so as she held two of them out to
these children now. She’d never used them to calm little boys whose
fathers had become embroiled in shouting matches with a newspaper
reporters before. Rather sourly she told herself she might have
expected H.L. May to get her involved in a dispute. It was just
like him.
    The ribbons worked wonders on the boys,
however. The colonel would have been proud. The children, their
eyes growing bright and losing their fearful cast, walked up to
Rose. The dasher’s thumb popped out of his mouth, and he reached
for a ribbon with a damp hand. The other boy grinned hugely as he
took his.
    “ Let me help you pin them on,” she
offered.
    When the larger of the boys moved up a step,
she asked, “What’s your name?”
    “ Jesse Lee Wojinski, ma’am.” He fairly
glowed as Rose pinned the rosette on the lapel of his sailor
suit.
    “ There you go, Jesse Lee.” Rose turned
to the smaller boy. “And what’s your name, sweetheart?”
    The little boy blushed scarlet. “Ernie James
Wojinski.”
    She thought they were both adorable. “Here’s
your blue ribbon, Ernie James.” Rose pinned a rosette on his lapel,
too.
    The two children had stood to attention as
Rose attached their ribbons. When she was finished, she stood back
and beamed down at them. “There, now. You look just like—like
Colonel Cody