Welcome to Scribd, the world's digital library. Read, publish, and share books and documents. See more
Standard view
Full view
of .
Save to My Library
Look up keyword
Like this
0 of .
Results for:
No results containing your search query
P. 1
Dont Cry Baby (Diary Secrets #16)

Dont Cry Baby (Diary Secrets #16)

Ratings: (0)|Views: 253|Likes:
Published by Douglas McIntosh
A babysitter tries to attract her mate with the power of art. Things do not go as planned.
A babysitter tries to attract her mate with the power of art. Things do not go as planned.

More info:

Published by: Douglas McIntosh on Jun 04, 2011
Copyright:Public Domain


Read on Scribd mobile: iPhone, iPad and Android.
download as PDF, TXT or read online from Scribd
See more
See less





Don’t Cry Baby (Diary Secrets #16)
"Don’t cry,baby!"That was the one refrain I’d masteredduring my career as a baby sitter. Of course, baby siting doesn’t exactly plunge you into the upper income tax brackets butit has some advantages, particularly for agirl of my age. You can study and eat while you work, and, best of all, the baby some-times turns out to be the possessor of a big,broad-shouldered brother – like George, tobe more specific.George Holland had been studying com-mercial art at night and that’s why I got the job of sitting with his baby brother every now and then. Sure, it would have beenmore fun to have sat with George but youhave to do these things by degrees.Maybe, because I was a baby sitter,George figured me to be even younger thanI really was. Men have queer ideas aboutage anyhow. George was decent enoughthe few times he saw me but no sparkscame out of our small talk. Just casualfriends, that’s all.Goodness knows I tried my best. Hismother, Mrs. Holland, frowned on makeupso I hardly used a drop. Just enough tomake sure that George knew I was a girl,not a wooden Indian. I remember askinghim about his school one night.What sort of things are you drawingnow?" I asked casually."Oh, different things," he answered in abrush-off tone.I didn’t give up that easily. Boldly, I won-dered out loud whether he would draw my portrait. "Some other time," he yawnedand I knew I’d lost the first round.I knew that George went out with someof the girls, at his art school and for a while I toyed with the idea of entering theclasses myself. "Aw, that’d be too obvious,"I had to admit to my inner self, and besides,I probably wouldn’t even be in his class."There was nothing to do but sit and sit andsit some more – with the baby brother, of course.Then I got a brainstorm. Artists are born,not made, I had heard over and over again.I rushed out and bought myself a com-plete outfit of paints and oils and brushes.Everything but a beret. Naturally, it costme more than I earned at the Hollands ina month but I was determined follow my plan through. Wait until George sees my  work, I chortled.21
This was all hush-hush. I practiced in the woods on Sundays and even managed toget near a famous painter for his advice.He was very encouraging so I kept it up.George knew nothing about all this, which was just dandy as far as I was concerned.The Hollands may have been surprisedat my lugging a huge case in with me thenext night of my baby sitting but they saidnothing. I had all my equipment and couldhardly wait to hear their car drive off. Theevening was my personal property.I must have worked feverishly that night.I wanted my masterpiece finished beforeGeorge came home. He usually got inaround midnight. What was I going topaint? The baby, of course. A real portrait,if ever there was one.The baby cooperated to a certain extent.I wiggled my brush every time I saw theslightest sign of a whine or a wail. Gradu-ally, the canvas was filled with the pink ink infant in all his glory, right down to thatlittle curl that slipped over his forehead. I was very proud of my artistic streak.I laid down my brushes and looked atmy handiwork. I could hug myself for joy at what I’d accomplished. Let George justsee this! At that instant the door bell rangand, leaving everything in its place, I fairly rushed It answer it. Best news of all, it wasGeorge."Hello, George," I smiled.George was a bit bewildered by my ea-gerness. Maybe he knew something wasup. Anyhow all he said was "Hya," in a non-committal voice as he sauntered into thehouse.George, I’ve a surprise for you," I gushedteasingly, my voice betraying a slight ner- vousness. He looked at me in some won-derment. “What can this fool be up to?” hemay have been asking himself.“Come on, I’ll show you!He was re-ally puzzled as I led him towards the baby’sroom. What greeted it as we approachedI’ll never forget if I live to be a thousand.We both saw the situation at a glancebut George was the one who wasn’t soparalyzed that he couldn’t move. I sim-ply froze with fear. The baby was howlingand the cause was right at hand. My paintset had been overturned and the tot’s facesmudged with paint. George was grand, asI said, in the emergency.Well have to fix everything up beforemy folks get home," he whispered as he worked to it extricate the baby from thepaint and the cumbersome set as well. AsGeorge labored I tearfully saw the messthat had been made of my portrait, the onethat I wanted so much for George to see.George’s parents never did know whathappened that night because everything was in ship-shape order by die time they came in. I really don’t know what Georgethinks of my artistic talents but he certainly saved my reputation as a baby sitter. Asan added bonus to my pride, he suggestedthat I attend art school with him saying hecould fix it so I’d be in his class. I jumpedat the chance as you might expect and havecome to love George’s little baby brothermore than ever.22

You're Reading a Free Preview

/*********** DO NOT ALTER ANYTHING BELOW THIS LINE ! ************/ var s_code=s.t();if(s_code)document.write(s_code)//-->