Kit Kittredge: An American Girl Page #2

Why, he's a nice boy.

He's a horrible boy. He just didn't want|to have to do that paper.

Mother, look. She's all alone.

Oh. Poor thing.

"Grace. Can't feed her anymore."

Can we take her?

Wha...? No.

She can be my birthday present for this year|and next year...

...and forever.

I'm sorry, sweetheart.

Wha...? What's that, Grace?

- Ha-ha-ha.|Mm-hm. Mm-hm.

Okay, I'll tell her.

She said she'll be very quiet|and only eat scraps...

- Mm-hm.|- And be the very best dog...

...you could ever hope to have.

Can we at least bring her home|for one teeny-weeny meaningless night?

How can you say no to that face?

Mother.

Please, please, please.

All right, but one night only.

She said yes. She said yes.|You're coming home.

I'll take care of you. Don't worry.

Help! Stop him!

Help, stop, stop him.|Help!

Stop him. Police.|What happened?

Did you see that? In broad daylight.

- He took my wallet.|- Are you all right?

Yes, ma'am.|- What color was your wallet?

It was red. My son made it for me.

Did you see that tattoo on his arm?

It was odd. Something like a bird, maybe.

It was so fast,|I didn't really get to see it all.

All I noticed was that he was a hobo.

Get your dog.

I had a late lunch today, Margaret.

Save it for leftovers.

- Uncle Hendrick, more meatloaf?|- Thank you, no.

I'll tell you this, Jack, keep supporting|your president and his New Deal...

...and you'll see what'll happen|to this country.

Your own son quit college.

Well, he didn't quit. He postponed.|Right, Dad?

To join one of these newfangled programs.

CCC is a great program, Hendrick.|Charlie is building parks and fixing roads...

And sending money home|because business is a little slow.

There's no shame|in families helping each other.

Hmm.

Hard to think of you this way, Margaret.

Saving leftovers.

We like leftovers.

- I should be leaving.|- Oh, no. Please. Stay longer.

Ha-ha-ha.|You think I'm the voice of doom, Jack.

But I'll tell you this.|When people live beyond their means...

...in houses that are too big|for their pockets...

What's that noise?

Oh, you haven't met our newest addition,|Grace.

She's normally very quiet,|Uncle Hendrick.

Except for when she snores.|And the drool.

It seems to me the last thing you need|is another mouth to feed.

Well, luckily, she doesn't eat very much.

Come on, Grace. Come on.

Good girl.

Shouldn't you fellows be getting on back|to wherever it is you live?

Yes, sir.

What's the capital of North Dakota?|Quick.

Bismarck.

Make sure your mother|doesn't work too hard.

I can't believe that none of|these people have money for food.

You come over here and chop that bread up|for everybody...

...back of the line, right there.

- Would you like some bread?|Thanks, sweetheart.

Excuse me.

Dad.

Tried.

How is she?

Uh, she's... She's up in the tree house.

Kit.

Kit, I know you're up there.

I understand if you're angry with me...

...or, uh, embarrassed.

Please come down, sweetheart.|I'd like to explain.

Kit.

Kit.

Why were you there, Dad?

The bank took the car dealership.

- Ruthie's father did that to us?|- Kit.

This isn't personal.

Are we gonna lose the house?

We're gonna be fine.

Where's our car?

Daddy.

We're gonna be okay.

Hey, Kit, your father good enough|to eat at the soup kitchen? Ha, ha!

Just ignore them.

And now Kit will probably start|raising chickens, selling eggs...

...and wearing feed-sack dresses,|just like Frances did.

What's a feed-sack dress?

It's a dress made out of the bag|that chicken feed comes in.

Are you really gonna wear one, Kit?

Sure she will.|Right after her family starts selling eggs.

We're not egg sellers.

And then it's just one step|before the poorhouse.

Come get your chicken and|your eggs from Kit Kittredge. Bock, bock!

You're all a bunch of freeloaders.

Why don't you come over here|and say that to my face, Roger.

Okay. You're all a bunch of freeloaders!

What's that you've got behind you?

Got any eggs? Bock, bock, bock!

How much for the eggs, Roger?

Bock, bock, bock!|Look at Mr. Feather Pants.

Ha-ha-ha!|- And how's our mural...

...coming?

But, Mother, it was Roger's fault.|- Oh, Kit.

Please don't take everything|people say so personally.

Everyone's in trouble these days.

In fact, we've had to move|your things into the attic.

The attic? Why?

Your mother and I have decided|we're gonna take in boarders.

Boarders? Like...

...strangers?

That are gonna come and live in our house|and eat our food and sit on our sofa?

There's no shame in it, honey.

Lots of people are doing it to get by.

We're not gonna start selling eggs,|are we?

Ha, ha. We hadn't planned on it.

This is only temporary, sweetheart,|I promise.

You know...

...once I get to Chicago...

...I'll find a good-paying job,|just as quick as you can say "Plymouth."

Chicago?

What? You're leaving?

- I have some good leads in...|- No.

- No.|- Kit.

You said we were going to be okay.

We're not okay if we're not together.

Ah.

Don't let it beat you, Kit.

You know, when I was about 14...

...my dad traded some old farm equipment|for a used Model t.

One time I was cranking it, to start it...

...and the crank broke in half.

Car kind of groaned,|and it just died right in our front yard.

I wanted to junk the darn thing|when my dad walked in...

...and he said,|"Don't let it beat you, son."

Don't let it beat you.

Drove it for five more years after that.

So whether it's an old Model t...

...or a typewriter ribbon...

...or going to Chicago to find work...

...we can't let it beat us, sweetheart.

Come on.

It's time for bed.

What if you don't come back?

I, Jack Kittredge...

...do solemnly swear...

...that I will write you once a week.

And that there is nothing in this world...

...that could ever keep me|from coming back to you.

Do you promise, Dad?

Really promise?

I do.

Gwanga, gwanga, galoolie...

Kariba, kariba, kariv.

I love you, Dad.

- I love you.|- I love you too, sweetheart.

Bye.

June 17th, 1934. Dear Dad.

Thanks for the letter. We miss you too|and hope you're finding work in Chicago.

Here at home, things are hopping.

School's out, and I can't call my friends|because the phone's been disconnected.

No phone?

So now all I do is clean|and sweep and fold...

... and iron and wipe and cook.

And fold and clean and sweep and iron|and wipe and cook some more.

My grand plans for being a real reporter|are kind of on the back burner.

Don't get me wrong, Dad.|I'm not complaining. I'm just...

... well, complaining.

The house is chock-full of boarders,|which keeps us pretty busy.

Mrs. Howard and her son, Stirling,|moved into my bedroom.

We're almost there, lamby.

Lamby.

It's going to be strange|having a boy from my class living here.

But I guess I'll get used to it.

Mother moved into the sewing room|so we can squeeze in another border.

I thought that was very clever of her.

Now your room belongs to Miss Dooley...

... a dance instructor|who likes to practice her steps out back.

Though, I'm not at all sure|Mrs. Howard approves.

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