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diff --git a/1611-0.txt b/1611-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ce4c0d5 --- /dev/null +++ b/1611-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8520 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Seventeen, by Booth Tarkington + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Seventeen + A Tale Of Youth And Summer Time And The Baxter Family Especially William + +Author: Booth Tarkington + +Release Date: February 21, 2006 [EBook #1611] +Last Updated: March 3, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SEVENTEEN *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Keller and David Widger + + + + + +SEVENTEEN + + + +A TALE OF YOUTH AND + +SUMMER TIME AND + +THE BAXTER FAMILY + +ESPECIALLY WILLIAM + + +By Booth Tarkington + + + + +SEVENTEEN + + + + +TO S.K.T. + + + + +CONTENTS + + I. WILLIAM + II. THE UNKNOWN + III. THE PAINFUL AGE + IV. GENESIS AND CLEMATIS + V. SORROWS WITHIN A BOILER + VI. TRUCULENCE + VII. MR. BAXTER'S EVENING CLOTHES + VIII. JANE + IX. LITTLE SISTERS HAVE BIG EARS + X. MR. PARCHER AND LOVE + XI. BEGINNING A TRUE FRIENDSHIP + XII. PROGRESS OF THE SYMPTOMS + XIII. AT HOME TO HIS FRIENDS + XIV. TIME DOES FLY + XV. ROMANCE OF STATISTICS + XVI. THE SHOWER + XVII. JANE'S THEORY + XVIII. THE BIG, FAT LUMMOX + XIX. “I DUNNO WHY IT IS” + XX. SYDNEY CARTON + XXI. MY LITTLE SWEETHEARTS + XXII. FORESHADOWINGS + XXIII. FATHERS FORGET + XXIV. CLOTHES MAKE THE MAN + XXV. YOUTH AND MR. PARCHER + XXVI. MISS BOKE + XXVII. MAROONED + XXVIII. RANNIE KIRSTED + XXIX. ''DON'T FORGET!'' + XXX. THE BRIDE-TO-BE + + + + +SEVENTEEN + + + + +I + +WILLIAM + +William Sylvanus Baxter paused for a moment of thought in front of the +drug-store at the corner of Washington Street and Central Avenue. He had +an internal question to settle before he entered the store: he wished +to allow the young man at the soda-fountain no excuse for saying, “Well, +make up your mind what it's goin' to be, can't you?” Rudeness of this +kind, especially in the presence of girls and women, was hard to bear, +and though William Sylvanus Baxter had borne it upon occasion, he +had reached an age when he found it intolerable. Therefore, to avoid +offering opportunity for anything of the kind, he decided upon chocolate +and strawberry, mixed, before approaching the fountain. Once there, +however, and a large glass of these flavors and diluted ice-cream +proving merely provocative, he said, languidly--an affectation, for he +could have disposed of half a dozen with gusto: “Well, now I'm here, I +might as well go one more. Fill 'er up again. Same.” + +Emerging to the street, penniless, he bent a fascinated and dramatic +gaze upon his reflection in the drug-store window, and then, as he +turned his back upon the alluring image, his expression altered to +one of lofty and uncondescending amusement. That was his glance at the +passing public. From the heights, he seemed to bestow upon the world +a mysterious derision--for William Sylvanus Baxter was seventeen long +years of age, and had learned to present the appearance of one who +possesses inside information about life and knows all strangers and most +acquaintances to be of inferior caste, costume, and intelligence. + +He lingered upon the corner awhile, not pressed for time. Indeed, he +found many hours of these summer months heavy upon his hands, for he had +no important occupation, unless some intermittent dalliance with a +work on geometry (anticipatory of the distant autumn) might be thought +important, which is doubtful, since he usually went to sleep on the +shady side porch at his home, with the book in his hand. So, having +nothing to call him elsewhere, he lounged before the drug-store in the +early afternoon sunshine, watching the passing to and fro of the lower +orders and bourgeoisie of the middle-sized midland city which claimed +him (so to speak) for a native son. + +Apparently quite unembarrassed by his presence, they went about their +business, and the only people who looked at him with any attention were +pedestrians of color. It is true that when the gaze of these fell upon +him it was instantly arrested, for no colored person could have passed +him without a little pang of pleasure and of longing. Indeed, the +tropical violence of William Sylvanus Baxter's tie and the strange +brilliancy of his hat might have made it positively unsafe for him to +walk at night through the negro quarter of the town. And though no man +could have sworn to the color of that hat, whether it was blue or green, +yet its color was a saner thing than its shape, which was blurred, +tortured, and raffish; it might have been the miniature model of a +volcano that had blown off its cone and misbehaved disastrously on its +lower slopes as well. He had the air of wearing it as a matter of course +and with careless ease, but that was only an air--it was the apple of +his eye. + +For the rest, his costume was neutral, subordinate, and even a little +neglected in the matter of a detail or two: one pointed flap of his soft +collar was held down by a button, but the other showed a frayed thread +where the button once had been; his low patent-leather shoes were of a +luster not solicitously cherished, and there could be no doubt that he +needed to get his hair cut, while something might have been done, too, +about the individualized hirsute prophecies which had made independent +appearances, here and there, upon his chin. He examined these from time +to time by the sense of touch, passing his hand across his face and +allowing his finger-tips a slight tapping motion wherever they detected +a prophecy. + +Thus he fell into a pleasant musing and seemed to forget the crowded +street. + + + + +II + +THE UNKNOWN + +He was roused by the bluff greeting of an acquaintance not dissimilar to +himself in age, manner, and apparel. + +“H'lo, Silly Bill!” said this person, halting beside William Sylvanus +Baxter. “What's the news?” + +William showed no enthusiasm; on the contrary, a frown of annoyance +appeared upon his brow. The nickname “Silly Bill”--long ago compounded +by merry child-comrades from “William” and “Sylvanus”--was not to his +taste, especially in public, where he preferred to be addressed simply +and manfully as “Baxter.” Any direct expression of resentment, however, +was difficult, since it was plain that Johnnie Watson intended no +offense whatever and but spoke out of custom. + +“Don't know any,” William replied, coldly. + +“Dull times, ain't it?” said Mr. Watson, a little depressed by his +friend's manner. “I heard May Parcher was comin' back to town yesterday, +though.” + +“Well, let her!” returned William, still severe. + +“They said she was goin' to bring a girl to visit her,” Johnnie began in +a confidential tone. “They said she was a reg'lar ringdinger and--” + +“Well, what if she is?” the discouraging Mr. Baxter interrupted. “Makes +little difference to ME, I guess!” + +“Oh no, it don't. YOU don't take any interest in girls! OH no!” + +“No, I do not!” was the emphatic and heartless retort. “I never saw one +in my life I'd care whether she lived or died!” + +“Honest?” asked Johnnie, struck by the conviction with which this speech +was uttered. “Honest, is that so?” + +“Yes, 'honest'!” William replied, sharply. “They could ALL die, _I_ +wouldn't notice!” + +Johnnie Watson was profoundly impressed. “Why, _I_ didn't know you felt +that way about 'em, Silly Bill. I always thought you were kind of--” + +“Well, I do feel that way about 'em!” said William Sylvanus Baxter, and, +outraged by the repetition of the offensive nickname, he began to move +away. “You can tell 'em so for me, if you want to!” he added over his +shoulder. And he walked haughtily up the street, leaving Mr. Watson to +ponder upon this case of misogyny, never until that moment suspected. + +It was beyond the power of his mind to grasp the fact that William +Sylvanus Baxter's cruel words about “girls” had been uttered because +William was annoyed at being called “Silly Bill” in a public place, and +had not known how to object otherwise than by showing contempt for any +topic of conversation proposed by the offender. This latter, being of +a disposition to accept statements as facts, was warmly interested, +instead of being hurt, and decided that here was something worth talking +about, especially with representatives of the class so sweepingly +excluded from the sympathies of Silly Bill. + +William, meanwhile, made his way toward the “residence section” of the +town, and presently--with the passage of time found himself eased of his +annoyance. He walked in his own manner, using his shoulders to emphasize +an effect of carelessness which he wished to produce upon observers. For +his consciousness of observers was abnormal, since he had it whether any +one was looking at him or not, and it reached a crucial stage whenever +he perceived persons of his own age, but of opposite sex, approaching. + +A person of this description was encountered upon the sidewalk within a +hundred yards of his own home, and William Sylvanus Baxter saw her while +yet she was afar off. The quiet and shady thoroughfare was empty of all +human life, at the time, save for those two; and she was upon the same +side of the street that he was; thus it became inevitable that they +should meet, face to face, for the first time in their lives. He +had perceived, even in the distance, that she was unknown to him, a +stranger, because he knew all the girls in this part of the town who +dressed as famously in the mode as that! And then, as the distance +between them lessened, he saw that she was ravishingly pretty; far, far +prettier, indeed, than any girl he knew. At least it seemed so, for it +is, unfortunately, much easier for strangers to be beautiful. Aside +from this advantage of mystery, the approaching vision was piquant and +graceful enough to have reminded a much older boy of a spotless white +kitten, for, in spite of a charmingly managed demureness, there was +precisely that kind of playfulness somewhere expressed about her. Just +now it was most definite in the look she bent upon the light and fluffy +burden which she carried nestled in the inner curve of her right arm: +a tiny dog with hair like cotton and a pink ribbon round his neck--an +animal sated with indulgence and idiotically unaware of his privilege. +He was half asleep! + +William did not see the dog, or it is the plain, anatomical truth +that when he saw how pretty the girl was, his heart--his physical +heart--began to do things the like of which, experienced by an elderly +person, would have brought the doctor in haste. In addition, his +complexion altered--he broke out in fiery patches. He suffered from +breathlessness and from pressure on the diaphragm. + +Afterward, he could not have named the color of the little parasol she +carried in her left hand, and yet, as it drew nearer and nearer, a rosy +haze suffused the neighborhood, and the whole world began to turn an +exquisite pink. Beneath this gentle glow, with eyes downcast in thought, +she apparently took no note of William, even when she and William had +come within a few yards of each other. Yet he knew that she would look +up and that their eyes must meet--a thing for which he endeavored to +prepare himself by a strange weaving motion of his neck against the +friction of his collar--for thus, instinctively, he strove to obtain +greater ease and some decent appearance of manly indifference. He felt +that his efforts were a failure; that his agitation was ruinous and +must be perceptible at a distance of miles, not feet. And then, in +the instant of panic that befell, when her dark-lashed eyelids slowly +lifted, he had a flash of inspiration. + +He opened his mouth somewhat, and as her eyes met his, full and +startlingly, he placed three fingers across the orifice, and also +offered a slight vocal proof that she had surprised him in the midst of +a yawn. + +“Oh, hum!” he said. + +For the fraction of a second, the deep blue spark in her eyes glowed +brighter--gentle arrows of turquoise shot him through and through--and +then her glance withdrew from the ineffable collision. Her small, +white-shod feet continued to bear her onward, away from him, while +his own dimmed shoes peregrinated in the opposite direction--William +necessarily, yet with excruciating reluctance, accompanying them. But +just at the moment when he and the lovely creature were side by side, +and her head turned from him, she spoke that is, she murmured, but he +caught the words. + +“You Flopit, wake up!” she said, in the tone of a mother talking +baby-talk. “SO indifferink!” + +William's feet and his breath halted spasmodically. For an instant he +thought she had spoken to him, and then for the first time he perceived +the fluffy head of the dog bobbing languidly over her arm, with the +motion of her walking, and he comprehended that Flopit, and not William +Sylvanus Baxter, was the gentleman addressed. But--but had she MEANT +him? + +His breath returning, though not yet operating in its usual manner, +he stood gazing after her, while the glamorous parasol passed down the +shady street, catching splashes of sunshine through the branches of +the maple-trees; and the cottony head of the tiny dog continued to be +visible, bobbing rhythmically over a filmy sleeve. Had she meant that +William was indifferent? Was it William that she really addressed? + +He took two steps to follow her, but a suffocating shyness stopped him +abruptly and, in a horror lest she should glance round and detect him +in the act, he turned and strode fiercely to the gate of his own home +before he dared to look again. And when he did look, affecting great +casualness in the action, she was gone, evidently having turned the +corner. Yet the street did not seem quite empty; there was still +something warm and fragrant about it, and a rosy glamor lingered in +the air. William rested an elbow upon the gate-post, and with his chin +reposing in his hand gazed long in the direction in which the unknown +had vanished. And his soul was tremulous, for she had done her work but +too well. + +“'Indifferink'!” he murmured, thrilling at his own exceedingly +indifferent imitation of her voice. “Indifferink!” that was just what he +would have her think--that he was a cold, indifferent man. It was what +he wished all girls to think. And “sarcastic”! He had been envious one +day when May Parcher said that Joe Bullitt was “awfully sarcastic.” + William had spent the ensuing hour in an object-lesson intended to make +Miss Parcher see that William Sylvanus Baxter was twice as sarcastic +as Joe Bullitt ever thought of being, but this great effort had been +unsuccessful, because William, failed to understand that Miss Parcher +had only been sending a sort of message to Mr. Bullitt. It was a device +not unique among her sex; her hope was that William would repeat her +remark in such a manner that Joe Bullitt would hear it and call to +inquire what she meant. + +“'SO indifferink'!” murmured William, leaning dreamily upon the +gate-post. “Indifferink!” He tried to get the exact cooing quality of +the unknown's voice. “Indifferink!” And, repeating the honeyed word, so +entrancingly distorted, he fell into a kind of stupor; vague, beautiful +pictures rising before him, the one least blurred being of himself, on +horseback, sweeping between Flopit and a racing automobile. And +then, having restored the little animal to its mistress, William +sat carelessly in the saddle (he had the Guardsman's seat) while the +perfectly trained steed wheeled about, forelegs in the air, preparing +to go. “But shall I not see you again, to thank you more properly?” she +cried, pleading. “Some other day--perhaps,” he answered. + +And left her in a cloud of dust. + + + + +III + +THE PAINFUL AGE + +“OH WILL--EE!” + +Thus a shrill voice, to his ears hideously different from that other, +interrupted and dispersed his visions. Little Jane, his ten-year-old +sister, stood upon the front porch, the door open behind her, and in her +hand she held a large slab of bread-and-butter covered with apple sauce +and powdered sugar. Evidence that she had sampled this compound was upon +her cheeks, and to her brother she was a repulsive sight. + +“Will-ee!” she shrilled. “Look! GOOD!” And to emphasize the adjective +she indelicately patted the region of her body in which she believed +her stomach to be located. “There's a slice for you on the dining-room +table,” she informed him, joyously. + +Outraged, he entered the house without a word to her, and, proceeding +to the dining-room, laid hands upon the slice she had mentioned, but +declined to eat it in Jane's company. He was in an exalted mood, and +though in no condition of mind or body would he refuse food of almost +any kind, Jane was an intrusion he could not suffer at this time. + +He carried the refection to his own room and, locking the door, sat down +to eat, while, even as he ate, the spell that was upon him deepened in +intensity. + +“Oh, eyes!” he whispered, softly, in that cool privacy and shelter from +the world. “Oh, eyes of blue!” + +The mirror of a dressing-table sent him the reflection of his own eyes, +which also were blue; and he gazed upon them and upon the rest of his +image the while he ate his bread-and-butter and apple sauce and sugar. +Thus, watching himself eat, he continued to stare dreamily at the mirror +until the bread-and-butter and apple sauce and sugar had disappeared, +whereupon he rose and approached the dressing-table to study himself at +greater advantage. + +He assumed as repulsive an expression as he could command, at the same +time making the kingly gesture of one who repels unwelcome attentions; +and it is beyond doubt that he was thus acting a little scene of +indifference. Other symbolic dramas followed, though an invisible +observer might have been puzzled for a key to some of them. One, +however, would have proved easily intelligible: his expression having +altered to a look of pity and contrition, he turned from the mirror, +and, walking slowly to a chair across the room, used his right hand in +a peculiar manner, seeming to stroke the air at a point about ten inches +above the back of the chair. “There, there, little girl,” he said in a +low, gentle voice. “I didn't know you cared!” + +Then, with a rather abrupt dismissal of this theme, he returned to the +mirror and, after a questioning scrutiny, nodded solemnly, forming with +his lips the words, “The real thing--the real thing at last!” He +meant that, after many imitations had imposed upon him, Love--the real +thing--had come to him in the end. And as he turned away he murmured, +“And even her name--unknown!” + +This evidently was a thought that continued to occupy him, for he walked +up and down the room, frowning; but suddenly his brow cleared and his +eye lit with purpose. Seating himself at a small writing-table by +the window, he proceeded to express his personality--though with +considerable labor--in something which he did not doubt to be a poem. + +Three-quarters of an hour having sufficed for its completion, including +“rewriting and polish,” he solemnly signed it, and then read it several +times in a state of hushed astonishment. He had never dreamed that he +could do anything like this. + + MILADY + I do not know her name + Though it would be the same + Where roses bloom at twilight + And the lark takes his flight + It would be the same anywhere + Where music sounds in air + I was never introduced to the lady + So I could not call her Lass or Sadie + So I will call her Milady + By the sands of the sea + She always will be + Just M'lady to me. + --WILLIAM SYLVANUS BAXTER, Esq., July 14 + +It is impossible to say how many times he might have read the poem over, +always with increasing amazement at his new-found powers, had he not +been interrupted by the odious voice of Jane. + +“Will--ee!” + +To William, in his high and lonely mood, this piercing summons brought +an actual shudder, and the very thought of Jane (with tokens of apple +sauce and sugar still upon her cheek, probably) seemed a kind of +sacrilege. He fiercely swore his favorite oath, acquired from the hero +of a work of fiction he admired, “Ye gods!” and concealed his poem in +the drawer of the writing-table, for Jane's footsteps were approaching +his door. + +“Will--ee! Mamma wants you.” She tried the handle of the door. + +“G'way!” he said. + +“Will--ee!” Jane hammered upon the door with her fist. “Will--ee!” + +“What you want?” he shouted. + +Jane explained, certain pauses indicating that her attention was +partially diverted to another slice of bread-and-butter and apple sauce +and sugar. “Will--ee, mamma wants you--wants you to go help Genesis +bring some wash-tubs home and a tin clo'es-boiler--from the second-hand +man's store.” + +“WHAT!” + +Jane repeated the outrageous message, adding, “She wants you to +hurry--and I got some more bread-and-butter and apple sauce and sugar +for comin' to tell you.” + +William left no doubt in Jane's mind about his attitude in reference +to the whole matter. His refusal was direct and infuriated, but, in the +midst of a multitude of plain statements which he was making, there +was a decisive tapping upon the door at a point higher than Jane could +reach, and his mother's voice interrupted: + +“Hush, Willie! Open the door, please.” + +He obeyed furiously, and Mrs. Baxter walked in with a deprecating air, +while Jane followed, so profoundly interested that, until almost the +close of the interview, she held her bread-and-butter and apple sauce +and sugar at a sort of way-station on its journey to her mouth. + +“That's a nice thing to ask me to do!” stormed the unfortunate William. +“Ye gods! Do you think Joe Bullitt's mother would dare to--” + +“Wait, dearie!” Mrs. Baxter begged, pacifically. “I just want to +explain--” + +“'Explain'! Ye gods!” + +“Now, now, just a minute, Willie!” she said. “What I wanted to explain +was why it's necessary for you to go with Genesis for the--” + +“Never!” he shouted. “Never! You expect me to walk through the public +streets with that awful-lookin' old nigger--” + +“Genesis isn't old,” she managed to interpolate. “He--” + +But her frantic son disregarded her. “Second-hand wash-tubs!” he +vociferated. “And tin clothes-boilers! THAT'S what you want your SON to +carry through the public streets in broad daylight! Ye gods!” + +“Well, there isn't anybody else,” she said. “Please don't rave so, +Willie, and say 'Ye gods' so much; it really isn't nice. I'm sure nobody +'ll notice you--” + +“'Nobody'!” His voice cracked in anguish. “Oh no! Nobody except the +whole town! WHY, when there's anything disgusting has to be done +in this family--why do _I_ always have to be the one? Why can't Genesis +bring the second-hand wash-tubs without ME? Why can't the second-hand +store deliver 'em? Why can't--” + +“That's what I want to tell you,” she interposed, hurriedly, and as the +youth lifted his arms on high in a gesture of ultimate despair, and +then threw himself miserably into a chair, she obtained the floor. “The +second-hand store doesn't deliver things,” she said. “I bought them at +an auction, and it's going out of business, and they have to be taken +away before half past four this afternoon. Genesis can't bring them in +the wheelbarrow, because, he says, the wheel is broken, and he says he +can't possibly carry two tubs and a wash-boiler himself; and he can't +make two trips because it's a mile and a half, and I don't like to ask +him, anyway; and it would take too long, because he has to get back and +finish cutting the grass before your papa gets home this evening. Papa +said he HAD to! Now, I don't like to ask you, but it really isn't much. +You and Genesis can just slip up there and--” + +“Slip!” moaned William. “'Just SLIP up there'! Ye gods!” + +“Genesis is waiting on the back porch,” she said. “Really it isn't worth +your making all this fuss about.” + +“Oh no!” he returned, with plaintive satire. “It's nothing! Nothing at +all!” + +“Why, _I_ shouldn't mind it,” she said; briskly, “if I had the time. In +fact, I'll have to, if you won't.” + +“Ye gods!” He clasped his head in his hands, crushed, for he knew that +the curse was upon him and he must go. “Ye gods!” + +And then, as he stamped to the door, his tragic eye fell upon Jane, and +he emitted a final cry of pain: + +“Can't you EVER wash your face?” he shouted. + + + + +IV + +GENESIS AND CLEMATIS + +Genesis and his dog were waiting just outside the kitchen door, and +of all the world these two creatures were probably the last in whose +company William Sylvanus Baxter desired to make a public appearance. +Genesis was an out-of-doors man and seldom made much of a toilet; his +overalls in particular betraying at important points a lack of the +anxiety he should have felt, since only Genesis himself, instead of +a supplementary fabric, was directly underneath them. And the aged, +grayish, sleeveless and neckless garment which sheltered him from waist +to collar-bone could not have been mistaken for a jersey, even though +what there was of it was dimly of a jerseyesque character. Upon the feet +of Genesis were things which careful study would have revealed to be +patent-leather dancing-pumps, long dead and several times buried; +and upon his head, pressing down his markedly criminal ears, was a +once-derby hat of a brown not far from Genesis's own color, though +decidedly without his gloss. A large ring of strange metals with the +stone missing, adorned a finger of his right hand, and from a corner of +his mouth projected an unlighted and spreading cigar stub which had the +appearance of belonging to its present owner merely by right of salvage. + +And Genesis's dog, scratching himself at his master's feet, was the true +complement of Genesis, for although he was a youngish dog, and had not +long been the property of Genesis, he was a dog that would have been +recognized anywhere in the world as a colored person's dog. He was not a +special breed of dog--though there was something rather houndlike about +him--he was just a dog. His expression was grateful but anxious, and he +was unusually bald upon the bosom, but otherwise whitish and brownish, +with a gaunt, haunting face and no power to look anybody in the eye. + +He rose apprehensively as the fuming William came out of the kitchen, +but he was prepared to follow his master faithfully, and when William +and Genesis reached the street the dog was discovered at their heels, +whereupon William came to a decisive halt. + +“Send that dog back,” he said, resolutely. “I'm not going through the +streets with a dog like that, anyhow!” + +Genesis chuckled. “He ain' goin' back,” he said. “'Ain' nobody kin +make 'at dog go back. I 'ain' had him mo'n two weeks, but I don' b'lieve +Pres'dent United States kin make 'at dog go back! I show you.” And, +wheeling suddenly, he made ferocious gestures, shouting. “G'on back, +dog!” + +The dog turned, ran back a few paces, halted, and then began to follow +again, whereupon Genesis pretended to hurl stones at him; but the animal +only repeated his manoeuver--and he repeated it once more when William +aided Genesis by using actual missiles, which were dodged with almost +careless adeptness. + +“I'll show him!” said William, hotly. “I'll show him he can't follow +ME!” He charged upon the dog, shouting fiercely, and this seemed to do +the work, for the hunted animal, abandoning his partial flights, turned +a tucked-under tail, ran all the way back to the alley, and disappeared +from sight. “There!” said William. “I guess that 'll show him!” + +“I ain' bettin' on it!” said Genesis, as they went on. “He nev' did +stop foll'in' me yet. I reckon he the foll'indest dog in the worl'! Name +Clem.” + +“Well, he can't follow ME!” said the surging William, in whose mind's +eye lingered the vision of an exquisite doglet, with pink-ribboned +throat and a cottony head bobbing gently over a filmy sleeve. “He +doesn't come within a mile of ME, no matter what his name is!” + +“Name Clem fer short,” said Genesis, amiably. “I trade in a mandoline +fer him what had her neck kind o' busted off on one side. I couldn' play +her nohow, an' I found her, anyways. Yes-suh, I trade in 'at mandoline +fer him 'cause always did like to have me a good dog--but I d'in' have +me no name fer him; an' this here Blooie Bowers, what I trade in the +mandoline to, he say HE d'in have no name fer him. Say nev' did know if +WAS a name fer him 'tall. So I'z spen' the evenin' at 'at lady's house, +Fanny, what used to be cook fer Miz Johnson, nex' do' you' maw's; an' +I ast Fanny what am I go'n' a do about it, an' Fanny say, 'Call him +Clematis,' she say. ''At's a nice name!' she say. 'Clematis.' So 'at's +name I name him, Clematis. Call him Clem fer short, but Clematis his +real name. He'll come, whichever one you call him, Clem or Clematis. +Make no diff'ence to him, long's he git his vittles. Clem or Clematis, +HE ain' carin'!” + +William's ear was deaf to this account of the naming of Clematis; he +walked haughtily, but as rapidly as possible, trying to keep a little in +advance of his talkative companion, who had never received the training +as a servitor which should have taught him his proper distance from the +Young Master. William's suffering eyes were fixed upon remoteness; and +his lips moved, now and then, like a martyr's, pronouncing inaudibly a +sacred word. “Milady! Oh, Milady!” + +Thus they had covered some three blocks of their journey--the +too-democratic Genesis chatting companionably and William burning with +mortification--when the former broke into loud laughter. + +“What I tell you?” he cried, pointing ahead. “Look ayonnuh! NO, suh, +Pres'dent United States hisse'f ain' go tell 'at dog stay home!” + +And there, at the corner before them, waited Clematis, roguishly lying +in a mud-puddle in the gutter. He had run through alleys parallel to +their course--and in the face of such demoniac cunning the wretched +William despaired of evading his society. Indeed, there was nothing to +do but to give up, and so the trio proceeded, with William unable to +decide which contaminated him more, Genesis or the loyal Clematis. To +his way of thinking, he was part of a dreadful pageant, and he winced +pitiably whenever the eye of a respectable passer-by fell upon him. +Everybody seemed to stare--nay, to leer! And he felt that the whole +world would know his shame by nightfall. + +Nobody, he reflected, seeing him in such company, could believe that he +belonged to “one of the oldest and best families in town.” Nobody would +understand that he was not walking with Genesis for the pleasure of his +companionship--until they got the tubs and the wash-boiler, when his +social condition must be thought even more degraded. And nobody, he was +shudderingly positive, could see that Clematis was not his dog (Clematis +kept himself humbly a little in the rear, but how was any observer to +know that he belonged to Genesis and not to William?) + +And how frightful that THIS should befall him on such a day, the very +day that his soul had been split asunder by the turquoise shafts of +Milady's eyes and he had learned to know the Real Thing at last! + +“Milady! Oh, Milady!” + +For in the elder teens adolescence may be completed, but not by +experience, and these years know their own tragedies. It is the time of +life when one finds it unendurable not to seem perfect in all outward +matters: in worldly position, in the equipments of wealth, in family, +and in the grace, elegance, and dignity of all appearances in +public. And yet the youth is continually betrayed by the child still +intermittently insistent within him, and by the child which undiplomatic +people too often assume him to be. Thus with William's attire: he could +ill have borne any suggestion that it was not of the mode, but taking +care of it was a different matter. Also, when it came to his appetite, +he could and would eat anything at any time, but something younger than +his years led him--often in semi-secrecy--to candy-stores and soda-water +fountains and ice-cream parlors; he still relished green apples and knew +cravings for other dangerous inedibles. But these survivals were far +from painful to him; what injured his sensibilities was the disposition +on the part of people especially his parents, and frequently his aunts +and uncles--to regard him as a little boy. Briefly, the deference his +soul demanded in its own right, not from strangers only, but from +his family, was about that which is supposed to be shown a Grand Duke +visiting his Estates. Therefore William suffered often. + +But the full ignominy of the task his own mother had set him this +afternoon was not realized until he and Genesis set forth upon the +return journey from the second-hand shop, bearing the two wash-tubs, a +clothes-wringer (which Mrs. Baxter had forgotten to mention), and the +tin boiler--and followed by the lowly Clematis. + + + + +V + +SORROWS WITHIN A BOILER + +There was something really pageant-like about the little excursion now, +and the glittering clothes-boiler, borne on high, sent flashing lights +far down the street. The wash-tubs were old-fashioned, of wood; they +refused to fit one within the other; so William, with his right hand, +and Genesis, with his left, carried one of the tubs between them; +Genesis carried the heavy wringer with his right hand, and he had +fastened the other tub upon his back by means of a bit of rope which +passed over his shoulder; thus the tin boiler, being a lighter burden, +fell to William. + +The cover would not stay in place, but continually fell off when he +essayed to carry the boiler by one of its handles, and he made shift +to manage the accursed thing in various ways--the only one proving +physically endurable being, unfortunately, the most grotesque. He +was forced to carry the cover in his left hand and to place his head +partially within the boiler itself, and to support it--tilted obliquely +to rest upon his shoulders--as a kind of monstrous tin cowl or helmet. +This had the advantage of somewhat concealing his face, though when +he leaned his head back, in order to obtain clearer vision of what was +before him, the boiler slid off and fell to the pavement with a noise +that nearly caused a runaway, and brought the hot-cheeked William much +derisory attention from a passing street-car. However, he presently +caught the knack of keeping it in position, and it fell no more. + +Seen from the rear, William was unrecognizable--but interesting. +He appeared to be a walking clothes-boiler, armed with a shield and +connected, by means of a wash-tub, with a negro of informal ideas +concerning dress. In fact, the group was whimsical, and three young +people who turned in behind it, out of a cross-street, indulged +immediately in fits of inadequately suppressed laughter, though neither +Miss May Parcher nor Mr. Johnnie Watson even remotely suspected that the +legs beneath the clothes-boiler belonged to an acquaintance. And as +for the third of this little party, Miss Parcher's visitor, those +peregrinating legs suggested nothing familiar to her. + +“Oh, see the fun-ee laundrymans!” she cried, addressing a cottony +doglet's head that bobbed gently up and down over her supporting arm. +“Sweetest Flopit must see, too! Flopit, look at the fun-ee laundrymans!” + +“'Sh!” murmured Miss Parcher, choking. “He might hear you.” + +He might, indeed, since they were not five yards behind him and the +dulcet voice was clear and free. Within the shadowy interior of the +clothes-boiler were features stricken with sudden, utter horror. +“FLOPIT!” + +The attention of Genesis was attracted by a convulsive tugging of the +tub which he supported in common with William; it seemed passionately to +urge greater speed. A hissing issued from the boiler, and Genesis caught +the words, huskily whispered: + +“Walk faster! You got to walk faster.” + +The tub between them tugged forward with a pathos of appeal wasted upon +the easy-going Genesis. + +“I got plenty time cut 'at grass befo' you' pa gits home,” he said, +reassuringly. “Thishere rope what I got my extry tub slung to is 'mos' +wo' plum thew my hide.” + +Having uttered this protest, he continued to ambulate at the same pace, +though somewhat assisted by the forward pull of the connecting tub, an +easance of burden which he found pleasant; and no supplementary message +came from the clothes-boiler, for the reason that it was incapable +of further speech. And so the two groups maintained for a time their +relative positions, about fifteen feet apart. + +The amusement of the second group having abated through satiety, the +minds of its components turned to other topics. “Now Flopit must have +his darlin' 'ickle run,” said Flopit's mistress, setting the doglet upon +the ground. “That's why sweetest Flopit and I and all of us came for a +walk, instead of sitting on the nice, cool porch-kins. SEE the sweetie +toddle! Isn't he adorable, May? ISN'T he adorable, Mr. Watson?” + +Mr. Watson put a useless sin upon his soul, since all he needed to say +was a mere “Yes.” He fluently avowed himself to have become insane over +the beauty of Flopit. + +Flopit, placed upon the ground, looked like something that had dropped +from a Christmas tree, and he automatically made use of fuzzy legs, +somewhat longer than a caterpillar's, to patter after his mistress. He +was neither enterprising nor inquisitive; he kept close to the rim of +her skirt, which was as high as he could see, and he wished to be taken +up and carried again. He was in a half-stupor; it was his desire +to remain in that condition, and his propulsion was almost wholly +subconscious, though surprisingly rapid, considering his dimensions. + +“My goo'ness!” exclaimed Genesis, glancing back over his shoulder. “'At +li'l' thing ack like he think he go'n a GIT somewheres!” And then, in +answer to a frantic pull upon the tub, “Look like you mighty strong +t'day,” he said. “I cain' go no fastuh!” He glanced back again, +chuckling. “'At li'l' bird do well not mix up nothin' 'ith ole man +Clematis!” + +Clematis, it happened, was just coming into view, having been detained +round the corner by his curiosity concerning a set of Louis XVI. +furniture which some house-movers were unpacking upon the sidewalk. A +curl of excelsior, in fact, had attached itself to his nether lip, +and he was pausing to remove it--when his roving eye fell upon Flopit. +Clematis immediately decided to let the excelsior remain where it was, +lest he miss something really important. + +He approached with glowing eagerness at a gallop. + +Then, having almost reached his goal, he checked himself with surprising +abruptness and walked obliquely beside Flopit, but upon a parallel +course, his manner agitated and his brow furrowed with perplexity. +Flopit was about the size of Clematis's head, and although Clematis was +certain that Flopit was something alive, he could not decide what. + +Flopit paid not the slightest attention to Clematis. The self-importance +of dogs, like that of the minds of men, is in directly inverse ratio to +their size; and if the self-importance of Flopit could have been taken +out of him and given to an elephant, that elephant would have been +insufferable. + +Flopit continued to pay no attention to Clematis. + +All at once, a roguish and irresponsible mood seized upon Clematis; he +laid his nose upon the ground, deliberating a bit of gaiety, and then, +with a little rush, set a large, rude paw upon the sensitive face +of Flopit and capsized him. Flopit uttered a bitter complaint in an +asthmatic voice. + +“Oh, nassy dray bid Horror!” cried his mistress, turning quickly at this +sound and waving a pink parasol at Clematis. “Shoo! DIRTY dog! Go 'way!” + And she was able somehow to connect him with the wash-tub and boiler, +for she added, “Nassy laundrymans to have bad doggies!” + +Mr. Watson rushed upon Clematis with angry bellowings and imaginary +missiles. “You disgusting brute!” he roared. “How DARE you?” + +Apparently much alarmed, Clematis lowered his ears, tucked his tail +underneath him, and fled to the rear, not halting once or looking back +until he disappeared round the corner whence he had come. “There!” said +Mr. Watson. “I guess HE won't bother us again very soon!” + +It must be admitted that Milady was one of those people who do not mind +being overheard, no matter what they say. “Lucky for us,” she said, +“we had a nice dray bid MANS to protect us, wasn't it, Flopit?” And +she thought it necessary to repeat something she had already made +sufficiently emphatic. + +“Nassy laundrymans!” + +“I expect I gave that big mongrel the fright of his life,” said Mr. +Watson, with complacency. “He'll probably run a mile!” + +The shoulders of Genesis shook as he was towed along by the convulsive +tub. He knew from previous evidence that Clematis possessed both a high +quality and a large quantity of persistence, and it was his hilarious +opinion that the dog had not gone far. As a matter of fact, the head +of Clematis was at this moment cautiously extended from behind the +fence-post at the corner whither he had fled. Viewing with growing +assurance the scene before him, he permitted himself to emerge wholly, +and sat down, with his head tilted to one side in thought. Almost at the +next corner the clothes-boiler with legs, and the wash-tubs, and +Genesis were marching on; and just behind them went three figures not +so familiar to Clematis, and connected in his mind with a vague, mild +apprehension. But all backs were safely toward him, and behind them +pattered that small live thing which had so profoundly interested him. + +He rose and came on apace, silently. + +When he reached the side of Flopit, some eight or nine seconds later, +Clematis found himself even more fascinated and perplexed than during +their former interview, though again Flopit seemed utterly to disregard +him. Clematis was not at all sure that Flopit WAS a dog, but he felt +that it was his business to find out. Heaven knows, so far, Clematis had +not a particle of animosity in his heart, but he considered it his duty +to himself--in case Flopit turned out not to be a dog--to learn just +what he was. The thing might be edible. + +Therefore, again pacing obliquely beside Flopit (while the human beings +ahead went on, unconscious of the approaching climax behind them) +Clematis sought to detect, by senses keener than sight, some evidence of +Flopit's standing in the zoological kingdom; and, sniffing at the top +of Flopit's head--though Clematis was uncertain about its indeed being a +head--he found himself baffled and mentally much disturbed. + +Flopit did not smell like a dog; he smelled of violets. + + + + +VI + +TRUCULENCE + +Clematis frowned and sneezed as the infinitesimal particles of sachet +powder settled in the lining of his nose. He became serious, and was +conscious of a growing feeling of dislike; he began to be upset over the +whole matter. But his conscience compelled him to persist in his +attempt to solve the mystery; and also he remembered that one should +be courteous, no matter what some other thing chooses to be. Hence he +sought to place his nose in contact with Flopit's, for he had perceived +on the front of the mysterious stranger a buttony something which might +possibly be a nose. + +Flopit evaded the contact. He felt that he had endured about enough +from this Apache, and that it was nearly time to destroy him. Having no +experience of battle, save with bedroom slippers and lace handkerchiefs, +Flopit had little doubt of his powers as a warrior. Betrayed by his +majestic self-importance, he had not the remotest idea that he was +small. Usually he saw the world from a window, or from the seat of an +automobile, or over his mistress's arm. He looked down on all dogs, +thought them ruffianly, despised them; and it is the miraculous truth +that not only was he unaware that he was small, but he did not even know +that he was a dog, himself. He did not think about himself in that way. + +From these various ignorances of his sprang his astonishing, his +incredible, valor. Clematis, with head lowered close to Flopit's, +perceived something peering at him from beneath the tangled curtain +of cottony, violet-scented stuff which seemed to be the upper part of +Flopit's face. It was Flopit's eye, a red-rimmed eye and sore--and so +demoniacally malignant that Clematis, indescribably startled, would +have withdrawn his own countenance at once--but it was too late. With a +fearful oath Flopit sprang upward and annexed himself to the under lip +of the horrified Clematis. + +Horror gave place to indignation instantly; and as Miss Parcher and her +guest turned, screaming, Clematis's self-command went all to pieces. + +Miss Parcher became faint and leaned against the hedge along which they +had been passing, but her visitor continued to scream, while Mr. Watson +endeavored to kick Clematis without ruining Flopit--a difficult matter. + +Flopit was baresark from the first, and the mystery is where he +learned the dog-cursing that he did. In spite of the David-and-Goliath +difference in size it would be less than justice to deny that a very +fair dog-fight took place. It was so animated, in truth, that the one +expert in such matters who was present found himself warmly interested. +Genesis relieved himself of the burden of the wash-tub upon his back, +dropped the handle of that other in which he had a half-interest, +and watched the combat; his mouth, like his eyes, wide open in simple +pleasure. + +He was not destined to enjoy the spectacle to the uttermost; a furious +young person struck him a frantic, though harmless, blow with a pink +parasol. + +“You stop them!” she screamed. “You make that horrible dog stop, or I'll +have you arrested!” + +Genesis rushed forward. + +“You CLEM!” he shouted. + +And instantly Clematis was but a whitish and brownish streak along the +hedge. He ran like a dog in a moving picture when they speed the film, +and he shot from sight, once more, round the corner, while Flopit, still +cursing, was seized and squeezed in his mistress's embrace. + +But she was not satisfied. “Where's that laundryman with the tin thing +on his head?” she demanded. “He ought to be arrested for having such a +dog. It's HIS dog, isn't it? Where is he?” + +Genesis turned and looked round about the horizon, mystified. William +Sylvanus Baxter and the clothes-boiler had disappeared from sight. + +“If he owns that dog,” asserted the still furious owner of Flopit, “I +WILL have him arrested. Where is he? Where is that laundryman?” + +“Why, he,” Genesis began slowly, “HE ain' no laundrym--” He came to an +uncertain pause. If she chose to assume, with quick feminine intuition, +that the dog was William's and that William was a laundryman, it was not +Genesis's place to enlighten her. “'Tic'larly,” he reflected, “since +she talk so free about gittin' people 'rested!” He became aware that +William had squirmed through the hedge and now lay prostrate on the +other side of it, but this, likewise, was something within neither his +duty nor his inclination to reveal. + +“Thishere laundryman,” said Genesis, resuming--“thishere laundryman what +own the dog, I reckon he mus' hopped on 'at street-car what went by.” + +“Well, he OUGHT to be arrested!” she said, and, pressing her cheek +to Flopit's, she changed her tone. “Izzum's ickle heart a-beatin' so +floppity! Um's own mumsy make ums all right, um's p'eshus Flopit!” + +Then with the consoling Miss Parcher's arm about her, and Mr. Watson +even more dazzled with love than when he had first met her, some three +hours past, she made her way between the tubs, and passed on down the +street. Not till the three (and Flopit) were out of sight did William +come forth from the hedge. + +“Hi yah!” exclaimed Genesis. “'At lady go'n a 'rest ev'y man what own a +dog, 'f she had her way!” + +But William spoke no word. + +In silence, then, they resumed their burdens and their journey. Clematis +was waiting for them at the corner ahead. + + + + +VII + +MR. BAXTER'S EVENING CLOTHES + +That evening, at about half-past seven o'clock, dinner being over and +Mr. and Mrs. Baxter (parents of William) seated in the library, Mrs. +Baxter said: + +“I think it's about time for you to go and dress for your Emerson Club +meeting, papa, if you intend to go.” + +“Do I have to dress?” Mr. Baxter asked, plaintively. + +“I think nearly all the men do, don't they?” she insisted. + +“But I'm getting old enough not to have to, don't you think, mamma?” he +urged, appealingly. “When a man's my age--” + +“Nonsense!” she said. “Your figure is exactly like William's. It's the +figure that really shows age first, and yours hasn't begun to.” And she +added, briskly, “Go along like a good boy and get it ever!” + +Mr. Baxter rose submissively and went upstairs to do as he was bid. But, +after fifteen or twenty minutes, during which his footsteps had +been audible in various parts of the house, he called down over the +banisters: + +“I can't find 'em.” + +“Can't find what?” + +“My evening clothes. They aren't anywhere in the house.” + +“Where did you put them the last time you wore them?” she called. + +“I don't know. I haven't had 'em on since last spring.” + +“All right; I'll come,” she said, putting her sewing upon the table and +rising. “Men never can find anything,” she observed, additionally, as +she ascended the stairs. “Especially their own things!” + +On this occasion, however, as she was obliged to admit a little later, +women were not more efficacious than the duller sex. Search high, search +low, no trace of Mr. Baxter's evening clothes were to be found. “Perhaps +William could find them,” said Mrs. Baxter, a final confession of +helplessness. + +But William was no more to be found than the missing apparel. William, +in fact, after spending some time in the lower back hall, listening to +the quest above, had just gone out through the kitchen door. And after +some ensuing futile efforts, Mr. Baxter was forced to proceed to his +club in the accoutrements of business. + +He walked slowly, enjoying the full moon, which sailed up a river in the +sky--the open space between the trees that lined the street--and as +he passed the house of Mr. Parcher he noted the fine white shape of a +masculine evening bosom gleaming in the moonlight on the porch. A +dainty figure in white sat beside it, and there was another white figure +present, though this one was so small that Mr. Baxter did not see it at +all. It was the figure of a tiny doglet, and it reposed upon the black +masculine knees that belonged to the evening bosom. + +Mr. Baxter heard a dulcet voice. + +“He IS indifferink, isn't he, sweetest Flopit? Seriously, though, +Mr. Watson was telling me about you to-day. He says you're the most +indifferent man he knows. He says you don't care two minutes whether a +girl lives or dies. Isn't he a mean ole wicked sing, p'eshus Flopit!” + +The reply was inaudible, and Mr. Baxter passed on, having recognized +nothing of his own. + +“These YOUNG fellows don't have any trouble finding their dress-suits, I +guess,” he murmured. “Not on a night like this!” + + +... Thus William, after a hard day, came to the gates of his romance, +entering those portals of the moon in triumph. At one stroke his dashing +raiment gave him high superiority over Johnnie Watson and other rivals +who might loom. But if he had known to what undoing this great coup +exposed him, it is probable that Mr. Baxter would have appeared at the +Emerson Club, that night, in evening clothes. + + + + +VIII + +JANE + +William's period of peculiar sensitiveness dated from that evening, and +Jane, in particular, caused him a great deal of anxiety. In fact, he +began to feel that Jane was a mortification which his parents might have +spared him, with no loss to themselves or to the world. Not having +shown that consideration for anybody, they might at least have been less +spinelessly indulgent of her. William's bitter conviction was that he +had never seen a child so starved of discipline or so lost to etiquette +as Jane. + +For one thing, her passion for bread-and-butter, covered with apple +sauce and powdered sugar, was getting to be a serious matter. Secretly, +William was not yet so changed by love as to be wholly indifferent to +this refection himself, but his consumption of it was private, whereas +Jane had formed the habit of eating it in exposed places--such as the +front yard or the sidewalk. At no hour of the day was it advisable for +a relative to approach the neighborhood in fastidious company, unless +prepared to acknowledge kinship with a spindly young person either +eating bread-and-butter and apple sauce and powdered sugar, or all too +visibly just having eaten bread-and-butter and apple sauce and powdered +sugar. Moreover, there were times when Jane had worse things than apple +sauce to answer for, as William made clear to his mother in an oration +as hot as the July noon sun which looked down upon it. + +Mrs. Baxter was pleasantly engaged with a sprinkling-can and some small +flower-beds in the shady back yard, and Jane, having returned from +various sidewalk excursions, stood close by as a spectator, her hands +replenished with the favorite food and her chin rising and falling in +gentle motions, little prophecies of the slight distensions which passed +down her slender throat with slow, rhythmic regularity. Upon this calm +scene came William, plunging round a corner of the house, furious yet +plaintive. + +“You've got to do something about that child!” he began. “I CAN not +stand it!” + +Jane looked at him dumbly, not ceasing, how ever, to eat; while Mrs. +Baxter thoughtfully continued her sprinkling. + +“You've been gone all morning, Willie,” she said. “I thought your father +mentioned at breakfast that he expected you to put in at least four +hours a day on your mathematics and--” + +“That's neither here nor there,” William returned, vehemently. “I just +want to say this: if you don't do something about Jane, I will! Just +look at her! LOOK at her, I ask you! That's just the way she looked half +an hour ago, out on the public sidewalk in front of the house, when +I came by here with Miss PRATT! That was pleasant, wasn't it? To be +walking with a lady on the public street and meet a member of my family +looking like that! Oh, LOVELY!” + +In the anguish of this recollection his voice cracked, and though his +eyes were dry his gestures wept for him. Plainly, he was about to reach +the most lamentable portion of his narrative. “And then she HOLLERED at +me! She hollered, 'Oh, WILL--EE!'” Here he gave an imitation of Jane's +voice, so damnatory that Jane ceased to eat for several moments and drew +herself up with a kind of dignity. “She hollered, 'Oh, WILL--EE' at +me!” he stormed. “Anybody would think I was about six years old! She +hollered, 'Oh, Will--ee,' and she rubbed her stomach and slushed apple +sauce all over her face, and she kept hollering, 'Will--ee!' with her +mouth full. 'Will--ee, look! Good! Bread-and-butter and apple sauce and +sugar! I bet you wish YOU had some, Will--ee!'” + +“You did eat some, the other day,” said Jane. “You ate a whole lot. You +eat it every chance you get!” + +“You hush up!” he shouted, and returned to his description of the +outrage. “She kept FOLLOWING us! She followed us, hollering, 'WILL--EE!' +till it's a wonder we didn't go deaf! And just look at her! I don't +see how you can stand it to have her going around like that and people +knowing it's your child! Why, she hasn't got enough ON!” + +Mrs. Baxter laughed. “Oh, for this very hot weather, I really don't +think people notice or care much about--” + +“'Notice'!” he wailed. “I guess Miss PRATT noticed! Hot weather's no +excuse for--for outright obesity!” (As Jane was thin, it is probable +that William had mistaken the meaning of this word.) “Why, half o' what +she HAS got on has come unfastened--especially that frightful thing +hanging around her leg--and look at her back, I just beg you! I ask you +to look at her back. You can see her spinal cord!” + +“Column,” Mrs. Baxter corrected. “Spinal column, Willie.” + +“What do _I_ care which it is?” he fumed. “People aren't supposed to go +around with it EXPOSED, whichever it is! And with apple sauce on their +ears!” + +“There is not!” Jane protested, and at the moment when she spoke she was +right. Naturally, however, she lifted her hands to the accused ears, and +the unfortunate result was to justify William's statement. + +“LOOK!” he cried. “I just ask you to look! Think of it: that's the sight +I have to meet when I'm out walking with Miss PRATT! She asked me who +it was, and I wish you'd seen her face. She wanted to know who 'that +curious child' was, and I'm glad you didn't hear the way she said it. +'Who IS that curious child?' she said, and I had to tell her it was my +sister. I had to tell Miss PRATT it was my only SISTER!” + +“Willie, who is Miss Pratt?” asked Mrs. Baxter, mildly. “I don't think +I've ever heard of--” + +Jane had returned to an admirable imperturbability, but she chose +this moment to interrupt her mother, and her own eating, with remarks +delivered in a tone void of emphasis or expression. + +“Willie's mashed on her,” she said, casually. “And she wears false +side-curls. One almost came off.” + +At this unspeakable desecration William's face was that of a high priest +stricken at the altar. + +“She's visitin' Miss May Parcher,” added the deadly Jane. “But the +Parchers are awful tired of her. They wish she'd go home, but they don't +like to tell her so.” + +One after another these insults from the canaille fell upon the ears of +William. That slanders so atrocious could soil the universal air seemed +unthinkable. + +He became icily calm. + +“NOW if you don't punish her,” he said, deliberately, “it's because you +have lost your sense of duty!” + +Having uttered these terrible words, he turned upon his heel and marched +toward the house. His mother called after him: + +“Wait, Willie. Jane doesn't mean to hurt your feelings--” + +“My feelings!” he cried, the iciness of his demeanor giving way under +the strain of emotion. “You stand there and allow her to speak as she +did of one of the--one of the--” For a moment William appeared to be at +a loss, and the fact is that it always has been a difficult matter to +describe THE bright, ineffable divinity of the world to one's mother, +especially in the presence of an inimical third party of tender years. +“One of the--” he said; “one of the--the noblest--one of the noblest--” + +Again he paused. + +“Oh, Jane didn't mean anything,” said Mrs. Baxter. “And if you think +Miss Pratt is so nice, I'll ask May Parcher to bring her to tea with us +some day. If it's too hot, we'll have iced tea, and you can ask Johnnie +Watson, if you like. Don't get so upset about things, Willie!” + +“'Upset'!” he echoed, appealing to heaven against this word. “'Upset'!” + And he entered the house in a manner most dramatic. + +“What made you say that?” Mrs. Baxter asked, turning curiously to Jane +when William had disappeared. “Where did you hear any such things?” + +“I was there,” Jane replied, gently eating on and on. William could come +and William could go, but Jane's alimentary canal went on forever. + +“You were where, Jane?” + +“At the Parchers'.” + +“Oh, I see.” + +“Yesterday afternoon,” said Jane, “when Miss Parcher had the +Sunday-school class for lemonade and cookies.” + +“Did you hear Miss Parcher say--” + +“No'm,” said Jane. “I ate too many cookies, I guess, maybe. Anyways, +Miss Parcher said I better lay down--” + +“LIE down, Jane.” + +“Yes'm. On the sofa in the liberry, an' Mrs. Parcher an' Mr. Parcher +came in there an' sat down, after while, an' it was kind of dark, an' +they didn't hardly notice me, or I guess they thought I was asleep, +maybe. Anyways, they didn't talk loud, but Mr. Parcher would sort of +grunt an' ack cross. He said he just wished he knew when he was goin' +to have a home again. Then Mrs. Parcher said May HAD to ask her +Sunday-school class, but he said he never meant the Sunday-school class. +He said since Miss Pratt came to visit, there wasn't anywhere he could +go, because Willie Baxter an' Johnnie Watson an' Joe Bullitt an' all the +other ones like that were there all the time, an' it made him just sick +at the stummick, an' he did wish there was some way to find out when she +was goin' home, because he couldn't stand much more talk about love. +He said Willie an' Johnnie Watson an' Joe Bullitt an' Miss Pratt were +always arguin' somep'm about love, an' he said Willie was the worst. +Mamma, he said he didn't like the rest of it, but he said he guessed he +could stand it if it wasn't for Willie. An' he said the reason they were +all so in love of Miss Pratt was because she talks baby-talk, an' he +said he couldn't stand much more baby-talk. Mamma, she has the loveliest +little white dog, an' Mr. Parcher doesn't like it. He said he couldn't +go anywhere around the place without steppin' on the dog or Willie +Baxter. An' he said he couldn't sit on his own porch any more; he said +he couldn't sit even in the liberry but he had to hear baby-talk goin' +on SOMEwheres an' then either Willie Baxter or Joe Bullitt or +somebody or another arguin' about love. Mamma, he said”--Jane became +impressive--“he said, mamma, he said he didn't mind the Sunday-school +class, but he couldn't stand those dam boys!” + +“Jane!” Mrs. Baxter cried, “you MUSTN'T say such things!” + +“I didn't, mamma. Mr. Parcher said it. He said he couldn't stand those +da--” + +“JANE! No matter what he said, you mustn't repeat--” + +“But I'm not. I only said Mr. PARCHER said he couldn't stand those d--” + +Mrs. Baxter cut the argument short by imprisoning Jane's mouth with a +firm hand. Jane continued to swallow quietly until released. Then she +said: + +“But, mamma, how can I tell you what he said unless I say--” + +“Hush!” Mrs. Baxter commanded. “You must never, never again use such a +terrible and wicked word.” + +“I won't, mamma,” Jane said, meekly. Then she brightened. “Oh, _I_ know! +I'll say 'word' instead. Won't that be all right?” + +“I--I suppose so.” + +“Well, Mr. Parcher said he couldn't stand those word boys. That sounds +all right, doesn't it, mamma?” + +Mrs. Baxter hesitated, but she was inclined to hear as complete as +possible a report of Mr. and Mrs. Parcher's conversation, since it +seemed to concern William so nearly; and she well knew that Jane had her +own way of telling things--or else they remained untold. + +“I--I suppose so,” Mrs. Baxter said, again. + +“Well, they kind of talked along,” Jane continued, much pleased;--“an' +Mr. Parcher said when he was young he wasn't any such a--such a word +fool as these young word fools were. He said in all his born days Willie +Baxter was the wordest fool he ever saw!” + +Willie Baxter's mother flushed a little. “That was very unjust and very +wrong of Mr. Parcher,” she said, primly. + +“Oh no, mamma!” Jane protested. “Mrs. Parcher thought so, too.” + +“Did she, indeed!” + +“Only she didn't say word or wordest or anything like that,” Jane +explained. “She said it was because Miss Pratt had coaxed him to be so +in love of her, an' Mr. Parcher said he didn't care whose fault it was, +Willie was a--a word calf an' so were all the rest of 'em, Mr. Parcher +said. An' he said he couldn't stand it any more. Mr. Parcher said that a +whole lot of times, mamma. He said he guess' pretty soon he'd haf to be +in the lunatic asylum if Miss Pratt stayed a few more days with her word +little dog an' her word Willie Baxter an' all the other word calfs. Mrs. +Parcher said he oughtn't to say 'word,' mamma. She said, 'Hush, hush!' +to him, mamma. He talked like this, mamma: he said, 'I'll be word if I +stand it!' An' he kept gettin' crosser, an' he said, 'Word! Word! WORD! +WOR--'” + +“There!” Mrs. Baxter interrupted, sharply. “That will do, Jane! We'll +talk about something else now, I think.” + +Jane looked hurt; she was taking great pleasure in this confidential +interview, and gladly would have continued to quote the harried Mr. +Parcher at great length. Still, she was not entirely uncontent: she must +have had some perception that her performance merely as a notable bit of +reportorial art--did not wholly lack style, even if her attire did. Yet, +brilliant as Jane's work was, Mrs. Baxter felt no astonishment; several +times ere this Jane had demonstrated a remarkable faculty for the +retention of details concerning William. And running hand in hand with +a really superb curiosity, this powerful memory was making Jane an even +greater factor in William's life than he suspected. + +During the glamors of early love, if there be a creature more deadly +than the little brother of a budding woman, that creature is the little +sister of a budding man. The little brother at least tells in the open +all he knows, often at full power of his lungs, and even that may be +avoided, since he is wax in the hands of bribery; but the little sister +is more apt to save her knowledge for use upon a terrible occasion; and, +no matter what bribes she may accept, she is certain to tell her mother +everything. All in all, a young lover should arrange, if possible, to be +the only child of elderly parents; otherwise his mother and sister are +sure to know a great deal more about him than he knows that they know. + +This was what made Jane's eyes so disturbing to William during lunch +that day. She ate quietly and competently, but all the while he was +conscious of her solemn and inscrutable gaze fixed upon him; and she +spoke not once. She could not have rendered herself more annoying, +especially as William was trying to treat her with silent scorn, for +nothing is more irksome to the muscles of the face than silent scorn, +when there is no means of showing it except by the expression. On the +other hand, Jane's inscrutability gave her no discomfort whatever. In +fact, inscrutability is about the most comfortable expression that a +person can wear, though the truth is that just now Jane was not really +inscrutable at all. + +She was merely looking at William and thinking of Mr. Parcher. + + + + +IX + +LITTLE SISTERS HAVE BIG EARS + +The confidential talk between mother and daughter at noon was not +the last to take place that day. At nightfall--eight o'clock in this +pleasant season--Jane was saying her prayers beside her bed, while her +mother stood close by, waiting to put out the light. + +“An' bless mamma and papa an'--” Jane murmured, coming to a pause. +“An'--an' bless Willie,” she added, with a little reluctance. + +“Go on, dear,” said her mother. “You haven't finished.” + +“I know it, mamma,” Jane looked up to say. “I was just thinkin' a +minute. I want to tell you about somep'm.” + +“Finish your prayers first, Jane.” + +Jane obeyed with a swiftness in which there was no intentional +irreverence. Then she jumped into bed and began a fresh revelation. + +“It's about papa's clo'es, mamma.” + +“What clothes of papa's? What do you mean, Jane?” asked Mrs. Baxter, +puzzled. + +“The ones you couldn't find. The ones you been lookin' for 'most every +day.” + +“You mean papa's evening clothes?” + +“Yes'm,” said Jane. “Willie's got 'em on.” + +“What!” + +“Yes, he has!” Jane assured her with emphasis. “I bet you he's had 'em +on every single evening since Miss Pratt came to visit the Parchers! +Anyway, he's got 'em on now, 'cause I saw 'em.” + +Mrs. Baxter bit her lip and frowned. “Are you sure, Jane?” + +“Yes'm. I saw him in 'em.” + +“How?” + +“Well, I was in my bare feet after I got undressed--before you came +up-stairs--mamma, an' I was kind of walkin' around in the hall--” + +“You shouldn't do that, Jane.” + +“No'm. An' I heard Willie say somep'm kind of to himself, or like +deckamation. He was inside his room, but the door wasn't quite shut. He +started out once, but he went back for somep'm an' forgot to, I guess. +Anyway, I thought I better look an' see what was goin' on, mamma. So I +just kind of peeked in--” + +“But you shouldn't do that, dear,” Mrs. Baxter said, musingly. “It isn't +really quite honorable.” + +“No'm. Well, what you think he was doin'?” (Here Jane's voice betrayed +excitement and so did her eyes.) “He was standin' up there in papa's +clo'es before the lookin'-glass, an' first he'd lean his head over on +one side, an' then he'd lean it over on the other side, an' then he'd +bark, mamma.” + +“He'd what?” + +“Yes'm!” said Jane. “He'd give a little, teeny BARK, mamma--kind of like +a puppy, mamma.” + +“What?” cried Mrs. Baxter. + +“Yes'm, he did!” Jane asserted. “He did it four or five times. First +he'd lean his head way over on his shoulder like this--look, mamma!--an' +then he'd lean it way over the other shoulder, an' every time he'd do it +he'd bark. 'Berp-werp!' he'd say, mamma, just like that, only not loud +at all. He said, 'Berp-werp! BERP-WERP-WERP!' You could tell he meant +it for barkin', but it wasn't very good, mamma. What you think he meant, +mamma?” + +“Heaven knows!” murmured the astonished mother. + +“An' then,” Jane continued, “he quit barkin' all of a sudden, an' didn't +lean his head over any more, an' commenced actin' kind of solemn, an' +kind of whispered to himself. I think he was kind of pretendin' he was +talkin' to Miss Pratt, or at a party, maybe. Anyways, he spoke out loud +after while not just exactly LOUD, I mean, but anyway so's 't I could +hear what he said. Mamma--he said, 'Oh, my baby-talk lady!' just like +that, mamma. Listen, mamma, here's the way he said it: 'Oh, my baby-talk +lady!'” + +Jane's voice, in this impersonation, became sufficiently soft and +tremulous to give Mrs. Baxter a fair idea of the tender yearning of the +original. “'OH, MY BABY-TALK LADY!'” cooed the terrible Jane. + +“Mercy!” Mrs. Baxter exclaimed. “Perhaps it's no wonder Mr. Parcher--” + She broke off abruptly, then inquired, “What did he do next, Jane?” + +“Next,” said Jane, “he put the light out, an' I had to--well, I just +waited kind of squeeged up against the wall, an' he never saw me. He +went on out to the back stairs, an' went down the stairs tiptoe, mamma. +You know what I think, mamma? I think he goes out that way an' through +the kitchen on account of papa's clo'es.” + +Mrs. Baxter paused, with her hand upon the key of the shaded electric +lamp. “I suppose so,” she said. “I think perhaps--” For a moment or +two she wrapped herself in thought. “Perhaps”--she repeated, +musingly--“perhaps we'll keep this just a secret between you and me for +a little while, Jane, and not say anything to papa about the clothes. I +don't think it will hurt them, and I suppose Willie feels they give +him a great advantage over the other boys--and papa uses them so very +little, especially since he's grown a wee bit stouter. Yes, it will be +our secret, Jane. We'll think it over till to-morrow.” + +“Yes'm.” + +Mrs. Baxter turned out the light, then came and kissed Jane in the dark. +“Good night, dear.” + +“G' night, mamma.” But as Mrs. Baxter reached the door Jane's voice was +heard again. + +“Mamma?” + +“Yes?” Mrs. Baxter paused. + +“Mamma,” Jane said, slowly, “I think--I think Mr. Parcher is a very nice +man. Mamma?” + +“Yes, dear?” + +“Mamma, what do you s'pose Willie barked at the lookin'-glass for?” + +“That,” said Mrs. Baxter, “is beyond me. Young people and children do +the strangest things, Jane! And then, when they get to be middle-aged, +they forget all those strange things they did, and they can't understand +what the new young people--like you and Willie mean by the strange +things THEY do.” + +“Yes'm. I bet _I_ know what he was barkin' for, mamma.” + +“Well?” + +“You know what I think? I think he was kind of practisin'. I think he +was practisin' how to bark at Mr. Parcher.” + +“No, no!” Mrs. Baxter laughed. “Who ever could think of such a thing but +you, Jane! You go to sleep and forget your nonsense!” + +Nevertheless, Jane might almost have been gifted with clairvoyance, her +preposterous idea came so close to the actual fact, for at that very +moment William was barking. He was not barking directly at Mr. Parcher, +it is true, but within a short distance of him and all too well within +his hearing. + + + + +X + +MR. PARCHER AND LOVE + +Mr. Parcher, that unhappy gentleman, having been driven indoors from his +own porch, had attempted to read Plutarch's Lives in the library, but, +owing to the adjacency of the porch and the summer necessity for open +windows, his escape spared only his eyes and not his suffering ears. The +house was small, being but half of a double one, with small rooms, and +the “parlor,” library, and dining-room all about equally exposed to the +porch which ran along the side of the house. Mr. Parcher had no refuge +except bed or the kitchen, and as he was troubled with chronic insomnia, +and the cook had callers in the kitchen, his case was desperate. Most +unfortunately, too, his reading-lamp, the only one in the house, was a +fixture near a window, and just beyond that window sat Miss Pratt and +William in sweet unconsciousness, while Miss Parcher entertained the +overflow (consisting of Mr. Johnnie Watson) at the other end of the +porch. Listening perforce to the conversation of the former couple +though “conversation” is far from the expression later used by Mr. +Parcher to describe what he heard--he found it impossible to sit +still in his chair. He jerked and twitched with continually increasing +restlessness; sometimes he gasped, and other times he moaned a little, +and there were times when he muttered huskily. + +“Oh, cute-ums!” came the silvery voice of Miss Pratt from the likewise +silvery porch outside, underneath the summer moon. “Darlin' Flopit, +look! Ickle boy Baxter goin' make imitations of darlin' Flopit again. +See! Ickle boy Baxter puts head one side, then other side, just +like darlin' Flopit. Then barks just like darlin' Flopit! Ladies and +'entlemen, imitations of darlin' Flopit by ickle boy Baxter.” + +“Berp-werp! Berp-werp!” came the voice of William Sylvanus Baxter. + +And in the library Plutarch's Lives moved convulsively, while with +writhing lips Mr. Parcher muttered to himself. + +“More, more!” cried Miss Pratt, clapping her hands. “Do it again, ickle +boy Baxter!” + +“Berp-werp! Berp-werp-werp!” + +“WORD!” muttered Mr. Parcher. + +Miss Pratt's voice became surcharged with honeyed wonder. “How did he +learn such marv'lous, MARV'LOUS imitations of darlin' Flopit? He ought +to go on the big, big stage and be a really actor, oughtn't he, darlin' +Flopit? He could make milyums and milyums of dollardies, couldn't he, +darlin' Flopit?” + +William's modest laugh disclaimed any great ambition for himself in this +line. “Oh, I always could think up imitations of animals; things like +that--but I hardly would care to--to adop' the stage for a career. +Would--you?” (There was a thrill in his voice when he pronounced the +ineffably significant word “you.”) + +Miss Pratt became intensely serious. + +“It's my DREAM!” she said. + +William, seated upon a stool at her feet, gazed up at the amber head, +divinely splashed by the rain of moonlight. The fire with which she +spoke stirred him as few things had ever stirred him. He knew she had +just revealed a side of herself which she reserved for only the chosen +few who were capable of understanding her, and he fell into a hushed +rapture. It seemed to him that there was a sacredness about this moment, +and he sought vaguely for something to say that would live up to it and +not be out of keeping. Then, like an inspiration, there came into his +head some words he had read that day and thought beautiful. He had found +them beneath an illustration in a magazine, and he spoke them almost +instinctively. + +“It was wonderful of you to say that to me,” he said. “I shall never +forget it!” + +“It's my DREAM!” Miss Pratt exclaimed, again, with the same enthusiasm. +“It's my DREAM.” + +“You would make a glorious actress!” he said. + +At that her mood changed. She laughed a laugh like a sweet little girl's +laugh (not Jane's) and, setting her rocking-chair in motion, cuddled the +fuzzy white doglet in her arms. “Ickle boy Baxter t'yin' flatterbox us, +tunnin' Flopit! No'ty, no'ty flatterbox!” + +“No, no!” William insisted, earnestly. “I mean it. But--but--” + +“But whatcums?” + +“What do you think about actors and actresses making love to each other +on the stage? Do you think they have to really feel it, or do they just +pretend?” + +“Well,” said Miss Pratt, weightily, “sometimes one way, sometimes the +other.” + +William's gravity became more and more profound. “Yes, but how can they +pretend like that? Don't you think love is a sacred thing, Cousin Lola?” + +Fictitious sisterships, brotherships, and cousinships are devices to +push things along, well known to seventeen and even more advanced ages. +On the wonderful evening of their first meeting William and Miss Pratt +had cozily arranged to be called, respectively, “Ickle boy Baxter” and +“Cousin Lola.” (Thus they had broken down the tedious formalities of +their first twenty minutes together.) + +“Don't you think love is sacred?” he repeated in the deepest tone of +which his vocal cords were capable. + +“Ess,” said Miss Pratt. + +“_I_ do!” William was emphatic. “I think love is the most sacred thing +there is. I don't mean SOME kinds of love. I mean REAL love. You take +some people, I don't believe they ever know what real love means. They +TALK about it, maybe, but they don't understand it. Love is something +nobody can understand unless they feel it and and if they don't +understand it they don't feel it. Don't YOU think so?” + +“Ess.” + +“Love,” William continued, his voice lifting and thrilling to the great +theme--“love is something nobody can ever have but one time in their +lives, and if they don't have it then, why prob'ly they never will. +Now, if a man REALLY loves a girl, why he'd do anything in the world she +wanted him to. Don't YOU think so?” + +“Ess, 'deedums!” said the silvery voice. + +“But if he didn't, then he wouldn't,” said William vehemently. “But when +a man really loves a girl he will. Now, you take a man like that and +he can generally do just about anything the girl he loves wants him +to. Say, f'rinstance, she wants him to love her even more than he does +already--or almost anything like that--and supposin' she asks him to. +Well, he would go ahead and do it. If they really loved each other he +would!” + +He paused a moment, then in a lowered tone he said, “I think REAL love +is sacred, don't you?” + +“Ess.” + +“Don't you think love is the most sacred thing there is--that is, if +it's REAL love?” + +“Ess.” + +“_I_ do,” said William, warmly. “I--I'm glad you feel like that, because +I think real love is the kind nobody could have but just once in their +lives, but if it isn't REAL love, why--why most people never have it at +all, because--” He paused, seeming to seek for the exact phrase which +would express his meaning. “--Because the REAL love a man feels for a +girl and a girl for a man, if they REALLY love each other, and, you look +at a case like that, of course they would BOTH love each other, or it +wouldn't be real love well, what _I_ say is, if it's REAL love, well, +it's--it's sacred, because I think that kind of love is always sacred. +Don't you think love is sacred if it's the real thing?” + +“Ess,” said Miss Pratt. “Do Flopit again. Be Flopit!” + +“Berp-werp! Berp-werp-werp.” + +And within the library an agonized man writhed and muttered: + +“WORD! WORD! WORD--” + +This hoarse repetition had become almost continuous. + +... But out on the porch, that little, jasmine-scented bower in +Arcady where youth cried to youth and golden heads were haloed in the +moonshine, there fell a silence. Not utter silence, for out there an +ethereal music sounded constantly, unheard and forgotten by older ears. +Time was when the sly playwrights used “incidental music” in their +dramas; they knew that an audience would be moved so long as the music +played; credulous while that crafty enchantment lasted. And when the +galled Mr. Parcher wondered how those young people out on the porch +could listen to each other and not die, it was because he did not +hear and had forgotten the music that throbs in the veins of youth. +Nevertheless, it may not be denied that despite his poor memory this man +of fifty was deserving of a little sympathy. + +It was William who broke the silence. “How--” he began, and his voice +trembled a little. “How--how do you--how do you think of me when I'm not +with you?” + +“Think nice-cums,” Miss Pratt responded. “Flopit an' me think +nice-cums.” + +“No,” said William; “I mean what name do you have for me when you're +when you're thinking about me?” + +Miss Pratt seemed to be puzzled, perhaps justifiably, and she made a +cooing sound of interrogation. + +“I mean like this,” William explained. “F'rinstance, when you first +came, I always thought of you as 'Milady'--when I wrote that poem, you +know.” + +“Ess. Boo'fums.” + +“But now I don't,” he said. “Now I think of you by another name when I'm +alone. It--it just sort of came to me. I was kind of just sitting around +this afternoon, and I didn't know I was thinking about anything at all +very much, and then all of a sudden I said it to myself out loud. It was +about as strange a thing as I ever knew of. Don't YOU think so?” + +“Ess. It uz dest WEIRD!” she answered. “What ARE dat pitty names?” + +“I called you,” said William, huskily and reverently, “I called you 'My +Baby-Talk Lady.'” + +BANG! + +They were startled by a crash from within the library; a heavy weight +seemed to have fallen (or to have been hurled) a considerable distance. +Stepping to the window, William beheld a large volume lying in a +distorted attitude at the foot of the wall opposite to that in which the +reading-lamp was a fixture. But of all human life the room was empty; +for Mr. Parcher had given up, and was now hastening to his bed in the +last faint hope of saving his reason. + +His symptoms, however, all pointed to its having fled; and his wife, +looking up from some computations in laundry charges, had but a vision +of windmill gestures as he passed the door of her room. Then, not only +for her, but for the inoffensive people who lived in the other half of +the house, the closing of his own door took place in a really memorable +manner. + +William, gazing upon the fallen Plutarch, had just offered the +explanation, “Somebody must 'a' thrown it at a bug or something, I +guess,” when the second explosion sent its reverberations through the +house. + +“My doodness!” Miss Pratt exclaimed, jumping up. + +William laughed reassuringly, remaining calm. “It's only a door blew +shut up-stairs,” he said “Let's sit down again--just the way we were?” + +Unfortunately for him, Mr. Joe Bullitt now made his appearance at the +other end of the porch. Mr. Bullitt, though almost a year younger than +either William or Johnnie Watson, was of a turbulent and masterful +disposition. Moreover, in regard to Miss Pratt, his affections were +in as ardent a state as those of his rivals, and he lacked Johnnie's +meekness. He firmly declined to be shunted by Miss Parcher, who was +trying to favor William's cause, according to a promise he had won of +her by strong pleading. Regardless of her efforts, Mr. Bullitt descended +upon William and his Baby-Talk-Lady, and received from the latter a +honeyed greeting, somewhat to the former's astonishment and not at all +to his pleasure. + +“Oh, goody-cute!” cried Miss Pratt. “Here's big Bruvva Josie-Joe!” And +she lifted her little dog close to Mr. Bullitt's face, guiding one of +Flopit's paws with her fingers. “Stroke big Bruvva Josie-Joe's pint +teeks, darlin' Flopit.” (Josie-Joe's pink cheeks were indicated by the +expression “pint teeks,” evidently, for her accompanying action was to +pass Flopit's paw lightly over those glowing surfaces.) “'At's nice!” + she remarked. “Stroke him gently, p'eshus Flopit, an' nen we'll coax him +to make pitty singin' for us, like us did yestiday.” + +She turned to William. + +“COAX him to make pitty singin'? I LOVE his voice--I'm dest CRAZY over +it. Isn't oo?” + +William's passion for Mr. Bullitt's voice appeared to be under control. +He laughed coldly, almost harshly. “Him sing?” he said. “Has he been +tryin' to sing around HERE? I wonder the family didn't call for the +police!” + +It was to be seen that Mr. Bullitt did not relish the sally. “Well, they +will,” he retorted, “if you ever spring one o' your solos on 'em!” And +turning to Miss Pratt, he laughed loudly and bitterly. “You ought to +hear Silly Bill sing--some time when you don't mind goin' to bed sick +for a couple o' days!” + +Symptoms of truculence at once became alarmingly pronounced on both +sides. William was naturally incensed, and as for Mr. Bullitt, he had +endured a great deal from William every evening since Miss Pratt's +arrival. William's evening clothes were hard enough for both Mr. Watson +and Mr. Bullitt to bear, without any additional insolence on the part +of the wearer. Big Bruvva Josie-Joe took a step toward his enemy and +breathed audibly. + +“Let's ALL sing,” the tactful Miss Pratt proposed, hastily. “Come on, +May and Cousin Johnnie-Jump-Up,” she called to Miss Parcher and Mr. +Watson. “Singin'-school, dirls an' boys! Singin'-school! Ding, ding! +Singin'-school bell's a-wingin'!” + +The diversion was successful. Miss Parcher and Mr. Watson joined the +other group with alacrity, and the five young people were presently +seated close together upon the steps of the porch, sending their voices +out upon the air and up to Mr. Parcher's window in the song they found +loveliest that summer. + +Miss Pratt carried the air. William also carried it part of the time +and hunted for it the rest of the time, though never in silence. Miss +Parcher “sang alto,” Mr. Bullitt “sang bass,” and Mr. Watson “sang +tenor”--that is, he sang as high as possible, often making the top sound +of a chord and always repeating the last phrase of each line before the +others finished it. The melody was a little too sweet, possibly; while +the singers thought so highly of the words that Mr. Parcher missed not +one, especially as the vocal rivalry between Josie-Joe and Ickle Boy +Baxter incited each of them to prevent Miss Pratt from hearing the +other. + +William sang loudest of all; Mr. Parcher had at no time any difficulty +in recognizing his voice. + + “Oh, I love my love in the morning + And I love my love at night, + I love my love in the dawning, + And when the stars are bright. + Some may love the sunshine, + Others may love the dew. + Some may love the raindrops, + But I love only you-OO-oo! + By the stars up above + It is you I luh-HUV! + Yes, _I_ love own-LAY you!” + +They sang it four times; then Mr. Bullitt sang his solo, “Tell her, O +Golden Moon, how I Adore her,” William following with “The violate loves +the cowslip, but _I_ love YEW,” and after that they all sang, “Oh, I +love my love in the morning,” again. + +All this while that they sang of love, Mr. Parcher was moving to and fro +upon his bed, not more than eighteen feet in an oblique upward-slanting +line from the heads of the serenaders. Long, long he tossed, listening +to the young voices singing of love; long, long he thought of love, and +many, many times he spoke of it aloud, though he was alone in the room. +And in thus speaking of it, he would give utterance to phrases and +words probably never before used in connection with love since the world +began. + +His thoughts, and, at intervals, his mutterings, continued to be active +far into the night, long after the callers had gone, and though his +household and the neighborhood were at rest, with never a katydid +outside to rail at the waning moon. And by a coincidence not more +singular than most coincidences, it happened that at just about the time +he finally fell asleep, a young lady at no great distance from him awoke +to find her self thinking of him. + + + + +XI + +BEGINNING A TRUE FRIENDSHIP + +This was Miss Jane Baxter. She opened her eyes upon the new-born day, +and her first thoughts were of Mr. Parcher. That is, he was already +in her mind when she awoke, a circumstance to be accounted for on the +ground that his conversation, during her quiet convalescence in his +library, had so fascinated her that in all likelihood she had been +dreaming of him. Then, too, Jane and Mr. Parcher had a bond in common, +though Mr. Parcher did not know it. Not without result had William +repeated Miss Pratt's inquiry in Jane's hearing: “Who IS that curious +child?” Jane had preserved her sang-froid, but the words remained with +her, for she was one of those who ponder and retain in silence. + +She thought almost exclusively of Mr. Parcher until breakfast-time, and +resumed her thinking of him at intervals during the morning. Then, in +the afternoon, a series of quiet events not unconnected with William's +passion caused her to think of Mr. Parcher more poignantly than ever; +nor was her mind diverted to a different channel by another confidential +conversation with her mother. Who can say, then, that it was not by +design that she came face to face with Mr. Parcher on the public highway +at about five o'clock that afternoon? Everything urges the belief that +she deliberately set herself in his path. + +Mr. Parcher was walking home from his office, and he walked slowly, +gulping from time to time, as he thought of the inevitable evening +before him. His was not a rugged constitution, and for the last +fortnight or so he had feared that it was giving way altogether. Each +evening he felt that he was growing weaker, and sometimes he thought +piteously that he might go away for a while. He did not much care where, +though what appealed to him most, curiously enough, was not the thought +of the country, with the flowers and little birds; no, what allured him +was the idea that perhaps he could find lodgment for a time in an Old +People's Home, where the minimum age for inmates was about eighty. + +Walking more and more slowly, as he approached the dwelling he had once +thought of as home, he became aware of a little girl in a checkered +dress approaching him at a gait varied by the indifferent behavior of +a barrel-hoop which she was disciplining with a stick held in her +right hand. When the hoop behaved well, she came ahead rapidly; when it +affected to be intoxicated, which was most often its whim, she zigzagged +with it, and gained little ground. But all the while, and without +reference to what went on concerning the hoop, she slowly and +continuously fed herself (with her left hand) small, solemnly relished +bites of a slice of bread-and-butter covered with apple sauce and +powdered sugar. + +Mr. Parcher looked upon her, and he shivered slightly; for he knew her +to be Willie Baxter's sister. + +Unaware of the emotion she produced in him, Jane checked her hoop and +halted. + +“G'd afternoon, Mister Parcher,” she said, gravely. + +“Good afternoon,” he returned, without much spirit. + +Jane looked up at him trustfully and with a strange, unconscious +fondness. “You goin' home now, Mr. Parcher?” she asked, turning to +walk at his side. She had suspended the hoop over her left arm and +transferred the bread-and-butter and apple sauce and sugar to her right, +so that she could eat even more conveniently than before. + +“I suppose so,” he murmured. + +“My brother Willie's been at your house all afternoon,” she remarked. + +He repeated, “I suppose so,” but in a tone which combined the vocal +tokens of misery and of hopeless animosity. + +“He just went home,” said Jane. “I was 'cross the street from your +house, but I guess he didn't see me. He kept lookin' back at your house. +Miss Pratt was on the porch.” + +“I suppose so.” This time it was a moan. + +Jane proceeded to give him some information. “My brother Willie isn't +comin' back to your house to-night, but he doesn't know it yet.” + +“What!” exclaimed Mr. Parcher. + +“Willie isn't goin' to spend any more evenings at your house at all,” + said Jane, thoughtfully. “He isn't, but he doesn't know it yet.” + +Mr. Parcher gazed fixedly at the wonderful child, and something like +a ray of sunshine flickered over his seamed and harried face. “Are you +SURE he isn't?” he said. “What makes you think so?” + +“I know he isn't,” said demure Jane. “It's on account of somep'm I told +mamma.” + +And upon this a gentle glow began to radiate throughout Mr. Parcher. A +new feeling budded within his bosom; he was warmly attracted to Jane. +She was evidently a child to be cherished, and particularly to be +encouraged in the line of conduct she seemed to have adopted. He wished +the Bullitt and Watson families each had a little girl like this. Still, +if what she said of William proved true, much had been gained and life +might be tolerable, after all. + +“He'll come in the afternoons, I guess,” said Jane. “But you aren't +home then, Mr. Parcher, except late like you were that day of the +Sunday-school class. It was on account of what you said that day. I told +mamma.” + +“Told your mamma what?” + +“What you said.” + +Mr. Parcher's perplexity continued. “What about?” + +“About Willie. YOU know!” Jane smiled fraternally. + +“No, I don't.” + +“It was when I was layin' in the liberry, that day of the Sunday-school +class,” Jane told him. “You an' Mrs. Parcher was talkin' in there about +Miss Pratt an' Willie an' everything.” + +“Good heavens!” Mr. Parcher, summoning his memory, had placed the +occasion and Jane together. “Did you HEAR all that?” + +“Yes.” Jane nodded. “I told mamma all what you said.” + +“Murder!” + +“Well,” said Jane, “I guess it's good I did, because look--that's the +very reason mamma did somep'm so's he can't come any more except in +daytime. I guess she thought Willie oughtn't to behave so's't you said +so many things about him like that; so to-day she did somep'm, an' now +he can't come any more to behave that loving way of Miss Pratt that you +said you would be in the lunatic asylum if he didn't quit. But he hasn't +found it out yet.” + +“Found what out, please?” asked Mr. Parcher, feeling more affection for +Jane every moment. + +“He hasn't found out he can't come back to your house to-night; an' he +can't come back to-morrow night, nor day-after-to-morrow night, nor--” + +“Is it because your mamma is going to tell him he can't?” + +“No, Mr. Parcher. Mamma says he's too old--an' she said she didn't like +to, anyway. She just DID somep'm.” + +“What? What did she do?” + +“It's a secret,” said Jane. “I could tell you the first part of it--up +to where the secret begins, I expect.” + +“Do!” Mr. Parcher urged. + +“Well, it's about somep'm Willie's been WEARIN',” Jane began, moving +closer to him as they slowly walked onward. “I can't tell you what they +were, because that's the secret--but he had 'em on him every evening +when he came to see Miss Pratt, but they belong to papa, an' papa +doesn't know a word about it. Well, one evening papa wanted to put 'em +on, because he had a right to, Mr. Parcher, an' Willie didn't have any +right to at all, but mamma couldn't find 'em; an' she rummidged an' +rummidged 'most all next day an' pretty near every day since then an' +never did find 'em, until don't you believe I saw Willie inside of 'em +only last night! He was startin' over to your house to see Miss Pratt in +'em! So I told mamma, an' she said it 'd haf to be a secret, so that's +why I can't tell you what they were. Well, an' then this afternoon, +early, I was with her, an' she said, long as I had told her the secret +in the first place, I could come in Willie's room with her, an' we both +were already in there anyway, 'cause I was kind of thinkin' maybe she'd +go in there to look for 'em, Mr. Parcher--” + +“I see,” he said, admiringly. “I see.” + +“Well, they were under Willie's window-seat, all folded up; an' mamma +said she wondered what she better do, an' she was worried because she +didn't like to have Willie behave so's you an' Mrs. Parcher thought that +way about him. So she said the--the secret--what Willie wears, you +know, but they're really papa's an' aren't Willie's any more'n they're +MINE--well, she said the secret was gettin' a little teeny bit too tight +for papa, but she guessed they--I mean the secret--she said she guessed +it was already pretty loose for Willie; so she wrapped it up, an' I +went with her, an' we took 'em to a tailor, an' she told him to make 'em +bigger, for a surprise for papa, 'cause then they'll fit him again, Mr. +Parcher. She said he must make 'em a whole lot bigger. She said he must +let 'em way, WAY out! So I guess Willie would look too funny in 'em +after they're fixed; an' anyway, Mr. Parcher, the secret won't be home +from the tailor's for two weeks, an' maybe by that time Miss Pratt'll be +gone.” + +They had reached Mr. Parcher's gate; he halted and looked down fondly +upon this child who seemed to have read his soul. “Do you honestly think +so?” he asked. + +“Well, anyway, Mr. Parcher,” said Jane, “mamma said--well, she said +she's sure Willie wouldn't come here in the evening any more when YOU're +at home, Mr. Parcher--'cause after he'd been wearin' the secret every +night this way he wouldn't like to come and not have the secret on. +Mamma said the reason he would feel like that was because he was +seventeen years old. An' she isn't goin' to tell him anything about it, +Mr. Parcher. She said that's the best way.” + +Her new friend nodded and seemed to agree. “I suppose that's what you +meant when you said he wasn't coming back but didn't know it yet?” + +“Yes, Mr. Parcher.” + +He rested an elbow upon the gate-post, gazing down with ever-increasing +esteem. “Of course I know your last name,” he said, “but I'm afraid I've +forgotten your other one.” + +“It's Jane.” + +“Jane,” said Mr. Parcher, “I should like to do something for you.” + +Jane looked down, and with eyes modestly lowered she swallowed the last +fragment of the bread-and-butter and apple sauce and sugar which had +been the constantly evanescent companion of their little walk together. +She was not mercenary; she had sought no reward. + +“Well, I guess I must run home,” she said. And with one lift of her +eyes to his and a shy laugh--laughter being a rare thing for Jane--she +scampered quickly to the corner and was gone. + +But though she cared for no reward, the extraordinary restlessness of +William, that evening, after dinner, must at least have been of great +interest to her. He ascended to his own room directly from the table, +but about twenty minutes later came down to the library, where Jane +was sitting (her privilege until half after seven) with her father and +mother. William looked from one to the other of his parents and seemed +about to speak, but did not do so. Instead, he departed for the upper +floor again and presently could be heard moving about energetically in +various parts of the house, a remote thump finally indicating that he +was doing something with a trunk in the attic. + +After that he came down to the library again and once more seemed about +to speak, but did not. Then he went up-stairs again, and came down +again, and he was still repeating this process when Jane's time-limit +was reached and she repaired conscientiously to her little bed. Her +mother came to hear her prayers and to turn out the light; and--when +Mrs. Baxter had passed out into the hall, after that, Jane heard +her speaking to William, who was now conducting what seemed to be +excavations on a serious scale in his own room. + +“Oh, Willie, perhaps I didn't tell you, but--you remember I'd been +missing papa's evening clothes and looking everywhere for days and +days?” + +“Ye--es,” huskily from William. + +“Well, I found them! And where do you suppose I'd put them? I found +them under your window-seat. Can you think of anything more absurd than +putting them there and then forgetting it? I took them to the tailor's +to have them let out. They were getting too tight for papa, but they'll +be all right for him when the tailor sends them back.” + +What the stricken William gathered from this it is impossible to state +with accuracy; probably he mixed some perplexity with his emotions. +Certainly he was perplexed the following evening at dinner. + +Jane did not appear at the table. “Poor child! she's sick in bed,” Mrs. +Baxter explained to her husband. “I was out, this afternoon, and she ate +nearly ALL of a five-pound box of candy.” + +Both the sad-eyed William and his father were dumfounded. “Where on +earth did she get a five-pound box of candy?” Mr. Baxter demanded. + +“I'm afraid Jane has begun her first affair,” said Mrs. Baxter. “A +gentleman sent it to her.” + +“What gentleman?” gasped William. + +And in his mother's eyes, as they slowly came to rest on his in reply, +he was aware of an inscrutability strongly remindful of that inscrutable +look of Jane's. + +“Mr. Parcher,” she said, gently. + + + + +XII + +PROGRESS OF THE SYMPTOMS + +Mrs. BAXTER'S little stroke of diplomacy had gone straight to the mark, +she was a woman of insight. For every reason she was well content to +have her son spend his evenings at home, though it cannot be claimed +that his presence enlivened the household, his condition being one of +strange, trancelike irascibility. Evening after evening passed, while +he sat dreaming painfully of Mr. Parcher's porch; but in the daytime, +though William did not literally make hay while the sun shone, he at +least gathered a harvest somewhat resembling hay in general character. + +Thus: + +One afternoon, having locked his door to secure himself against +intrusion on the part of his mother or Jane, William seated himself at +his writing-table, and from a drawer therein took a small cardboard box, +which he uncovered, placing the contents in view before him upon the +table. (How meager, how chilling a word is “contents”!) In the box were: + +A faded rose. + +Several other faded roses, disintegrated into leaves. + +Three withered “four-leaf clovers.” + +A white ribbon still faintly smelling of violets. + +A small silver shoe-buckle. + +A large pearl button. + +A small pearl button. + +A tortoise-shell hair-pin. + +A cross-section from the heel of a small slipper. + +A stringy remnant, probably once an improvised wreath of daisies. + +Four or five withered dandelions. + +Other dried vegetation, of a nature now indistinguishable. + +William gazed reverently upon this junk of precious souvenirs; then +from the inner pocket of his coat he brought forth, warm and crumpled, +a lumpish cluster of red geranium blossoms, still aromatic and not quite +dead, though naturally, after three hours of such intimate confinement, +they wore an unmistakable look of suffering. With a tenderness which +his family had never observed in him since that piteous day in his fifth +year when he tried to mend his broken doll, William laid the geranium +blossoms in the cardboard box among the botanical and other relics. + +His gentle eyes showed what the treasures meant to him, and yet it +was strange that they should have meant so much, because the source of +supply was not more than a quarter of a mile distant, and practically +inexhaustible. Miss Pratt had now been a visitor at the Parchers' +for something less than five weeks, but she had made no mention of +prospective departure, and there was every reason to suppose that she +meant to remain all summer. And as any foliage or anything whatever that +she touched, or that touched her, was thenceforth suitable for William's +museum, there appeared to be some probability that autumn might see it +so enlarged as to lack that rarity in the component items which is the +underlying value of most collections. + +William's writing-table was beside an open window, through which came an +insistent whirring, unagreeable to his mood; and, looking down upon the +sunny lawn, he beheld three lowly creatures. One was Genesis; he was +cutting the grass. Another was Clematis; he had assumed a transient +attitude, curiously triangular, in order to scratch his ear, the while +his anxious eyes never wavered from the third creature. + +This was Jane. In one hand she held a little stack of sugar-sprinkled +wafers, which she slowly but steadily depleted, unconscious of the +increasingly earnest protest, at last nearing agony, in the eyes of +Clematis. Wearing unaccustomed garments of fashion and festivity, +Jane stood, in speckless, starchy white and a blue sash, watching +the lawn-mower spout showers of grass as the powerful Genesis easily +propelled it along over lapping lanes, back and forth, across the yard. + +From a height of illimitable loftiness the owner of the cardboard +treasury looked down upon the squat commonplaceness of those three +lives. The condition of Jane and Genesis and Clematis seemed almost +laughably pitiable to him, the more so because they were unaware of it. +They breathed not the starry air that William breathed, but what did it +matter to them? The wretched things did not even know that they meant +nothing to Miss Pratt! + +Clematis found his ear too pliable for any great solace from his foot, +but he was not disappointed; he had expected little, and his thoughts +were elsewhere. Rising, he permitted his nose to follow his troubled +eyes, with the result that it touched the rim of the last wafer in +Jane's external possession. + +This incident annoyed William. “Look there!” he called from the window. +“You mean to eat that cake after the dog's had his face on it?” + +Jane remained placid. “It wasn't his face.” + +“Well, if it wasn't his face, I'd like to know what--” + +“It wasn't his face,” Jane repeated. “It was his nose. It wasn't all of +his nose touched it, either. It was only a little outside piece of his +nose.” + +“Well, are you going to eat that cake, I ask you?” + +Jane broke off a small bit of the wafer. She gave the bit to Clematis +and slowly ate what remained, continuing to watch Genesis and apparently +unconscious of the scorching gaze from the window. + +“I never saw anything as disgusting as long as I've lived!” William +announced. “I wouldn't 'a' believed it if anybody'd told me a sister of +mine would eat after--” + +“I didn't,” said Jane. “I like Clematis, anyway.” + +“Ye gods!” her brother cried. “Do you think that makes it any better? +And, BY the WAY,” he continued, in a tone of even greater severity, “I'd +a like to know where you got those cakes. Where'd you get 'em, I'd just +like to inquire?” + +“In the pantry.” Jane turned and moved toward the house. “I'm goin' in +for some more, now.” + +William uttered a cry; these little cakes were sacred. His mother, +growing curious to meet a visiting lady of whom (so to speak) she had +heard much and thought more, had asked May Parcher to bring her guest +for iced tea, that afternoon. A few others of congenial age had been +invited: there was to be a small matinee, in fact, for the honor and +pleasure of the son of the house, and the cakes of Jane's onslaught +were part of Mrs. Baxter's preparations. There was no telling where +Jane would stop; it was conceivable that Miss Pratt herself might go +waferless. + +William returned the cardboard box to its drawer with reverent haste; +then, increasing the haste, but dropping the reverence, he hied himself +to the pantry with such advantage of longer legs that within the minute +he and the wafers appeared in conjunction before his mother, who was +arranging fruit and flowers upon a table in the “living-room.” + +William entered in the stained-glass attitude of one bearing gifts. +Overhead, both hands supported a tin pan, well laden with small +cakes and wafers, for which Jane was silently but repeatedly and +systematically jumping. Even under the stress of these efforts her +expression was cool and collected; she maintained the self-possession +that was characteristic of her. + +Not so with William; his cheeks were flushed, his eyes indignant. “You +see what this child is doing?” he demanded. “Are you going to let her +ruin everything?” + +“Ruin?” Mrs. Baxter repeated, absently, refreshing with fair water a +bowl of flowers upon the table. “Ruin?” + +“Yes, ruin!” William was hotly emphatic, “If you don't do something with +her it 'll all be ruined before Miss Pr-- before they even get here!” + +Mrs. Baxter laughed. “Set the pan down, Willie.” + +“Set it DOWN?” he echoed, incredulously “With that child in the room and +grabbing like--” + +“There!” Mrs. Baxter took the pan from him, placed it upon a chair, and +with the utmost coolness selected five wafers and gave them to Jane. +“I'd already promised her she could have five more. You know the doctor +said Jane's digestion was the finest he'd ever misunderstood. They won't +hurt her at all, Willie.” + +This deliberate misinterpretation of his motives made it difficult for +William to speak. “Do YOU think,” he began, hoarsely, “do you THINK--” + +“They're so small, too,” Mrs. Baxter went on. “SHE probably wouldn't be +sick if she ate them all.” + +“My heavens!” he burst forth. “Do you think I was worrying about--” He +broke off, unable to express himself save by a few gestures of despair. +Again finding his voice, and a great deal of it, he demanded: “Do you +realize that Miss PRATT will be here within less than half an hour? What +do you suppose she'd think of the people of this town if she was invited +out, expecting decent treatment, and found two-thirds of the cakes eaten +up before she got there, and what was left of 'em all mauled and pawed +over and crummy and chewed-up lookin' from some wretched CHILD?” Here +William became oratorical, but not with marked effect, since Jane +regarded him with unmoved eyes, while Mrs. Baxter continued to be mildly +preoccupied in arranging the table. In fact, throughout this episode +in controversy the ladies' party had not only the numerical but the +emotional advantage. Obviously, the approach of Miss Pratt was not to +them what it was to William. “I tell you,” he declaimed;--“yes, I tell +you that it wouldn't take much of this kind of thing to make Miss Pratt +think the people of this town were--well, it wouldn't take much to make +her think the people of this town hadn't learned much of how to +behave in society and were pretty uncilivized!” He corrected himself. +“Uncivilized! And to think Miss Pratt has to find that out in MY house! +To think--” + +“Now, Willie,” said Mrs. Baxter, gently, “you'd better go up and brush +your hair again before your friends come. You mustn't let yourself get +so excited.” + +“'Excited!'” he cried, incredulously. “Do you think I'm EXCITED? +Ye gods!” He smote his hands together and, in his despair of her +intelligence, would have flung himself down upon a chair, but was +arrested half-way by simultaneous loud outcries from his mother and +Jane. + +“Don't sit on the CAKES!” they both screamed. + +Saving himself and the pan of wafers by a supreme contortion at the last +instant, William decided to remain upon his feet. “What do I care for +the cakes?” he demanded, contemptuously, beginning to pace the floor. +“It's the question of principle I'm talking about! Do you think it's +right to give the people of this town a poor name when strangers like +Miss PRATT come to vis--” + +“Willie!” His mother looked at him hopelessly. “Do go and brush your +hair. If you could see how you've tousled it you would.” + +He gave her a dazed glance and strode from the room. + +Jane looked after him placidly. “Didn't he talk funny!” she murmured. + +“Yes, dear,” said Mrs. Baxter. She shook her head and uttered the +enigmatic words, “They do.” + +“I mean Willie, mamma,” said Jane. “If it's anything about Miss Pratt. +he always talks awful funny. Don't you think Willie talks awful funny if +it's anything about Miss Pratt, mamma?” + +“Yes, but--” + +“What, mamma?” Jane asked as her mother paused. + +“Well--it happens. People do get like that at his age, Jane.” + +“Does everybody?” + +“No, I suppose not everybody. Just some.” + +Jane's interest was roused. “Well, do those that do, mamma,” she +inquired, “do they all act like Willie?” + +“No,” said Mrs. Baxter. “That's the trouble; you can't tell what's +coming.” + +Jane nodded. “I think I know,” she said. “You mean Willie--” + +William himself interrupted her. He returned violently to the doorway, +his hair still tousled, and, standing upon the threshold, said, sternly: + +“What is that child wearing her best dress for?” + +“Willie!” Mrs. Baxter cried. “Go brush your hair!” + +“I wish to know what that child is all dressed up for?” he insisted. + +“To please you! Don't you want her to look her best at your tea?” + +“I thought that was it!” he cried, and upon this confirmation of his +worst fears he did increased violence to his rumpled hair. “I suspected +it, but I wouldn't 'a' believed it! You mean to let this child--you +mean to let--” Here his agitation affected his throat and his utterance +became clouded. A few detached phrases fell from him: “--Invite MY +friends--children's party--ye gods!--think Miss Pratt plays dolls--” + +“Jane will be very good,” his mother said. “I shouldn't think of not +having her, Willie, and you needn't bother about your friends; they'll +be very glad to see her. They all know her, except Miss Pratt, perhaps, +and--” Mrs. Baxter paused; then she asked, absently: “By the way, +haven't I heard somewhere that she likes pretending to be a little girl, +herself?” + +“WHAT!” + +“Yes,” said Mrs. Baxter, remaining calm; “I'm sure I've heard somewhere +that she likes to talk 'baby-talk.'” + +Upon this a tremor passed over William, after which he became rigid. +“You ask a lady to your house,” he began, “and even before she gets +here, before you've even seen her, you pass judgment upon one of +the--one of the noblest--” + +“Good gracious! _I_ haven't 'passed judgment.' If she does talk +'baby-talk,' I imagine she does it very prettily, and I'm sure I've +no objection. And if she does do it, why should you be insulted by my +mentioning it?” + +“It was the way you said it,” he informed her, icily. + +“Good gracious! I just said it!” Mrs. Baxter laughed, and then, +probably a little out of patience with him, she gave way to that innate +mischievousness in such affairs which is not unknown to her sex. “You +see, Willie, if she pretends to be a cunning little girl, it will be +helpful to Jane to listen and learn how.” + +William uttered a cry; he knew that he was struck, but he was not sure +how or where. He was left with a blank mind and no repartee. Again he +dashed from the room. + +In the hall, near the open front door, he came to a sudden halt, +and Mrs. Baxter and Jane heard him calling loudly to the industrious +Genesis: + +“Here! You go cut the grass in the back yard, and for Heaven's sake, +take that dog with you!” + +“Grass awready cut roun' back,” responded the amiable voice of Genesis, +while the lawnmower ceased not to whir. “Cut all 'at back yod 's +mawnin'.” + +“Well, you can't cut the front yard now. Go around in the back yard and +take that dog with you.” + +“Nemmine 'bout 'at back yod! Ole Clem ain' trouble nobody.” + +“You hear what I tell you?” William shouted. “You do what I say and you +do it quick!” + +Genesis laughed gaily. “I got my grass to cut!” + +“You decline to do what I command you?” William roared. + +“Yes, indeedy! Who pay me my wages? 'At's MY boss. You' ma say, +'Genesis, you git all 'at lawn mowed b'fo' sundown.' No, suh! Nee'n' +was'e you' bref on me, 'cause I'm got all MY time good an' took up!” + +Once more William presented himself fatefully to his mother and Jane. +“May I just kindly ask you to look out in the front yard?” + +“I'm familiar with it, Willie,” Mrs. Baxter returned, a little wearily. + +“I mean I want you to look at Genesis.” + +“I'm familiar with his appearance, too,” she said. “Why in the world do +you mind his cutting the grass?” + +William groaned. “Do you honestly want guests coming to this house +to see that awful old darky out there and know that HE'S the kind of +servants we employ? Ye gods!” + +“Why, Genesis is just a neighborhood outdoors darky, Willie; he works +for half a dozen families besides us. Everybody in this part of town +knows him.” + +“Yes,” he cried, “but a lady that didn't live here wouldn't. Ye gods! +What do you suppose she WOULD think? You know what he's got on!” + +“It's a sort of sleeveless jersey he wears, Willie, I think.” + +“No, you DON'T think that!” he cried, with great bitterness. “You know +it's not a jersey! You know perfectly well what it is, and yet you +expect to keep him out there when--when one of the one of the nobl--when +my friends arrive! And they'll think that's our DOG out there, won't +they? When intelligent people come to a house and see a dog sitting out +in front, they think it's the family in the house's dog, don't they?” + William's condition becoming more and more disordered, he paced the +room, while his agony rose to a climax. “Ye gods! What do you think Miss +Pratt will think of the people of this town, when she's invited to meet +a few of my friends and the first thing she sees is a nigger in his +undershirt? What 'll she think when she finds that child's eaten up half +the food, and the people have to explain that the dog in the front +yard belongs to the darky--” He interrupted himself with a groan: “And +prob'ly she wouldn't believe it. Anybody'd SAY they didn't own a dog +like that! And that's what you want her to see, before she even gets +inside the house! Instead of a regular gardener in livery like we ought +to have, and a bulldog or a good Airedale or a fox-hound, or something, +the first things you want intelligent people from out of town to see are +that awful old darky and his mongrel scratchin' fleas and like as not +lettin' 'em get on other people! THAT'd be nice, wouldn't it? Go out to +tea expecting decent treatment and get fl--” + +“WILLIE!” + +Mrs. Baxter managed to obtain his attention. “If you'll go and brush +your hair I'll send Genesis and Clematis away for the rest of the +afternoon. And then if you 'll sit down quietly and try to keep cool +until your friends get here, I'll--” + +“'Quietly'!” he echoed, shaking his head over this mystery. “I'm the +only one that IS quiet around here. Things 'd be in a fine condition to +receive guests if I didn't keep pretty cool, I guess!” + +“There, there,” she said, soothingly. “Go and brush your hair. And +change your collar, Willie; it's all wilted. I'll send Genesis away.” + +His wandering eye failed to meet hers with any intelligence. “Collar,” + he muttered, as if in soliloquy. “Collar.” + +“Change it!” said Mrs. Baxter, raising her voice. “It's WILTED.” + +He departed in a dazed manner. + +Passing through the hall, he paused abruptly, his eye having fallen +with sudden disapproval upon a large, heavily framed, glass-covered +engraving, “The Battle of Gettysburg,” which hung upon the wall, near +the front door. Undeniably, it was a picture feeble in decorative +quality; no doubt, too, William was right in thinking it as unworthy of +Miss Pratt, as were Jane and Genesis and Clematis. He felt that she must +never see it, especially as the frame had been chipped and had a corner +broken, but it was more pleasantly effective where he found it than +where (in his nervousness) he left it. A few hasty jerks snapped the +elderly green cords by which it was suspended; then he laid the picture +upon the floor and with his handkerchief made a curious labyrinth +of avenues in the large oblong area of fine dust which this removal +disclosed upon the wall. Pausing to wipe his hot brow with the same +implement, he remembered that some one had made allusions to his collar +and hair, whereupon he sprang to the stairs, mounted two at a time, +rushed into his own room, and confronted his streaked image in the +mirror. + + + + +XIII + +AT HOME TO HIS FRIENDS + +After ablutions, he found his wet hair plastic, and easily obtained the +long, even sweep backward from the brow, lacking which no male person, +unless bald, fulfilled his definition of a man of the world. But +there ensued a period of vehemence and activity caused by a bent +collar-button, which went on strike with a desperation that was +downright savage. The day was warm and William was warmer; moisture +bedewed him afresh. Belated victory no sooner arrived than he perceived +a fatal dimpling of the new collar, and was forced to begin the +operation of exchanging it for a successor. Another exchange, however, +he unfortunately forgot to make: the handkerchief with which he had +wiped the wall remained in his pocket. + +Voices from below, making polite laughter, warned him that already some +of the bidden party had arrived, and, as he completed the fastening of +his third consecutive collar, an ecstasy of sound reached him through +the open window--and then, Oh then! his breath behaved in an abnormal +manner and he began to tremble. It was the voice of Miss Pratt, no less! + +He stopped for one heart-struck look from his casement. All in fluffy +white and heliotrope she was--a blonde rapture floating over the +sidewalk toward William's front gate. Her little white cottony dog, with +a heliotrope ribbon round his neck, bobbed his head over her cuddling +arm; a heliotrope parasol shielded her infinitesimally from the amorous +sun. Poor William! + +Two youths entirely in William's condition of heart accompanied the +glamorous girl and hung upon her rose-leaf lips, while Miss Parcher +appeared dimly upon the outskirts of the group, the well-known penalty +for hostesses who entertain such radiance. Probably it serves them +right. + +To William's reddening ear Miss Pratt's voice came clearly as the +chiming of tiny bells, for she spoke whimsically to her little dog in +that tinkling childlike fashion which was part of the spell she cast. + +“Darlin' Flopit,” she said, “wake up! Oo tummin' to tea-potty wiz all de +drowed-ups. P'eshus Flopit, wake up!” + +Dizzy with enchantment, half suffocated, his heart melting within him, +William turned from the angelic sounds and fairy vision of the window. +He ran out of the room, and plunged down the front stairs. And the next +moment the crash of breaking glass and the loud thump-bump of a heavily +falling human body resounded through the house. + +Mrs. Baxter, alarmed, quickly excused herself from the tea-table, round +which were gathered four or five young people, and hastened to the front +hall, followed by Jane. Through the open door were seen Miss Pratt, Miss +Parcher, Mr. Johnnie Watson and Mr. Joe Bullitt coming leisurely up the +sunny front walk, laughing and unaware of the catastrophe which had just +occurred within the shadows of the portal. And at a little distance from +the foot of the stairs William was seated upon the prostrate “Battle of +Gettysburg.” + +“It slid,” he said, hoarsely. “I carried it upstairs with me”--he +believed this--“and somebody brought it down and left it lying flat on +the floor by the bottom step on purpose to trip me! I stepped on it and +it slid.” He was in a state of shock: it seemed important to impress +upon his mother the fact that the picture had not remained firmly in +place when he stepped upon it. “It SLID, I tell you!” + +“Get up, Willie!” she urged, under her breath, and as he summoned +enough presence of mind to obey, she beheld ruins other than the wrecked +engraving. She stifled a cry. “WILLIE! Did the glass cut you?” + +He felt himself. “No'm.” + +“It did your trousers! You'll have to change them. Hurry!” + +Some of William's normal faculties were restored to him by one hasty +glance at the back of his left leg, which had a dismantled appearance. A +long blue strip of cloth hung there, with white showing underneath. + +“HURRY!” said Mrs. Baxter. And hastily gathering some fragments of +glass, she dropped them upon the engraving, pushed it out of the way, +and went forward to greet Miss Pratt and her attendants. + +As for William, he did not even pause to close his mouth, but fled with +it open. Upward he sped, unseen, and came to a breathless halt upon the +landing at the top of the stairs. + +As it were in a dream he heard his mother's hospitable greetings at the +door, and then the little party lingered in the hall, detained by Miss +Pratt's discovery of Jane. + +“Oh, tweetums tootums ickle dirl!” he heard the ravishing voice exclaim. +“Oh, tootums ickle blue sash!” + +“It cost a dollar and eighty-nine cents,” said Jane. “Willie sat on the +cakes.” + +“Oh no, he didn't,” Mrs. Baxter laughed. “He didn't QUITE!” + +“He had to go up-stairs,” said Jane. And as the stricken listener above +smote his forehead, she added placidly, “He tore a hole in his clo'es.” + +She seemed about to furnish details, her mood being communicative, but +Mrs. Baxter led the way into the “living-room”; the hall was vacated, +and only the murmur of voices and laughter reached William. What +descriptive information Jane may have added was spared his hearing, +which was a mercy. + +And yet it may be that he could not have felt worse than he did; for +there IS nothing worse than to be seventeen and to hear one of the +Noblest girls in the world told by a little child that you sat on the +cakes and tore a hole in your clo'es. + +William leaned upon the banister railing and thought thoughts about +Jane. For several long, seething moments he thought of her exclusively. +Then, spurred by the loud laughter of rivals and the agony of knowing +that even in his own house they were monopolizing the attention of one +of the Noblest, he hastened into his own, room and took account of his +reverses. + +Standing with his back to the mirror, he obtained over his shoulder +a view of his trousers which caused him to break out in a fresh +perspiration. Again he wiped his forehead with the handkerchief, and the +result was instantly visible in the mirror. + +The air thickened with sounds of frenzy, followed by a torrential roar +and great sputterings in a bath-room, which tumult subsiding, William +returned at a tragic gallop to his room and, having removed his +trousers, began a feverish examination of the garments hanging in a +clothes-closet. There were two pairs of flannel trousers which would +probably again be white and possible, when cleaned and pressed, but a +glance showed that until then they were not to be considered as even +the last resort of desperation. Beside them hung his “last year's summer +suit” of light gray. + +Feverishly he brought it forth, threw off his coat, and then--deflected +by another glance at the mirror--began to change his collar again. +This was obviously necessary, and to quicken the process he decided +to straighten the bent collar-button. Using a shoe-horn as a lever, +he succeeded in bringing the little cap or head of the button into its +proper plane, but, unfortunately, his final effort dislodged the cap +from the rod between it and the base, and it flew off malignantly +into space. Here was a calamity; few things are more useless than a +decapitated collar-button, and William had no other. He had made +sure that it was his last before he put it on, that day; also he +had ascertained that there was none in, on, or about his father's +dressing-table. Finally, in the possession of neither William nor his +father was there a shirt with an indigenous collar. + +For decades, collar-buttons have been on the hand-me-down shelves of +humor; it is a mistake in the catalogue. They belong to pathos. They +have done harm in the world, and there have been collar-buttons that +failed when the destinies of families hung upon them. There have +been collar-buttons that thwarted proper matings. There have been +collar-buttons that bore last hopes, and, falling to the floor, +NEVER were found! William's broken collar-button was really the only +collar-button in the house, except such as were engaged in serving his +male guests below. + +At first he did not realize the extent of his misfortune. How could he? +Fate is always expected to deal its great blows in the grand manner. +But our expectations are fustian spangled with pinchbeck; we look for +tragedy to be theatrical. Meanwhile, every day before our eyes, fate +works on, employing for its instruments the infinitesimal, the ignoble +and the petty--in a word, collar-buttons. + +Of course William searched his dressing-table and his father's, although +he had been thoroughly over both once before that day. Next he went +through most of his mother's and Jane's accessories to the +toilette; through trinket-boxes, glove-boxes, hairpin-boxes, +handkerchief-cases--even through sewing-baskets. Utterly he convinced +himself that ladies not only use no collar-buttons, but also never pick +them up and put them away among their own belongings. How much time he +consumed in this search is difficult to reckon;--it is almost impossible +to believe that there is absolutely no collar-button in a house. + +And what William's state of mind had become is matter for exorbitant +conjecture. Jane, arriving at his locked door upon an errand, was bidden +by a thick, unnatural voice to depart. + +“Mamma says, 'What in mercy's name is the matter?'” Jane called. “She +whispered to me, 'Go an' see what in mercy's name is the matter with +Willie; an' if the glass cut him, after all; an' why don't he come +down'; an' why don't you, Willie? We're all havin' the nicest time!” + +“You g'way!” said the strange voice within the room. “G'way!” + +“Well, did the glass cut you?” + +“No! Keep quiet! G'way!” + +“Well, are you EVER comin' down to your party?” + +“Yes, I am! G'way!” + +Jane obeyed, and William somehow completed the task upon which he was +engaged. Genius had burst forth from his despair; necessity had become +a mother again, and William's collar was in place. It was tied there. +Under his necktie was a piece of string. + +He had lost count of time, but he was frantically aware of its passage; +agony was in the thought of so many rich moments frittered away; +up-stairs, while Joe Bullitt and Johnnie Watson made hay below. And +there was another spur to haste in his fear that the behavior of Mrs. +Baxter might not be all that the guest of honor would naturally expect +of William's mother. As for Jane, his mind filled with dread; shivers +passed over him at intervals. + +It was a dismal thing to appear at a “party” (and that his own) in “last +summer's suit,” but when he had hastily put it on and faced the mirror, +he felt a little better--for three or four seconds. Then he turned to +see how the back of it looked. + +And collapsed in a chair, moaning. + + + + +XIV + +TIME DOES FLY + +He remembered now what he had been too hurried to remember earlier. He +had worn these clothes on the previous Saturday, and, returning from a +glorified walk with Miss Pratt, he had demonstrated a fact to which his +near-demolition of the wafers, this afternoon, was additional testimony. +This fact, roughly stated, is that a person of seventeen, in love, is +liable to sit down anywhere. William had dreamily seated himself upon +a tabouret in the library, without noticing that Jane had left her open +paint-box there. Jane had just been painting sunsets; naturally all the +little blocks of color were wet, and the effect upon William's pale-gray +trousers was marvelous--far beyond the capacity of his coat to conceal. +Collar-buttons and children's paint-boxes--those are the trolls that lie +in wait! + +The gray clothes and the flannel trousers had been destined for the +professional cleaner, and William, rousing himself from a brief stupor, +made a piteous effort to substitute himself for that expert so far +as the gray trousers were concerned. He divested himself of them and +brought water, towels, bath-soap, and a rubber bath-sponge to the bright +light of his window; and; there, with touching courage and persistence, +he tried to scrub the paint out of the cloth. He obtained cloud studies +and marines which would have interested a Post-Impressionist, but upon +trousers they seemed out of place. + +There came one seeking and calling him again; raps sounded upon the +door, which he had not forgotten to lock. + +“Willie,” said a serious voice, “mamma wants to know what in mercy's +name is the matter! She wants to know if you know for mercy's name what +time it is! She wants to know what in mercy's name you think they're all +goin' to think! She says--” + +“G'WAY!” + +“Well, she said I had to find out what in mercy's name you're doin', +Willie.” + +“You tell her,” he shouted, hoarsely--“tell her I'm playin' dominoes! +What's she THINK I'm doin'?” + +“I guess”--Jane paused, evidently to complete the swallowing of +something--“I guess she thinks you're goin' crazy. I don't like Miss +Pratt, but she lets me play with that little dog. It's name's Flopit!” + +“You go 'way from that door and stop bothering me,” said William. “I got +enough on my mind!” + +“Mamma looks at Miss Pratt,” Jane remarked. “Miss Pratt puts cakes in +that Mr. Bullitt's mouth and Johnnie Watson's mouth, too. She's awful.” + +William made it plain that these bulletins from the party found no favor +with him. He bellowed, “If you don't get away from that DOOR--” + +Jane was interested in the conversation, but felt that it would be +better to return to the refreshment-table. There she made use of her own +conception of a whisper to place before her mother a report which was +considered interesting and even curious by every one present; though, +such was the courtesy of the little assembly, there was a general +pretense of not hearing. + +“I told him,” thus whispered Jane, “an' he said, 'You g'way from that +door or I'll do somep'm'--he didn't say what, mamma. He said, 'What you +think I'm doin'? I'm playin' dominoes.' He didn't mean he WAS playin' +dominoes, mamma. He just said he was. I think maybe he was just lookin' +in the lookin'-glass some more.” + +Mrs. Baxter was becoming embarrassed. She resolved to go to William's +room herself at the first opportunity; but for some time her +conscientiousness as a hostess continued to occupy her at the table, +and then, when she would have gone, Miss Pratt detained her by a roguish +appeal to make Mr. Bullitt and Mr. Watson behave. Both refused all +nourishment except such as was placed in their mouths by the delicate +hand of one of the Noblest, and the latter said that really she wanted +to eat a little tweetie now and then herself, and not to spend her whole +time feeding the Men. For Miss Pratt had the same playfulness with older +people that she had with those of her own age; and she elaborated her +pretended quarrel with the two young gentlemen, taking others of the +dazzled company into her confidence about it, and insisting upon “Mamma +Batster's” acting formally as judge to settle the difficulty. However, +having thus arranged matters, Miss Pratt did not resign the center of +interest, but herself proposed a compromise: she would continue to feed +Mr. Bullitt and Mr. Watson “every other tweetie”--that is, each must +agree to eat a cake “all by him own self,” after every cake fed to him. +So the comedietta went on, to the running accompaniment of laughter, +with Mr. Bullitt and Mr. Watson swept by such gusts of adoration they +were like to perish where they sat. But Mrs. Baxter's smiling approval +was beginning to be painful to the muscles of her face, for it was +hypocritical. And if William had known her thoughts about one of the +Noblest, he could only have attributed them to that demon of groundless +prejudice which besets all females, but most particularly and +outrageously the mothers and sisters of Men. + +A colored serving-maid entered with a laden tray, and, having disposed +of its freight of bon-bons among the guests, spoke to Mrs. Baxter in a +low voice. + +“Could you manage step in the back hall a minute, please, ma'am?” + +Mrs. Baxter managed and, having closed the door upon the laughing +voices, asked, quickly--“What is it, Adelia? Have you seen Mr. William? +Do you know why he doesn't come down?” + +“Yes'm,” said Adelia. “He gone mighty near out his head, Miz Baxter.” + +“What!” + +“Yes'm. He come floppin' down the back stairs in his baf-robe li'l' +while ago. He jes' gone up again. He 'ain't got no britches, Miz +Baxter.” + +“No WHAT?” + +“No'm,” said Adelia. “He 'ain't got no britches at all.” + +A statement of this kind is startling under Almost any circumstances, +and it is unusually so when made in reference to a person for whom a +party is being given. Therefore it was not unreasonable of Mrs. Baxter +to lose her breath. + +“But--it can't BE!” she gasped. “He has! He has plenty!” + +“No'm, he 'ain't,” Adelia assured her. “An' he's carryin' on so I don't +scarcely think he knows much what he's doin', Miz Baxter. He brung down +some gray britches to the kitchen to see if I couldn' press an' clean +'em right quick: they was the ones Miss Jane, when she's paintin' all +them sunsets, lef' her paint-box open, an' one them sunsets got on these +here gray britches, Miz Baxter; an' hones'ly, Miz Baxter, he's fixed 'em +in a condishum, tryin' to git that paint out, I don't believe it 'll be +no use sendin' 'em to the cleaner. 'Clean 'em an' press 'em QUICK?' I +says. 'I couldn' clean 'em by Resurreckshum, let alone pressin' 'em!' +No'm! Well, he had his blue britches, too, but they's so ripped an' tore +an' kind o' shredded away in one place, the cook she jes' hollered when +he spread 'em out, an' he didn' even ast me could I mend 'em. An' he had +two pairs o' them white flannen britches, but hones'ly, Miz Baxter, +I don't scarcely think Genesis would wear 'em, the way they is now! +'Well,' I says, 'ain't but one thing lef' to do _I_ can see,' I says. +'Why don't you go put on that nice black suit you had las' winter?'” + +“Of course!” Mrs. Baxter cried. “I'll go and--” + +“No'm,” said Adelia. “You don' need to. He's up in the attic now, +r'arin' roun' 'mongs' them trunks, but seem to me like I remember you +put that suit away under the heavy blankets in that big cedar ches' with +the padlock. If you jes' tell me where is the key, I take it up to him.” + +“Under the bureau in the spare room,” said Mrs. Baxter. “HURRY!” + +Adelia hurried; and, fifteen minutes later, William, for the last time +that afternoon, surveyed himself in his mirror. His face showed the +strain that had been upon him and under which he still labored; the +black suit was a map of creases, and William was perspiring more freely +than ever under the heavy garments. But at least he was clothed. + +He emptied his pockets, disgorging upon the floor a multitude of small +white spheres, like marbles. Then, as he stepped out into the hall, he +discovered that their odor still remained about him; so he stopped +and carefully turned his pockets inside out, one after the other, but +finding that he still smelled vehemently of the “moth-balls,” though not +one remained upon him, he went to his mother's room and sprinkled violet +toilet-water upon his chest and shoulders. He disliked such odors, but +that left by the moth-balls was intolerable, and, laying hands upon a +canister labeled “Hyacinth,” he contrived to pour a quantity of scented +powder inside his collar, thence to be distributed by the force of +gravity so far as his dampness permitted. + +Lo, William was now ready to go to his party! Moist, wilted, smelling +indeed strangely, he was ready. + +But when he reached the foot of the stairs he discovered that there was +one thing more to be done. Indignation seized him, and also a creeping +fear chilled his spine, as he beheld a lurking shape upon the porch, +stealthily moving toward the open door. It was the lowly Clematis, dog +unto Genesis. + +William instantly divined the purpose of Clematis. It was debatable +whether Clematis had remained upon the premises after the departure of +Genesis, or had lately returned thither upon some errand of his own, +but one thing was certain, and the manner of Clematis--his attitude, +his every look, his every gesture--made it as clear as day. Clematis +had discovered, by one means or another, the presence of Flopit in the +house, and had determined to see him personally. + +Clematis wore his most misleading expression; a stranger would have +thought him shy and easily turned from his purpose--but William was not +deceived. He knew that if Clematis meant to see Flopit, a strong will, +a ready brain, and stern action were needed to thwart him; but at all +costs that meeting must be prevented. Things had been awful enough, +without that! + +He was well aware that Clematis could not be driven away, except +temporarily, for nothing was further fixed upon Clematis than his habit +of retiring under pressure, only to return and return again. True, the +door could have been shut in the intruder's face, but he would have +sought other entrance with possible success, or, failing that, would +have awaited in the front yard the dispersal of the guests and Flopit's +consequent emerging. This was a contretemps not to be endured. + +The door of the living-room was closed, muffling festal noises and +permitting safe passage through the hall. William cast a hunted look +over his shoulder; then he approached Clematis. + +“Good ole doggie,” he said, huskily. “Hyuh, Clem! Hyuh, Clem!” + +Clematis moved sidelong, retreating with his head low and his tail +denoting anxious thoughts. + +“Hyuh, Clem!” said William, trying, with only fair success, to keep his +voice from sounding venomous. “Hyuh, Clem!” + +Clematis continued his deprecatory retreat. + +Thereupon William essayed a ruse--he pretended to nibble at something, +and then extended his hand as if it held forth a gift of food. “Look, +Clem,” he said. “Yum-yum! Meat, Clem! Good meat!” + +For once Clematis was half credulous. He did not advance, but he +elongated himself to investigate the extended hand, and the next instant +found himself seized viciously by the scruff of the neck. He submitted +to capture in absolute silence. Only the slightest change of countenance +betrayed his mortification at having been found so easy a gull; this +passed, and a look of resolute stoicism took its place. + +He refused to walk, but offered merely nominal resistance, as a formal +protest which he wished to be of record, though perfectly understanding +that it availed nothing at present. William dragged him through the long +hall and down a short passageway to the cellar door. This he opened, +thrust Clematis upon the other side of it, closed and bolted it. + +Immediately a stentorian howl raised blood-curdling echoes and resounded +horribly through the house. It was obvious that Clematis intended to +make a scene, whether he was present at it or not. He lifted his voice +in sonorous dolor, stating that he did not like the cellar and would +continue thus to protest as long as he was left in it alone. He added +that he was anxious to see Flopit and considered it an unexampled +outrage that he was withheld from the opportunity. + +Smitten with horror, William reopened the door and charged down the +cellar stairs after Clematis, who closed his caitiff mouth and gave way +precipitately. He fled from one end of the cellar to the other and back, +while William pursued; choking, and calling in low, ferocious tones: +“Good doggie! Good ole doggie! Hyuh, Clem! Meat, Clem, meat--” + +There was dodging through coal-bins; there was squirming between +barrels; there was high jumping and broad jumping, and there was a final +aspiring but baffled dash for the top of the cellar stairs, where the +door, forgotten by William, stood open. But it was here that Clematis, +after a long and admirable exhibition of ingenuity, no less than +agility, submitted to capture. That is to say, finding himself +hopelessly pinioned, he resumed the stoic. + +Grimly the panting and dripping William dragged him through the kitchen, +where the cook cried out unintelligibly, seeming to summon Adelia, who +was not present. Through the back yard went captor and prisoner, the +latter now maintaining a seated posture--his pathetic conception of +dignity under duress. Finally, into a small shed or tool-house, behind +Mrs. Baxter's flower-beds, went Clematis in a hurried and spasmodic +manner. The instant the door slammed he lifted his voice--and was bidden +to use it now as much as he liked. + +Adelia, with a tray of used plates, encountered the son of the house as +he passed through the kitchen on his return, and her eyes were those of +one who looks upon miracles. + +William halted fiercely. + +“What's the matter?” he demanded. “Is my face dirty?” + +“You mean, are it too dirty to go in yonduh to the party?” Adelia asked, +slowly. “No, suh; you look all right to go in there. You lookin' jes' +fine to go in there now, Mist' Willie!” + +Something in her tone struck him as peculiar, even as ominous, but his +blood was up--he would not turn back now. He strode into the hall and +opened the door of the “living-room.” + +Jane was sitting on the floor, busily painting sunsets in a large +blank-book which she had obtained for that exclusive purpose. + +She looked up brightly as William appeared in the doorway, and in answer +to his wild gaze she said: + +“I got a little bit sick, so mamma told me to keep quiet a while. She's +lookin' for you all over the house. She told papa she don't know what in +mercy's name people are goin' to think about you, Willie.” + +The distraught youth strode to her. “The party--” he choked. “WHERE--” + +“They all stayed pretty long,” said Jane, “but the last ones said they +had to go home to their dinners when papa came, a little while ago. +Johnnie Watson was carryin' Flopit for that Miss Pratt.” + +William dropped into the chair beside which Jane had established herself +upon the floor. Then he uttered a terrible cry and rose. + +Again Jane had painted a sunset she had not intended. + + + + +XV + +ROMANCE OF STATISTICS + +On a warm morning, ten days later, William stood pensively among his +mother's flowerbeds behind the house, his attitude denoting a low state +of vitality. Not far away, an aged negro sat upon a wheelbarrow in the +hot sun, tremulously yet skilfully whittling a piece of wood into the +shape of a boat, labor more to his taste, evidently, than that which he +had abandoned at the request of Jane. Allusion to this preference for +a lighter task was made by Genesis, who was erecting a trellis on the +border of the little garden. + +“Pappy whittle all day,” he chuckled. “Whittle all night, too! Pappy, I +thought you 'uz goin' to git 'at long bed all spade' up fer me by noon. +Ain't 'at what you tole me?” + +“You let him alone, Genesis,” said Jane, who sat by the old man's side, +deeply fascinated. “There's goin' to be a great deal of rain in the next +few days maybe, an' I haf to have this boat ready.” + +The aged darky lifted his streaky and diminished eyes to the burnished +sky, and laughed. “Rain come some day, anyways,” he said. “We git de +boat ready 'fo' she fall, dat sho.” His glance wandered to William and +rested upon him with feeble curiosity. “Dat ain' yo' pappy, is it?” he +asked Jane. + +“I should say it isn't!” she exclaimed. “It's Willie. He was only +seventeen about two or three months ago, Mr. Genesis.” This was not the +old man's name, but Jane had evolved it, inspired by respect for one so +aged and so kind about whittling. He was the father of Genesis, and the +latter, neither to her knowledge nor to her imagination, possessed a +surname. + +“I got cat'rack in my lef' eye,” said Mr. Genesis, “an' de right one, +she kine o' tricksy, too. Tell black man f'um white man, little f'um +big.” + +“I'd hate it if he was papa,” said Jane, confidentially. “He's always +cross about somep'm, because he's in love.” She approached her mouth to +her whittling friend's ear and continued in a whisper: “He's in love of +Miss Pratt. She's out walkin' with Joe Bullitt. I was in the front yard +with Willie, an' we saw 'em go by. He's mad.” + +William did not hear her. Moodily, he had discovered that there was +something amiss with the buckle of his belt, and, having ungirded +himself, he was biting the metal tongue of the buckle in order +to straighten it. This fell under the observation of Genesis, who +remonstrated. + +“You break you' teef on 'at buckle,” he said. + +“No, I won't, either,” William returned, crossly. + +“Ain' my teef,” said Genesis. “Break 'em, you want to!” + +The attention of Mr. Genesis did not seem to be attracted to the +speakers; he continued his whittling in a craftsman-like manner, which +brought praise from Jane. + +“You can see to whittle, Mr. Genesis,” she said. “You whittle better +than anybody in the world.” + +“I speck so, mebbe,” Mr. Genesis returned, with a little complacency. +“How ole yo' pappy?” + +“Oh, he's OLD!” Jane explained. + +William deigned to correct her. “He's not old, he's middle-aged.” + +“Well, suh,” said Mr. Genesis, “I had three chillum 'fo' I 'uz twenty. I +had two when I 'uz eighteem.” + +William showed sudden interest. “You did!” he exclaimed. “How old were +you when you had the first one?” + +“I 'uz jes' yo' age,” said the old man. “I 'uz seventeem.” + +“By George!” cried William. + +Jane seemed much less impressed than William, seventeen being a long way +from ten, though, of course, to seventeen itself hardly any information +could be imagined as more interesting than that conveyed by the words +of the aged Mr. Genesis. The impression made upon William was obviously +profound and favorable. + +“By George!” he cried again. + +“Genesis he de youngis' one,” said the old man. “Genesis he 'uz bawn +when I 'uz sixty-one.” + +William moved closer. “What became of the one that was born when you +were seventeen?” he asked. + +“Well, suh,” said Mr. Genesis, “I nev' did know.” + +At this, Jane's interest equaled William's. Her eyes consented to leave +the busy hands of the aged darky, and, much enlarged, rose to his face. +After a little pause of awe and sympathy she inquired: + +“Was it a boy or a girl?” + +The old man deliberated within himself. “Seem like it mus' been a boy.” + +“Did it die?” Jane asked, softly. + +“I reckon it mus' be dead by now,” he returned, musingly. “Good many of +'em dead: what I KNOWS is dead. Yes'm, I reckon so.” + +“How old were you when you were married?” William asked, with a manner +of peculiar earnestness;--it was the manner of one who addresses a +colleague. + +“Me? Well, suh, dat 'pen's.” He seemed to search his memory. “I +rickalect I 'uz ma'ied once in Looavle,” he said. + +Jane's interest still followed the first child. “Was that where it was +born, Mr. Genesis?” she asked. + +He looked puzzled, and paused in his whittling to rub his deeply +corrugated forehead. “Well, suh, mus' been some bawn in Looavle. +Genesis,” he called to his industrious son, “whaih 'uz YOU bawn?” + +“Right 'n 'is town,” laughed Genesis. “You fergit a good deal, pappy, +but I notice you don' fergit come to meals!” + +The old man grunted, resuming his whittling busily. “Hain' much use,” + he complained. “Cain' eat nuff'm 'lessen it all gruelly. Man cain' eat +nuff'm 'lessen he got teef. Genesis, di'n' I hyuh you tellin' dis white +gemmun take caih his teef--not bite on no i'on?” + +William smiled in pity. “I don't need to bother about that, I guess,” he +said. “I can crack nuts with my teeth.” + +“Yes, suh,” said the old man. “You kin now. Ev'y nut you crac' now goin' +cos' you a yell when you git 'long 'bout fawty an' fifty. You crack nuts +now an' you'll holler den!” + +“Well, I guess I won't worry myself much now about what won't happen +till I'm forty or fifty,” said William. “My teeth 'll last MY time, I +guess.” + +That brought a chuckle from Mr. Genesis. “Jes' listen!” he exclaimed. +“Young man think he ain' nev' goin' be ole man. Else he think, 'Dat +ole man what I'm goin' to be, dat ain' goin' be me 'tall--dat goin' be +somebody else! What I caih 'bout dat ole man? I ain't a-goin' take caih +o' no teef fer HIM!' Yes, suh, an' den when he GIT to be ole man, he +say, 'What become o' dat young man I yoosta be? Where is dat young man +agone to? He 'uz a fool, dat's what--an' _I_ ain' no fool, so he mus' +been somebody else, not me; but I do jes' wish I had him hyuh 'bout two +minutes--long enough to lam him fer not takin' caih o' my teef fer me!' +Yes, suh!” + +William laughed; his good humor was restored and he found the +conversation of Mr. Genesis attractive. He seated himself upon an +upturned bucket near the wheelbarrow, and reverted to a former theme. +“Well, I HAVE heard of people getting married even younger 'n you were,” + he said. “You take India, for instance. Why, they get married in India +when they're twelve, and even seven and eight years old.” + +“They do not!” said Jane, promptly. “Their mothers and fathers wouldn't +let 'em, an' they wouldn't want to, anyway.” + +“I suppose you been to India and know all about it!” William retorted. +“For the matter o' that, there was a young couple got married in +Pennsylvania the other day; the girl was only fifteen, and the man was +sixteen. It was in the papers, and their parents consented, and said it +was a good thing. Then there was a case in Fall River, Massachusetts, +where a young man eighteen years old married a woman forty-one years +old; it was in the papers, too. And I heard of another case somewhere in +Iowa--a boy began shaving when he was thirteen, and shaved every day for +four years, and now he's got a full beard, and he's goin' to get married +this year--before he's eighteen years old. Joe Bullitt's got a cousin in +Iowa that knows about this case--he knows the girl this fellow with the +beard is goin' to marry, and he says he expects it 'll turn out the +best thing could have happened. They're goin' to live on a farm. There's +hunderds of cases like that, only you don't hear of more'n just a few +of 'em. People used to get married at sixteen, seventeen, +eighteen--anywhere in there--and never think anything of it at all. +Right up to about a hunderd years ago there were more people married at +those ages than there were along about twenty-four and twenty-five, the +way they are now. For instance, you take Shakespeare--” + +William paused. + +Mr. Genesis was scraping the hull of the miniature boat with a piece of +broken glass, in lieu of sandpaper, but he seemed to be following his +young friend's remarks with attention. William had mentioned Shakespeare +impulsively, in the ardor of demonstrating his point; however, upon +second thought he decided to withdraw the name. + +“I mean, you take the olden times,” he went on; “hardly anybody got +married after they were nineteen or twenty years old, unless they were +widowers, because they were all married by that time. And right here in +our own county, there were eleven couples married in the last six months +under twenty-one years of age. I've got a friend named Johnnie Watson; +his uncle works down at the court-house and told him about it, so it +can't be denied. Then there was a case I heard of over in--” + +Mr. Genesis uttered a loud chuckle. “My goo'ness!” he exclaimed. “How +you c'leck all' dem fac's? Lan' name! What puzzlin' ME is how you +'member 'em after you done c'leck 'em. Ef it uz me I couldn't c'leck 'em +in de firs' place, an' ef I could, dey wouldn' be no use to me, 'cause I +couldn't rickalect 'em!” + +“Well, it isn't so hard,” said William, “if you kind of get the hang +of it.” Obviously pleased, he plucked a spear of grass and placed it +between his teeth, adding, “I always did have a pretty good memory.” + +“Mamma says you're the most forgetful boy she ever heard of,” said Jane, +calmly. “She says you can't remember anything two minutes.” + +William's brow darkened. “Now look here--” he began, with severity. + +But the old darky intervened. “Some folks got good rickaleckshum +an' some folks got bad,” he said, pacifically. “Young white germmun +rickalect mo' in two minute dan what I kin in two years!” + +Jane appeared to accept this as settlement of the point at issue, while +William bestowed upon Mr. Genesis a glance of increased favor. William's +expression was pleasant to see; in fact, it was the pleasantest +expression Jane had seen him wearing for several days. Almost always, +lately, he was profoundly preoccupied, and so easily annoyed that +there was no need to be careful of his feelings, because--as his mother +observed--he was “certain to break out about every so often, no matter +what happened!” + +“I remember pretty much everything,” he said, as if in modest +explanation of the performance which had excited the aged man's +admiration. “I can remember things that happened when I was four years +old.” + +“So can I,” said Jane. “I can remember when I was two. I had a kitten +fell down the cistern and papa said it hurt the water.” + +“My goo'ness!” Mr. Genesis exclaimed. “An' you 'uz on'y two year ole, +honey! Bes' _I_ kin do is rickalect when I 'uz 'bout fifty.” + +“Oh no!” Jane protested. “You said you remembered havin' a baby when you +were seventeen, Mr. Genesis.” + +“Yes'm,” he admitted. “I mean rickalect good like you do 'bout yo' li'l' +cat an' all how yo' pappy tuck on 'bout it. I kin rickalect SOME, but I +cain' rickalect GOOD.” + +William coughed with a certain importance. “Do you remember,” he asked, +“when you were married, how did you feel about it? Were you kind of +nervous, or anything like that, beforehand?” + +Mr. Genesis again passed a wavering hand across his troubled brow. + +“I mean,” said William, observing his perplexity, “were you sort of +shaky--f'rinstance, as if you were taking an important step in life?” + +“Lemme see.” The old man pondered for a moment. “I felt mighty shaky +once, I rickalect; dat time yalla m'latta man shootin' at me f 'um +behime a snake-fence.” + +“Shootin' at you!” Jane cried, stirred from her accustomed placidity. +“Mr. Genesis! What DID he do that for?” + +“Nuff'm!” replied Mr. Genesis, with feeling. “Nuff'm in de wide worl'! +He boun' to shoot SOMEbody, an' pick on me 'cause I 'uz de handies'.” + +He closed his knife, gave the little boat a final scrape with the broken +glass, and then a soothing rub with the palm of his hand. “Dah, honey,” + he said--and simultaneously factory whistles began to blow. “Dah +yo' li'l' steamboat good as I kin git her widout no b'iler ner no +smokestack. I reckon yo' pappy 'll buy 'em fer you.” + +Jane was grateful. “It's a beautiful boat, Mr. Genesis. I do thank you!” + +Genesis, the son, laid aside his tools and approached. “Pappy finish +whittlin' spang on 'em noon whistles,” he chuckled. “Come 'long, pappy. +I bet you walk fas' 'nuff goin' todes dinnuh. I hear fry-cakes ploppin' +in skillet!” + +Mr. Genesis laughed loudly, his son's words evidently painting a merry +and alluring picture; and the two, followed by Clematis, moved away +in the direction of the alley gate. William and Jane watched the brisk +departure of the antique with sincere esteem and liking. + +“He must have been sixteen,” said William, musingly. + +“When?” Jane asked. + +William, in deep thought, was still looking after Mr. Genesis; he +was almost unconscious that he had spoken aloud and he replied, +automatically: + +“When he was married.” + +Then, with a start, he realized into how great a condescension he had +been betrayed, and hastily added, with pronounced hauteur, “Things you +don't understand. You run in the house.” + +Jane went into the house, but she did not carry her obedience to the +point of running. She walked slowly, and in that state of profound +reverie which was characteristic of her when she was immersed in the +serious study of William's affairs. + + + + +XVI + +THE SHOWER + +She continued to be thoughtful until after lunch, when, upon the +sun's disappearance behind a fat cloud, Jane and the heavens exchanged +dispositions for the time--the heavens darkened and Jane brightened. She +was in the front hall, when the sunshine departed rather abruptly, and +she jumped for joy, pointing to the open door. “Look! Looky there!” she +called to her brother. Richly ornamented, he was descending the front +stairs, his embellishments including freshly pressed white trousers, a +new straw hat, unusual shoes, and a blasphemous tie. “I'm goin' to get +to sail my boat,” Jane shouted. “It's goin' to rain.” + +“It is not,” said William, irritated. “It's not going to anything like +rain. I s'pose you think it ought to rain just to let you sail that +chunk of wood!” + +“It's goin' to rain--it's goin' to rain!” (Jane made a little singsong +chant of it.) “It's goin' to rain--it gives Willie a pain--it's goin' to +rain--it gives Willie a pain--it's goin' to--” + +He interrupted her sternly. “Look here! You're old enough to know +better. I s'pose you think there isn't anything as important in the +world as your gettin' the chance to sail that little boat! I s'pose +you think business and everything else has got to stop and get ruined, +maybe, just to please you!” As he spoke he walked to an umbrella-stand +in the hall and deliberately took therefrom a bamboo walking-stick of +his father's. Indeed, his denunciation of Jane's selfishness about +the weather was made partly to reassure himself and settle his nerves, +strained by the unusual procedure he contemplated, and partly to divert +Jane's attention. In the latter effort he was unsuccessful; her eyes +became strange and unbearable. + +She uttered a shriek: + +“Willie's goin' to carry a CANE!” + +“You hush up!” he said, fiercely, and hurried out through the front +door. She followed him to the edge of the porch; she stood there while +he made his way to the gate, and she continued to stand there as he +went down the street, trying to swing the cane in an accustomed and +unembarrassed manner. + +Jane made this difficult. + +“Willie's got a CANE!” she screamed. “He's got papa's CANE!” + Then, resuming her little chant, she began to sing: “It's goin' to +rain--Willie's got papa's cane--it's goin' to rain--Willie's got papa's +cane!” She put all of her voice into a final effort. “MISS PRATT'LL GET +WET IF YOU DON'T TAKE AN UMBERELLER-R-R!” + +The attention of several chance pedestrians had been attracted, and the +burning William, breaking into an agonized half-trot, disappeared round +the corner. Then Jane retired within the house, feeling that she had +done her duty. It would be his own fault if he got wet. + +Rain was coming. Rain was in the feel of the air--and in Jane's hope. + +She was not disappointed. Mr. Genesis, so secure of fair weather in the +morning, was proved by the afternoon to be a bad prophet. The fat cloud +was succeeded by others, fatter; a corpulent army assailed the vault +of heaven, heavy outriders before a giant of evil complexion and +devastating temper. + +An hour after William had left the house, the dust in the streets and +all loose paper and rubbish outdoors rose suddenly to a considerable +height and started for somewhere else. The trees had colic; everything +became as dark as winter twilight; streaks of wildfire ran miles in a +second, and somebody seemed to be ripping up sheets of copper and tin +the size of farms. The rain came with a swish, then with a rattle, and +then with a roar, while people listened at their garret doorways and +marveled. Window-panes turned to running water;--it poured. + +Then it relented, dribbled, shook down a few last drops; and passed on +to the countryside. Windows went up; eaves and full gutters plashed and +gurgled; clearer light fell; then, in a moment, sunshine rushed upon +shining green trees and green grass; doors opened--and out came the +children! + +Shouting, they ran to the flooded gutters. Here were rivers, lakes, and +oceans for navigation; easy pilotage, for the steersman had but to wade +beside his craft and guide it with a twig. Jane's timely boat was one of +the first to reach the water. + +Her mother had been kind, and Jane, with shoes and stockings left behind +her on the porch, was a happy sailor as she waded knee-deep along the +brimming curbstones. At the corner below the house of the Baxters, the +street was flooded clear across, and Jane's boat, following the current, +proceeded gallantly onward here, sailed down the next block, and was +thoughtlessly entering a sewer when she snatched it out of the water. +Looking about her, she perceived a gutter which seemed even lovelier +than the one she had followed. It was deeper and broader and perhaps a +little browner, wherefore she launched her ship upon its dimpled bosom +and explored it as far as the next sewer-hole or portage. Thus the +voyage continued for several blocks with only one accident--which might +have happened to anybody. It was an accident in the nature of a fall, +caused by the sliding of Jane's left foot on some slippery mud. +This treacherous substance, covered with water, could not have been +anticipated; consequently Jane's emotions were those of indignation +rather than of culpability. Upon rising, she debated whether or not +she should return to her dwelling, inclining to the opinion that the +authorities there would have taken the affirmative; but as she was +wet not much above the waist, and the guilt lay all upon the mud, +she decided that such an interruption of her journey would be a gross +injustice to herself. Navigation was reopened. + +Presently the boat wandered into a miniature whirlpool, grooved in a +spiral and pleasant to see. Slowly the water went round and round, and +so did the boat without any assistance from Jane. Watching this movement +thoughtfully, she brought forth from her drenched pocket some sodden +whitish disks, recognizable as having been crackers, and began to eat +them. Thus absorbed, she failed at first to notice the approach of two +young people along the sidewalk. + +They were the entranced William and Miss Pratt; and their appearance +offered a suggestive contrast in relative humidity. In charming and +tender-colored fabrics, fluffy and cool and summery, she was specklessly +dry; not a drop had touched even the little pink parasol over her +shoulder, not one had fallen upon the tiny white doglet drowsing upon +her arm. But William was wet--he was still more than merely damp, though +they had evidently walked some distance since the rain had ceased to +fall. His new hat was a mucilaginous ruin; his dank coat sagged; his +shapeless trousers flopped heavily, and his shoes gave forth marshy +sounds as he walked. + +No brilliant analyst was needed to diagnose this case. Surely any +observer must have said: “Here is a dry young lady, and at her side +walks a wet young gentleman who carries an umbrella in one hand and a +walking-stick in the other. Obviously the young lady and gentleman +were out for a stroll for which the stick was sufficient, and they were +caught by the rain. Before any fell, however, he found her a place of +shelter--such as a corner drug-store and then himself gallantly went +forth into the storm for an umbrella. He went to the young lady's house, +or to the house where she may be visiting, for, if he had gone to his +own he would have left his stick. It may be, too, that at his own, his +mother would have detained him, since he is still at the age when it +is just possible sometimes for mothers to get their sons into the house +when it rains. He returned with the umbrella to the corner drug-store +at probably about the time when the rain ceased to fall, because his +extreme moistness makes necessary the deduction that he was out in all +the rain that rained. But he does not seem to care.” + +The fact was that William did not even know that he was wet. With his +head sidewise and his entranced eyes continuously upon the pretty face +so near, his state was almost somnambulistic. Not conscious of his +soggy garments or of the deluged streets, he floated upon a rosy cloud, +incense about him, far-away music enchanting his ears. + +If Jane had not recognized the modeling of his features she might not +have known them to be William's, for they had altered their grouping +to produce an expression with which she was totally unfamiliar. To be +explicit, she was unfamiliar with this expression in that place--that is +to say, upon William, though she had seen something like it upon other +people, once or twice, in church. + +William's thoughts might have seemed to her as queer as his expression, +could she have known them. They were not very definite, however, taking +the form of sweet, vague pictures of the future. These pictures were of +married life; that is, married life as William conceived it for himself +and Miss Pratt--something strikingly different from that he had observed +as led by his mother and father, or their friends and relatives. In his +rapt mind he beheld Miss Pratt walking beside him “through life,” with +her little parasol and her little dog--her exquisite face always lifted +playfully toward his own (with admiration underneath the playfulness), +and he heard her voice of silver always rippling “baby-talk” throughout +all the years to come. He saw her applauding his triumphs--though these +remained indefinite in his mind, and he was unable to foreshadow the +business or profession which was to provide the amazing mansion (mainly +conservatory) which he pictured as their home. Surrounded by flowers, +and maintaining a private orchestra, he saw Miss Pratt and himself +growing old together, attaining to such ages as thirty and even +thirty-five, still in perfect harmony, and always either dancing in +the evenings or strolling hand in hand in the moonlight. Sometimes they +would visit the nursery, where curly-headed, rosy cherubs played upon a +white-bear rug in the firelight. These were all boys and ready-made, the +youngest being three years old and without a past. + +They would be beautiful children, happy with their luxurious toys on the +bear rug, and they would NEVER be seen in any part of the house except +the nursery. Their deportment would be flawless, and-- + +“WILL-EE!” + +The aviator struck a hole in the air; his heart misgave him. Then he +came to earth--a sickening drop, and instantaneous. + +“WILL-EE!” + +There was Jane, a figurine in a plastic state and altogether +disgraceful;--she came up out of the waters and stood before them with +feet of clay, indeed; pedestaled upon the curbstone. + +“Who IS that CURIOUS child?” said Miss Pratt, stopping. + +William shuddered. + +“Was she calling YOU?” Miss Pratt asked, incredulously. + +“Willie, I told you you better take an umbereller,” said Jane, “instead +of papa's cane.” And she added, triumphantly, “Now you see!” + +Moving forward, she seemed to have in mind a dreadful purpose; there +was something about her that made William think she intended casually to +accompany him and Miss Pratt. + +“You go home!” he commanded, hoarsely. + +Miss Pratt uttered a little scream of surprise and recognition. “It's +your little sister!” she exclaimed, and then, reverting to her favorite +playfulness of enunciation, “'Oor ickle sissa!” she added, gaily, as +a translation. Jane misunderstood it; she thought Miss Pratt meant “OUR +little sister.” + +“Go home!” said William. + +“No'ty, no'ty!” said Miss Pratt, shaking her head. “Me 'fraid oo's a +no'ty, no'ty ickle dirl! All datie!” + +Jane advanced. “I wish you'd let me carry Flopit for you,” she said. + +Giving forth another gentle scream, Miss Pratt hopped prettily backward +from Jane's extended hands. “Oo-oo!” she cried, chidingly. “Mustn't +touch! P'eshus Flopit all soap-water-wash clean. Ickle dirly all +muddy-nassy! Ickle dirly must doe home, det all soap-water-wash clean +like NICE ickle sissa. Evabody will love 'oor ickle sissa den,” she +concluded, turning to William. “Tell 'oor ickle sissa MUS' doe home det +soap-water-wash!” + +Jane stared at Miss Pratt with fixed solemnity during the delivery of +these admonitions, and it was to be seen that they made an impression +upon her. Her mouth slowly opened, but she spake not. An extraordinary +idea had just begun to make itself at home in her mind. It was an idea +which had been hovering in the neighborhood of that domain ever since +William's comments upon the conversation of Mr. Genesis, in the morning. + +“Go home!” repeated William, and then, as Jane stood motionless and +inarticulate, transfixed by her idea, he said, almost brokenly, to his +dainty companion, “I DON'T know what you'll think of my mother! To let +this child--” + +Miss Pratt laughed comfortingly as they started on again. “Isn't mamma's +fault, foolish boy Baxter. Ickle dirlies will det datie!” + +The profoundly mortified William glanced back over his shoulder, +bestowing upon Jane a look in which bitterness was mingled with +apprehension. But she remained where she was, and did not follow. +That was a little to be thankful for, and he found some additional +consolation in believing that Miss Pratt had not caught the frightful +words, “papa's cane,” at the beginning of the interview. He was +encouraged to this belief by her presently taking from his hand the +decoration in question and examining it with tokens of pleasure. “'Oor +pitty walk'-'tick,” she called it, with a tact he failed to suspect. And +so he began to float upward again; glamors enveloped him and the earth +fell away. + +He was alone in space with Miss Pratt once more. + + + + +XVII + +JANE'S THEORY + +The pale end of sunset was framed in the dining-room windows, and Mr. +and Mrs. Baxter and the rehabilitated Jane were at the table, when +William made his belated return from the afternoon's excursion. Seating +himself, he waived his mother's references to the rain, his clothes, and +probable colds, and after one laden glance at Jane denoting a grievance +so elaborate that he despaired of setting it forth in a formal complaint +to the Powers--he fell into a state of trance. He took nourishment +automatically, and roused himself but once during the meal, a pathetic +encounter with his father resulting from this awakening. + +“Everybody in town seemed to be on the streets, this evening, as I +walked home,” Mr. Baxter remarked, addressing his wife. “I suppose +there's something in the clean air after a rain that brings 'em out. I +noticed one thing, though; maybe it's the way they dress nowadays, but +you certainly don't see as many pretty girls on the streets as there +used to be.” + +William looked up absently. “I used to think that, too,” he said, with +dreamy condescension, “when I was younger.” + +Mr. Baxter stared. + +“Well, I'll be darned!” he said. + +“Papa, papa!” his wife called, reprovingly. + +“When you were younger!” Mr. Baxter repeated, with considerable +irritation. “How old d' you think you are?” + +“I'm going on eighteen,” said William, firmly. “I know plenty of +cases--cases where--” He paused, relapsing into lethargy. + +“What's the matter with him?” Mr. Baxter inquired, heatedly, of his +wife. + +William again came to life. “I was saying that a person's age is +different according to circumstances,” he explained, with dignity, if +not lucidity. “You take Genesis's father. Well, he was married when he +was sixteen. Then there was a case over in Iowa that lots of people +know about and nobody thinks anything of. A young man over there in Iowa +that's seventeen years old began shaving when he was thirteen and shaved +every day for four years, and now--” + +He was interrupted by his father, who was no longer able to contain +himself. “And now I suppose he's got WHISKERS!” he burst forth. “There's +an ambition for you! My soul!” + +It was Jane who took up the tale. She had been listening with growing +excitement, her eyes fixed piercingly upon William. “He's got a beard!” + she cried, alluding not to her brother, but to the fabled Iowan. “I +heard Willie tell ole Mr. Genesis about it.” + +“It seems to lie heavily on your mind,” Mr. Baxter said to William. “I +suppose you feel that in the face of such an example, your life between +the ages of thirteen and seventeen has been virtually thrown away?” + +William had again relapsed, but he roused himself feebly. “Sir?” he +said. + +“What IS the matter with him?” Mr. Baxter demanded. “Half the time +lately he seems to be hibernating, and only responds by a slight +twitching when poked with a stick. The other half of the time he either +behaves like I-don't-know-what or talks about children growing whiskers +in Iowa! Hasn't that girl left town yet?” + +William was not so deep in trance that this failed to stir him. He left +the table. + +Mrs. Baxter looked distressed, though, as the meal was about concluded, +and William had partaken of his share in spite of his dreaminess, she +had no anxieties connected with his sustenance. As for Mr. Baxter, he +felt a little remorse, undoubtedly, but he was also puzzled. So plain +a man was he that he had no perception of the callous brutality of +the words “THAT GIRL” when applied to some girls. He referred to his +mystification a little later, as he sat with his evening paper in the +library. + +“I don't know what I said to that tetchy boy to hurt him,” he began in +an apologetic tone. “I don't see that there was anything too rough for +him to stand in a little sarcasm. He needn't be so sensitive on the +subject of whiskers, it seems to me.” + +Mrs. Baxter smiled faintly and shook her head. + +It was Jane who responded. She was seated upon the floor, disporting +herself mildly with her paint-box. “Papa, I know what's the matter with +Willie,” she said. + +“Do you?” Mr. Baxter returned. “Well, if you make it pretty short, +you've got just about long enough to tell us before your bedtime.” + +“I think he's married,” said Jane. + +“What!” And her parents united their hilarity. + +“I do think he's married,” Jane insisted, unmoved. “I think he's married +with that Miss Pratt.” + +“Well,” said her father, “he does seem upset, and it may be that her +visit and the idea of whiskers, coming so close together, is more than +mere coincidence, but I hardly think Willie is married, Jane!” + +“Well, then,” she returned, thoughtfully, “he's almost married. I know +that much, anyway.” + +“What makes you think so?” + +“Well, because! I KIND of thought he must be married, or anyways +somep'm, when he talked to Mr. Genesis this mornin'. He said he knew how +some people got married in Pennsylvania an' India, an' he said they were +only seven or eight years old. He said so, an' I heard him; an' he said +there were eleven people married that were only seventeen, an' this boy +in Iowa got a full beard an' got married, too. An' he said Mr. Genesis +was only sixteen when HE was married. He talked all about gettin' +married when you're seventeen years old, an' he said how people thought +it was the best thing could happen. So I just KNOW he's almost married!” + +Mr. Baxter chuckled, and Mrs. Baxter smiled, but a shade of +thoughtfulness, a remote anxiety, tell upon the face of the latter. + +“You haven't any other reason, have you, Jane?” she asked. + +“Yes'm,” said Jane, promptly. “An' it's a more reason than any! Miss +Pratt calls you 'mamma' as if you were HER mamma. She does it when she +talks to Willie.” + +“Jane!” + +“Yes m, I HEARD her. An' Willie said, 'I don't know what you'll think +about mother.' He said, 'I don't know what you'll think about mother,' +to Miss Pratt.” + +Mrs. Baxter looked a little startled, and her husband frowned. Jane +mistook their expressions for incredulity. “They DID, mamma,” she +protested. “That's just the way they talked to each other. I heard 'em +this afternoon, when Willie had papa's cane.” + +“Maybe they were doing it to tease you, if you were with them,” Mr. +Baxter suggested. + +“I wasn't with 'em. I was sailin' my boat, an' they came along, an' +first they never saw me, an' Willie looked--oh, papa, I wish you'd seen +him!” Jane rose to her feet in her excitement. “His face was so funny, +you never saw anything like it! He was walkin' along with it turned +sideways, an' all the time he kept walkin' frontways, he kept his face +sideways--like this, papa. Look, papa!” And she gave what she considered +a faithful imitation of William walking with Miss Pratt. “Look, papa! +This is the way Willie went. He had it sideways so's he could see Miss. +Pratt, papa. An' his face was just like this. Look, papa!” She contorted +her features in a terrifying manner. “Look, papa!” + +“Don't, Jane!” her mother exclaimed. + +“Well, I haf to show papa how Willie looked, don't I?” said Jane, +relaxing. “That's just the way he looked. Well, an' then they stopped +an' talked to me, an' Miss Pratt said, 'It's our little sister.'” + +“Did she really?” Mrs. Baxter asked, gravely. + +“Yes'm, she did. Soon as she saw who I was, she said, 'Why, it's our +little sister!' Only she said it that way she talks--sort of foolish. +'It's our ittle sissy'--somep'm like that, mamma. She said it twice an' +told me to go home an' get washed up. An' Miss Pratt told Willie--Miss +Pratt said, 'It isn't mamma's fault Jane's so dirty,' just like that. +She--” + +“Are you sure she said 'our little sister'?” said Mrs. Baxter. + +“Why, you can ask Willie! She said it that funny way. 'Our 'ittle +sissy'; that's what she said. An' Miss Pratt said, 'Ev'rybody would love +our little sister if mamma washed her in soap an' water!' You can ask +Willie; that's exackly what Miss Pratt said, an' if you don't believe it +you can ask HER. If you don't want to believe it, why, you can ask--” + +“Hush, dear,” said Mrs. Baxter. “All this doesn't mean anything at all, +especially such nonsense as Willie's thinking of being married. It's +your bedtime.” + +“Well, but MAMMA--” + +“Was that all they said?” Mr. Baxter inquired. + +Jane turned to him eagerly. “They said all lots of things like that, +papa. They--” + +“Nonsense!” Mrs. Baxter in interrupted. “Come, it's bedtime. I'll go up +with you. You mustn't think such nonsense.” + +“But, mamma--” + +“Come along, Jane!” + +Jane was obedient in the flesh, but her spirit was free; her opinions +were her own. Disappointed in the sensation she had expected to produce, +she followed her mother out of the room wearing the expression of a +person who says, “You'll SEE--some day when everything's ruined!” + +Mr. Baxter, left alone, laughed quietly, lifted his neglected newspaper +to obtain the light at the right angle, and then allowed it to languish +upon his lap again. Frowning, he began to tap the floor with his shoe. + +He was trying to remember what things were in his head when he was +seventeen, and it was difficult. It seemed to him that he had been a +steady, sensible young fellow--really quite a man--at that age. Looking +backward at the blur of youthful years, the period from sixteen to +twenty-five appeared to him as “pretty much all of a piece.” He could +not recall just when he stopped being a boy; it must have been at about +fifteen, he thought. + +All at once he sat up stiffly in his chair, and the paper slid from his +knee. He remembered an autumn, long ago, when he had decided to abandon +the educational plans of his parents and become an actor. He had located +this project exactly, for it dated from the night of his seventeenth +birthday, when he saw John McCullough play “Virginius.” + +Even now Mr. Baxter grew a little red as he remembered the remarkable +letter he had written, a few weeks later, to the manager of a passing +theatrical company. He had confidently expected an answer, and had made +his plans to leave town quietly with the company and afterward reassure +his parents by telegraph. In fact, he might have been on the stage at +this moment, if that manager had taken him. Mr. Baxter began to look +nervous. + +Still, there is a difference between going on the stage and getting +married. “I don't know, though!” Mr. Baxter thought. “And Willie's +certainly not so well balanced in a GENERAL way as I was.” He wished +his wife would come down and reassure him, though of course it was all +nonsense. + +But when Mrs. Baxter came down-stairs she did not reassure him. “Of +course Jane's too absurd!” she said. “I don't mean that she 'made it +up'; she never does that, and no doubt this little Miss Pratt did say +about what Jane thought she said. But it all amounts to nothing.” + +“Of course!” + +“Willie's just going through what several of the other boys about his +age are going through--like Johnnie Watson and Joe Bullitt and Wallace +Banks. They all seem to be frantic over her.” + +“I caught a glimpse of her the day you had her to tea. She's rather +pretty.” + +“Adorably! And perhaps Willie has been just a LITTLE bit more frantic +than the others.” + +“He certainly seems in a queer state!” + +At this his wife's tone became serious. “Do you think he WOULD do as +crazy a thing as that?” + +Mr. Baxter laughed. “Well, I don't know what he'd do it ON! I don't +suppose he has more than a dollar in his possession.” + +“Yes, he has,” she returned, quickly. “Day before yesterday there was +a second-hand furniture man here, and I was too busy to see him, but +I wanted the storeroom in the cellar cleared out, and I told Willie he +could have whatever the man would pay him for the junk in there, if he'd +watch to see that they didn't TAKE anything. They found some old pieces +that I'd forgotten, underneath things, and altogether the man paid +Willie nine dollars and eighty-five cents.” + +“But, mercy-me!” exclaimed Mr. Baxter, “the girl may be an idiot, but +she wouldn't run away and marry a boy just barely seventeen on nine +dollars and eighty-five cents!” + +“Oh no!” said Mrs. Baxter. “At least, I don't THINK so. Of course girls +do as crazy things as boys sometimes--in their way. I was thinking--” + She paused. “Of COURSE there couldn't be anything in it, but it did seem +a little strange.” + +“What did?” + +“Why, just before I came down-stairs, Adelia came for the laundry; and +I asked her if she'd seen Willie; and she said he'd put on his dark +suit after dinner, and he went out through the kitchen, carrying his +suit-case.” + +“He did?” + +“Of course,” Mrs. Baxter went on, slowly, “I COULDN'T believe he'd do +such a thing, but he really is in a PREPOSTEROUS way over this little +Miss Pratt, and he DID have that money--” + +“By George!” Mr. Baxter got upon his feet. “The way he talked at dinner, +I could come pretty near believing he hasn't any more brains LEFT than +to get married on nine dollars and eighty-five cents! I wouldn't put it +past him! By George, I wouldn't!” + +“Oh, I don't think he would,” she remonstrated, feebly. “Besides, the +law wouldn't permit it.” + +Mr. Baxter paced the floor. “Oh, I suppose they COULD manage it. They +could go to some little town and give false ages and--” He broke off. +“Adelia was sure he had his suit-case?” + +She nodded. “Do you think we'd better go down to the Parchers'? We'd +just say we came to call, of course, and if--” + +“Get your hat on,” he said. “I don't think there's anything in it at +all, but we'd just as well drop down there. It can't HURT anything.” + +“Of course, I don't think--” she began. + +“Neither do I,” he interrupted, irascibly. “But with a boy of his age +crazy enough to think he's in love, how do WE know what 'll happen? +We're only his parents! Get your hat on.” + +But when the uneasy couple found themselves upon the pavement before +the house of the Parchers, they paused under the shade-trees in the +darkness, and presently decided that it was not necessary to go in. +Suddenly their uneasiness had fallen from them. From the porch came +the laughter of several young voices, and then one silvery voice, which +pretended to be that of a tiny child. + +“Oh, s'ame! S'ame on 'oo, big Bruvva Josie-Joe! Mus' be polite to Johnny +Jump-up, or tant play wiv May and Lola!” + +“That's Miss Pratt,” whispered Mrs. Baxter. “She's talking to Johnnie +Watson and Joe Bullitt and May Parcher. Let's go home; it's all right. +Of course I knew it would be.” + +“Why, certainly,” said Mr. Baxter, as they turned. “Even if Willie were +as crazy as that, the little girl would have more sense. I wouldn't have +thought anything of it, if you hadn't told me about the suit-case. That +looked sort of queer.” + +She agreed that it did, but immediately added that she had thought +nothing of it. What had seemed more significant to her was William's +interest in the early marriage of Genesis's father, and in the Iowa +beard story, she said. Then she said that it WAS curious about the +suit-case. + +And when they came to their own house again, there was William sitting +alone and silent upon the steps of the porch. + +“I thought you'd gone out, Willie,” said his mother, as they paused +beside him. + +“Ma'am?” + +“Adelia said you went out, carrying your suit-case.” + +“Oh yes,” he said, languidly. “If you leave clothes at Schwartz's in the +evening they have 'em pressed in the morning. You said I looked damp at +dinner, so I took 'em over and left 'em there.” + +“I see.” Mrs. Baxter followed her husband to the door, but she stopped +on the threshold and called back: + +“Don't sit there too long, Willie.” + +“Ma'am?” + +“The dew is falling and it rained so hard to-day--I'm afraid it might be +damp.” + +“Ma'am?” + +“Come on,” Mr. Baxter said to his wife. “He's down on the Parchers' +porch, not out in front here. Of course he can't hear you. It's three +blocks and a half.” + +But William's father was mistaken. Little he knew! William was not upon +the porch of the Parchers, with May Parcher and Joe Bullitt and Johnnie +Watson to interfere. He was far from there, in a land where time was +not. Upon a planet floating in pink mist, and uninhabited--unless old +Mr. Genesis and some Hindoo princes and the diligent Iowan may have +established themselves in its remoter regions--William was alone with +Miss Pratt, in the conservatory. And, after a time, they went together, +and looked into the door of a room where an indefinite number of little +boys--all over three years of age--were playing in the firelight upon a +white-bear rug. For, in the roseate gossamer that boys' dreams are made +of, William had indeed entered the married state. + +His condition was growing worse, every day. + + + + +XVIII + +THE BIG, FAT LUMMOX + +In the morning sunshine, Mrs. Baxter stood at the top of the steps of +the front porch, addressing her son, who listened impatiently and edged +himself a little nearer the gate every time he shifted his weight from +one foot to the other. + +“Willie,” she said, “you must really pay some attention to the laws of +health, or you'll never live to be an old man.” + +“I don't want to live to be an old man,” said William, earnestly. “I'd +rather do what I please now and die a little sooner.” + +“You talk very foolishly,” his mother returned. “Either come back and +put on some heavier THINGS or take your overcoat.” + +“My overcoat!” William groaned. “They'd think I was a lunatic, carrying +an overcoat in August!” + +“Not to a picnic,” she said. + +“Mother, it isn't a picnic, I've told you a hunderd times! You think +it's one those ole-fashion things YOU used to go to--sit on the damp +ground and eat sardines with ants all over 'em? This isn't anything like +that; we just go out on the trolley to this farm-house and have noon +dinner, and dance all afternoon, and have supper, and then come home on +the trolley. I guess we'd hardly of got up anything as out o' date as a +picnic in honor of Miss PRATT!” + +Mrs. Baxter seemed unimpressed. + +“It doesn't matter whether you call it a picnic or not, Willie. It will +be cool on the open trolleycar coming home, especially with only those +white trousers on--” + +“Ye gods!” he cried. “I've got other things on besides my trousers! I +wish you wouldn't always act as if I was a perfect child! Good heavens! +isn't a person my age supposed to know how much clothes to wear?” + +“Well, if he is,” she returned, “it's a mere supposition and not founded +on fact. Don't get so excited, Willie, please; but you'll either have to +give up the picnic or come in and ch--” + +“Change my 'things'!” he wailed. “I can't change my 'things'! I've got +just twenty minutes to get to May Parcher's--the crowd meets there, and +they're goin' to take the trolley in front the Parchers' at exactly a +quarter after 'leven. PLEASE don't keep me any longer, mother--I GOT to +go!” + +She stepped into the hall and returned immediately. “Here's your +overcoat, Willie.” + +His expression was of despair. “They'll think I'm a lunatic and they'll +say so before everybody--and I don't blame 'em! Overcoat on a hot day +like this! Except me, I don't suppose there was ever anybody lived in +the world and got to be going on eighteen years old and had to carry his +silly old overcoat around with him in August--because his mother made +him!” + +“Willie,” said Mrs. Baxter, “you don't know how many thousands and +thousands of mothers for thousands and thousands of years have kept +their sons from taking thousands and thousands of colds--just this way!” + +He moaned. “Well, and I got to be called a lunatic just because you're +nervous, I s'pose. All right!” + +She hung it upon his arm, kissed him; and he departed in a desperate +manner. + +However, having worn his tragic face for three blocks, he halted before +a corner drug-store, and permitted his expression to improve as he +gazed upon the window display of My Little Sweetheart All-Tobacco Cuban +Cigarettes, the Package of Twenty for Ten Cents. William was not a +smoker--that is to say, he had made the usual boyhood experiments, +finding them discouraging; and though at times he considered it +humorously man-about-town to say to a smoking friend, “Well, _I_'ll +tackle one o' your ole coffin-nails,” he had never made a purchase +of tobacco in his life. But it struck him now that it would be rather +debonair to disport himself with a package of Little Sweethearts upon +the excursion. + +And the name! It thrilled him inexpressibly, bringing a tenderness into +his eyes and a glow into his bosom. He felt that when he should smoke +a Little Sweetheart it would be a tribute to the ineffable visitor for +whom this party was being given--it would bring her closer to him. His +young brow grew almost stern with determination, for he made up his +mind, on the spot, that he would smoke oftener in the future--he would +become a confirmed smoker, and all his life he would smoke My Little +Sweetheart All-Tobacco Cuban Cigarettes. + +He entered and managed to make his purchase in a matter-of-fact way, as +if he were doing something quite unemotional; then he said to the clerk: + +“Oh, by the by--ah--” + +The clerk stared. “Well, what else?” + +“I mean,” said William, hurriedly, “there's something I wanted to 'tend +to, now I happen to be here. I was on my way to take this overcoat +to--to get something altered at the tailor's for next winter. 'Course +I wouldn't want it till winter, but I thought I might as well get it +DONE.” He paused, laughing carelessly, for greater plausibility. “I +thought he'd prob'ly want lots of time on the job--he's a slow worker, +I've noticed--and so I decided I might just as well go ahead and let him +get at it. Well, so I was on my way there, but I just noticed I only +got about six minutes more to get to a mighty important engagement I got +this morning, and I'd like to leave it here and come by and get it on my +way home, this evening.” + +“Sure,” said the clerk. “Hang it on that hook inside the +p'scription-counter. There's one there already, b'longs to your friend, +that young Bullitt fella. He was in here awhile ago and said he wanted +to leave his because he didn't have time to take it to be pressed in +time for next winter. Then he went on and joined that crowd in Mr. +Parcher's yard, around the corner, that's goin' on a trolley-party. I +says, 'I betcher mother maje carry it,' and he says, 'Oh no. Oh no,' he +says. 'Honest, I was goin' to get it pressed!' You can hang yours on the +same nail.” + +The clerk spoke no more, and went to serve another customer, while +William stared after him a little uneasily. It seemed that here was a +man of suspicious nature, though, of course, Joe Bullitt's shallow talk +about getting an overcoat pressed before winter would not have imposed +upon anybody. However, William felt strongly that the private life of +the customers of a store should not be pried into and speculated about +by employees, and he was conscious of a distaste for this clerk. + +Nevertheless, it was with a lighter heart that he left his overcoat +behind him and stepped out of the side door of the drug-store. That +brought him within sight of the gaily dressed young people, about thirty +in number, gathered upon the small lawn beside Mr. Parcher's house. + +Miss Pratt stood among them, in heliotrope and white, Flopit nestling in +her arms. She was encircled by girls who were enthusiastically caressing +the bored and blinking Flopit; and when William beheld this charming +group, his breath became eccentric, his knee-caps became cold and +convulsive, his neck became hot, and he broke into a light perspiration. + +She saw him! The small blonde head and the delirious little fluffy hat +above it shimmered a nod to him. Then his mouth fell unconsciously open, +and his eyes grew glassy with the intensity of meaning he put into +the silent response he sent across the picket fence and through the +interstices of the intervening group. Pressing with his elbow upon the +package of cigarettes in his pocket, he murmured, inaudibly, “My Little +Sweetheart, always for you!”--a repetition of his vow that, come what +might, he would forever remain a loyal smoker of that symbolic brand. In +fact, William's mental condition had never shown one moment's turn for +the better since the fateful day of the distracting visitor's arrival. + +Mr. Johnnie Watson and Mr. Joe Bullitt met him at the gate and offered +him hearty greeting. All bickering and dissension among these three had +passed. The lady was so wondrous impartial that, as time went on, the +sufferers had come to be drawn together, rather than thrust asunder, by +their common feeling. It had grown to be a bond uniting them; they +were not so much rivals as ardent novices serving a single altar, each +worshiping there without visible gain over the other. Each had even come +to possess, in the eyes of his two fellows, almost a sacredness as a +sharer in the celestial glamor; they were tender one with another. They +were in the last stages. + +Johnnie Watson had with him to-day a visitor of his own--a vastly +overgrown person of eighteen, who, at Johnnie's beckoning, abandoned +a fair companion of the moment and came forward as William entered the +gate. + +“I want to intradooce you to two of my most int'mut friends, George,” + said Johnnie, with the anxious gravity of a person about to do something +important and unfamiliar. “Mr. Baxter, let me intradooce my cousin, +Mr. Crooper. Mr. Crooper, this is my friend, Mr. Baxter.” + +The gentlemen shook hands solemnly, saying, + +“'M very glad to meet you,” and Johnnie turned to Joe Bullitt. “Mr. +Croo--I mean, Mr. Bullitt, let me intradooce my friend, Mr. Crooper--I +mean my cousin, Mr. Crooper. Mr. Crooper is a cousin of mine.” + +“Glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Crooper,” said Joe. “I suppose +you're a cousin of Johnnie's, then?” + +“Yep,” said Mr. Crooper, becoming more informal. “Johnnie wrote me +to come over for this shindig, so I thought I might as well come.” + He laughed loudly, and the others laughed with the same heartiness. +“Yessir,” he added, “I thought I might as well come, 'cause I'm pretty +apt to be on hand if there's anything doin'!” + +“Well, that's right,” said William, and while they all laughed again, +Mr. Crooper struck his cousin a jovial blow upon the back. + +“Hi, ole sport!” he cried, “I want to meet that Miss Pratt before we +start. The car'll be along pretty soon, and I got her picked for the +girl I'm goin' to sit by.” + +The laughter of William and Joe Bullitt, designed to express cordiality, +suddenly became flaccid and died. If Mr. Crooper had been a sensitive +person he might have perceived the chilling disapproval in their +glances, for they had just begun to be most unfavorably impressed with +him. The careless loudness--almost the notoriety--with which he had +uttered Miss Pratt's name, demanding loosely to be presented to her, +regardless of the well-known law that a lady must first express some +wish in such matters--these were indications of a coarse nature sure +to be more than uncongenial to Miss Pratt. Its presence might make the +whole occasion distasteful to her--might spoil her day. Both William and +Joe Bullitt began to wonder why on earth Johnnie Watson didn't have +any more sense than to invite such a big, fat lummox of a cousin to the +party. + +This severe phrase of theirs, almost simultaneous in the two minds, was +not wholly a failure as a thumb-nail sketch of Mr. George Crooper. And +yet there was the impressiveness of size about him, especially about +his legs and chin. At seventeen and eighteen growth is still going on, +sometimes in a sporadic way, several parts seeming to have sprouted +faster than others. Often the features have not quite settled down +together in harmony, a mouth, for instance, appearing to have gained +such a lead over the rest of a face, that even a mother may fear it +can never be overtaken. Voices, too, often seem misplaced; one hears, +outside the door, the bass rumble of a sinister giant, and a mild boy, +thin as a cricket, walks in. The contrary was George Crooper's case; +his voice was an unexpected piping tenor, half falsetto and frequently +girlish--as surprising as the absurd voice of an elephant. + +He had the general outwardness of a vast and lumpy child. His chin had +so distanced his other features that his eyes, nose, and brow seemed +almost baby-like in comparison, while his mountainous legs were the +great part of the rest of him. He was one of those huge, bottle-shaped +boys who are always in motion in spite of their cumbersomeness. His +gestures were continuous, though difficult to interpret as bearing +upon the subject of his equally continuous conversation; and under all +circumstances he kept his conspicuous legs incessantly moving, whether +he was going anywhere or remaining in comparatively one spot. + +His expression was pathetically offensive, the result of his bland +confidence in the audible opinions of a small town whereof his father +was the richest inhabitant--and the one thing about him, even more +obvious than his chin, his legs, and his spectacular taste in flannels, +was his perfect trust that he was as welcome to every one as he was to +his mother. This might some day lead him in the direction of great pain, +but on the occasion of the “subscription party” for Miss Pratt it gave +him an advantage. + +“When do I get to meet that cutie?” he insisted, as Johnnie Watson moved +backward from the cousinly arm, which threatened further flailing. “You +intradooced me to about seven I can't do much FOR, but I want to get the +howdy business over with this Miss Pratt, so I and she can get things +started. I'm goin' to keep her busy all day!” + +“Well, don't be in such a hurry,” said Johnnie, uneasily. “You can meet +her when we get out in the country--if I get a chance, George.” + +“No, sir!” George protested, jovially. “I guess you're sad birds over in +this town, but look out! When I hit a town it don't take long till they +all hear there's something doin'! You know how I am when I get +started, Johnnie!” Here he turned upon William, tucking his fat arm +affectionately through William's thin one. “Hi, sport! Ole Johnnie's so +slow, YOU toddle me over and get me fixed up with this Miss Pratt, and +I'll tell her you're the real stuff--after we get engaged!” + +He was evidently a true cloud-compeller, this horrible George. + + + + +XIX + +“I DUNNO WHY IT IS” + +William extricated his arm, huskily muttering words which were lost in +the general outcry, “Car's coming!” The young people poured out through +the gate, and, as the car stopped, scrambled aboard. For a moment +everything was hurried and confused. William struggled anxiously to push +through to Miss Pratt and climb up beside her, but Mr. George Crooper +made his way into the crowd in a beaming, though bull-like manner, and a +fat back in a purple-and-white “blazer” flattened William's nose, while +ponderous heels damaged William's toes; he was shoved back, and just +managed to clamber upon the foot-board as the car started. The friendly +hand of Joe Bullitt pulled him to a seat, and William found himself +rubbing his nose and sitting between Joe and Johnnie Watson, directly +behind the dashing Crooper and Miss Pratt. Mr. Crooper had already taken +Flopit upon his lap. + +“Dogs are always crazy 'bout me,” they heard him say, for his high voice +was but too audible over all other sounds. “Dogs and chuldren. I dunno +why it is, but they always take to me. My name's George Crooper, Third, +Johnnie Watson's cousin. He was tryin' to intradooce me before the car +came along, but he never got the chance. I guess as this shindig's +for you, and I'm the only other guest from out o' town, we'll have to +intradooce ourselves--the two guests of honor, as it were.” + +Miss Pratt laughed her silvery laugh, murmured politely, and turned no +freezing glance upon her neighbor. Indeed, it seemed that she was far +from regarding him with the distaste anticipated by William and Joe +Bullitt. “Flopit look so toot an' tunnin',” she was heard to remark. +“Flopit look so 'ittle on dray, big, 'normous man's lap.” + +Mr. Crooper laughed deprecatingly. “He does look kind of small compared +with the good ole man that's got charge of him, now! Well, I always was +a good deal bigger than the fellas I went with. I dunno why it is, but +I was always kind of quicker, too, as it were--and the strongest in any +crowd I ever got with. I'm kind of musclebound, I guess, but I don't let +that interfere with my quickness any. Take me in an automobile, now--I +got a racin'-car at home--and I keep my head better than most people do, +as it were. I can kind of handle myself better; I dunno why it is. My +brains seem to work better than other people's, that's all it is. I +don't mean that I got more sense, or anything like that; it's just the +way my brains work; they kind of put me at an advantage, as it were. +Well, f'rinstance, if I'd been livin' here in this town and joined in +with the crowd to get up this party, well, it would of been done a good +deal diff'rent. I won't say better, but diff'rent. That's always the +way with me if I go into anything, pretty soon I'm running the whole +shebang; I dunno why it is. The other people might try to run it their +way for a while, but pretty soon you notice 'em beginning to step out +of the way for good ole George. I dunno why it is, but that's the way it +goes. Well, if I'd been running THIS party I'd of had automobiles to go +out in, not a trolley-car where you all got to sit together--and I'd +of sent over home for my little racer and I'd of taken you out in her +myself. I wish I'd of sent for it, anyway. We could of let the rest go +out in the trolley, and you and I could of got off by ourselves: I'd +like you to see that little car. Well, anyway, I bet you'd of seen +something pretty different and a whole lot better if I'd of come over to +this town in time to get up this party for you!” + +“For US,” Miss Pratt corrected him, sunnily. + +“Bofe strangers--party for us two--all bofe!” And she gave him one of +her looks. + +Mr. Crooper flushed with emotion; he was annexed; he became serious. +“Say,” he said, “that's a mighty smooth hat you got on.” And he touched +the fluffy rim of it with his forefinger. His fat shoulders leaned +toward her yearningly. + +“We'd cert'nly of had a lot better time sizzin' along in that little +racer I got,” he said. “I'd like to had you see how I handle that little +car. Girls over home, they say they like to go out with me just to watch +the way I handle her; they say it ain't so much just the ride, but more +the way I handle that little car. I dunno why it is, but that's what +they say. That's the way I do anything I make up my mind to tackle, +though. I don't try to tackle everything--there's lots o' things I +wouldn't take enough interest in 'em, as it were--but just lemme make up +my mind once, and it's all off; I dunno why it is. There was a brakeman +on the train got kind of fresh: he didn't know who I was. Well, I +just put my hand on his shoulder and pushed him down in his seat like +this”--he set his hand upon Miss Pratt's shoulder. “I didn't want to hit +him, because there was women and chuldren in the car, so I just shoved +my face up close to him, like this. 'I guess you don't know how much +stock my father's got in this road,' I says. Did he wilt? Well, you +ought of seen that brakeman when I got through tellin' him who I was!” + +“Nassy ole brateman!” said Miss Pratt, with unfailing sympathy. + +Mr. Crooper's fat hand, as if unconsciously, gave Miss Pratt's delicate +shoulder a little pat in reluctant withdrawal. “Well, that's the way +with me,” he said. “Much as I been around this world, nobody ever tried +to put anything over on me and got away with it. They always come out +the little end o' the horn; I dunno why it is. Say, that's a mighty +smooth locket you got on the end o' that chain, there.” And again +stretching forth his hand, in a proprietor-like way, he began to examine +the locket. + +Three hot hearts, just behind, pulsated hatred toward him; for Johnnie +Watson had perceived his error, and his sentiments were now linked +to those of Joe Bullitt and William. The unhappiness of these three +helpless spectators was the more poignant because not only were they +witnesses of the impression of greatness which George Crooper was +obviously producing upon Miss Pratt, but they were unable to prevent +themselves from being likewise impressed. + +They were not analytical; they dumbly accepted George at his own rating, +not even being able to charge him with lack of modesty. Did he not +always accompany his testimonials to himself with his deprecating +falsetto laugh and “I dunno why it is,” an official disclaimer of merit, +“as it were”? Here was a formidable candidate, indeed--a traveler, a man +of the world, with brains better and quicker than other people's brains; +an athlete, yet knightly--he would not destroy even a brakeman in the +presence of women and children--and, finally, most enviable and deadly, +the owner and operator of a “little racer”! All this glitter was not far +short of overpowering; and yet, though accepting it as fact, the woeful +three shared the inconsistent belief that in spite of everything George +was nothing but a big, fat lummox. For thus they even rather loudly +whispered of him--almost as if hopeful that Miss Pratt, and mayhap +George himself, might overhear. + +Impotent their seething! The overwhelming Crooper pursued his conquering +way. He leaned more and more toward the magnetic girl, his growing +tenderness having that effect upon him, and his head inclining so +far that his bedewed brow now and then touched the fluffy hat. He was +constitutionally restless, but his movements never ended by placing a +greater distance between himself and Miss Pratt, though they sometimes +discommoded Miss Parcher, who sat at the other side of him--a side of +him which appeared to be without consciousness. He played naively with +Miss Pratt's locket and with the filmy border of her collar; he flicked +his nose for some time with her little handkerchief, loudly sniffing its +scent; and finally he became interested in a ring she wore, removed it, +and tried unsuccessfully to place it upon one of his own fingers. + +“I've worn lots o' girls' rings on my watch-fob. I'd let 'em wear mine +on a chain or something. I guess they like to do that with me,” he said. +“I dunno why it is.” + +At this subtle hint the three unfortunates held their breath, and then +lost it as the lovely girl acquiesced in the horrible exchange. As for +William, life was of no more use to him. Out of the blue heaven of that +bright morning's promise had fallen a pall, draping his soul in black +and purple. He had been horror-stricken when first the pudgy finger of +George Crooper had touched the fluffy edge of that sacred little hat; +then, during George's subsequent pawings and leanings, William felt that +he must either rise and murder or go mad. But when the exchange of rings +was accomplished, his spirit broke and even resentment oozed away. For a +time there was no room in him for anything except misery. + +Dully, William's eyes watched the fat shoulders hitching and twitching, +while the heavy arms flourished in gesture and in further pawings. +Again and again were William's ears afflicted with, “I dunno why it is,” + following upon tribute after tribute paid by Mr. Crooper to himself, and +received with little cries of admiration and sweet child-words on the +part of Miss Pratt. It was a long and accursed ride. + + + + +XX + +SYDNEY CARTON + +At the farm-house where the party were to dine, Miss Pratt with joy +discovered a harmonium in the parlor, and, seating herself, with all the +girls, Flopit, and Mr. George Crooper gathered around her, she played +an accompaniment, while George, in a thin tenor of detestable sweetness, +sang “I'm Falling in Love with Some One.” + +His performance was rapturously greeted, especially by the accompanist. +“Oh, wunnerfulest Untle Georgiecums!” she cried, for that was now the +gentleman's name. “If Johnnie McCormack hear Untle Georgiecums he +go shoot umself dead--Bang!” She looked round to where three figures +hovered morosely in the rear. “Tum on, sin' chorus, Big Bruvva +Josie-Joe, Johnny Jump-up, an' Ickle Boy Baxter. All over adain, Untle +Georgiecums! Boys an' dirls all sin' chorus. Tummence!” + +And so the heartrending performance continued until it was stopped by +Wallace Banks, the altruistic and perspiring youth who had charge of +the subscription-list for the party, and the consequent collection of +assessments. This entitled Wallace to look haggard and to act as master +of ceremonies. He mounted a chair. + +“Ladies and gentlemen,” he bellowed, “I want to say--that is--ah--I am +requested to announce t that before dinner we're all supposed to take a +walk around the farm and look at things, as this is supposed to be kind +of a model farm or supposed to be something like that. There's a Swedish +lady named Anna going to show us around. She's out in the yard waiting, +so please follow her to inspect the farm.” + +To inspect a farm was probably the least of William's desires. He wished +only to die in some quiet spot and to have Miss Pratt told about it in +words that would show her what she had thrown away. But he followed +with the others, in the wake of the Swedish lady named Anna, and as they +stood in the cavernous hollow of the great barn he found his condition +suddenly improved. + +Miss Pratt turned to him unexpectedly and placed Flopit in his arms. +“Keep p'eshus Flopit cozy,” she whispered. “Flopit love ole friends +best!” + +William's heart leaped, while a joyous warmth spread all over him. And +though the execrable lummox immediately propelled Miss Pratt forward--by +her elbow--to hear the descriptive remarks of the Swedish lady named +Anna, William's soul remained uplifted and entranced. She had not said +“like”; she had said, “Flopit LOVE ole friends best”! William pressed +forward valiantly, and placed himself as close as possible upon the +right of Miss Pratt, the lummox being upon her left. A moment later, +William wished that he had remained in the rear. + +This was due to the unnecessary frankness of the Swedish lady +named Anna, who was briefly pointing out the efficiency of various +agricultural devices. Her attention being diverted by some effusions of +pride on the part of a passing hen, she thought fit to laugh and say: + +“She yust laid egg.” + +William shuddered. This grossness in the presence of Miss Pratt was +unthinkable. His mind refused to deal with so impossible a situation; he +could not accept it as a fact that such words had actually been uttered +in such a presence. And yet it was the truth; his incredulous ears +still sizzled. “She yust laid egg!” His entire skin became flushed; his +averted eyes glazed themselves with shame. + +He was not the only person shocked by the ribaldry of the Swedish lady +named Anna. Joe Bullitt and Johnnie Watson, on the outskirts of the +group, went to Wallace Banks, drew him aside, and, with feverish +eloquence, set his responsibilities before him. It was his duty, they +urged, to have an immediate interview with this free-spoken Anna and +instruct her in the proprieties. Wallace had been almost as horrified as +they by her loose remark, but he declined the office they proposed for +him, offering, however, to appoint them as a committee with authority +in the matter--whereupon they retorted with unreasonable indignation, +demanding to know what he took them for. + +Unconscious of the embarrassment she had caused in these several +masculine minds, the Swedish lady named Anna led the party onward, +continuing her agricultural lecture. William walked mechanically, his +eyes averted and looking at no one. And throughout this agony he was +burningly conscious of the blasphemed presence of Miss Pratt beside him. + +Therefore, it was with no little surprise, when the party came out of +the barn, that William beheld Miss Pratt, not walking at his side, but +on the contrary, sitting too cozily with George Crooper upon a fallen +tree at the edge of a peach-orchard just beyond the barn-yard. It was +Miss Parcher who had been walking beside him, for the truant couple had +made their escape at the beginning of the Swedish lady's discourse. + +In vain William murmured to himself, “Flopit love ole friends best.” + Purple and black again descended upon his soul, for he could not +disguise from himself the damnatory fact that George had flitted with +the lady, while he, wretched William, had been permitted to take care of +the dog! + +A spark of dignity still burned within him. He strode to the barn-yard +fence, and, leaning over it, dropped Flopit rather brusquely at his +mistress's feet. Then, without a word even without a look--William +walked haughtily away, continuing his stern progress straight through +the barn-yard gate, and thence onward until he found himself in solitude +upon the far side of a smoke-house, where his hauteur vanished. + +Here, in the shade of a great walnut-tree which sheltered the little +building, he gave way--not to tears, certainly, but to faint murmurings +and little heavings under impulses as ancient as young love itself. It +is to be supposed that William considered his condition a lonely one, +but if all the seventeen-year-olds who have known such halfhours could +have shown themselves to him then, he would have fled from the mere +horror of billions. Alas! he considered his sufferings a new invention +in the world, and there was now inspired in his breast a monologue so +eloquently bitter that it might deserve some such title as A Passion +Beside the Smoke-house. During the little time that William spent in +this sequestration he passed through phases of emotion which would have +kept an older man busy for weeks and left him wrecked at the end of +them. + +William's final mood was one of beautiful resignation with a kick in +it; that is, he nobly gave her up to George and added irresistibly that +George was a big, fat lummox! Painting pictures, such as the billions +of other young sufferers before him have painted, William saw himself +a sad, gentle old bachelor at the family fireside, sometimes making the +sacrifice of his reputation so that SHE and the children might never +know the truth about George; and he gave himself the solace of a fierce +scene or two with George: “Remember, it is for them, not you--you +THING!” + +After this human little reaction he passed to a higher field of romance. +He would die for George and then she would bring the little boy she had +named William to the lonely headstone--Suddenly William saw himself in +his true and fitting character--Sydney Carton! He had lately read A Tale +of Two Cities, immediately re-reading until, as he would have said, +he “knew it by heart”; and even at the time he had seen resemblances +between himself and the appealing figure of Carton. Now that the +sympathy between them was perfected by Miss Pratt's preference for +another, William decided to mount the scaffold in place of George +Crooper. The scene became actual to him, and, setting one foot upon a +tin milk-pail which some one had carelessly left beside the smoke-house, +he lifted his eyes to the pitiless blue sky and unconsciously assumed +the familiar attitude of Carton on the steps of the guillotine. He spoke +aloud those great last words: + +“It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a +far, far better rest that I go to--” + +A whiskered head on the end of a long, corrugated red neck protruded +from the smokehouse door. + +“What say?” it inquired, huskily. + +“Nun-nothing!” stammered William. + +Eyes above whiskers became fierce. “You take your feet off that +milk-bucket. Say! This here's a sanitary farm. 'Ain't you got any more +sense 'n to go an'--” + +But William had abruptly removed his foot and departed. + +He found the party noisily established in the farm-house at two long +tables piled with bucolic viands already being violently depleted. +Johnnie Watson had kept a chair beside himself vacant for William. +Johnnie was in no frame of mind to sit beside any “chattering girl,” + and he had protected himself by Joe Bullitt upon his right and the empty +seat upon his left. William took it, and gazed upon the nearer foods +with a slight renewal of animation. + +He began to eat; he continued to eat; in fact, he did well. So did his +two comrades. Not that the melancholy of these three was dispersed--far +from it! With ineffaceable gloom they ate chicken, both white meat and +dark, drumsticks, wishbones, and livers; they ate corn-on-the-cob, many +ears, and fried potatoes and green peas and string-beans; they ate peach +preserves and apricot preserves and preserved pears; they ate biscuits +with grape jelly and biscuits with crabapple jelly; they ate apple sauce +and apple butter and apple pie. They ate pickles, both cucumber pickles +and pickles made of watermelon rind; they ate pickled tomatoes, pickled +peppers, also pickled onions. They ate lemon pie. + +At that, they were no rivals to George Crooper, who was a real eater. +Love had not made his appetite ethereal to-day, and even the attending +Swedish lady named Anna felt some apprehension when it came to George +and the gravy, though she was accustomed to the prodigies performed in +this line by the robust hands on the farm. George laid waste his section +of the table, and from the beginning he allowed himself scarce time +to say, “I dunno why it is.” The pretty companion at his side at first +gazed dumfounded; then, with growing enthusiasm for what promised to be +a really magnificent performance, she began to utter little ejaculations +of wonder and admiration. With this music in his ears, George outdid +himself. He could not resist the temptation to be more and more +astonishing as a heroic comedian, for these humors sometimes come upon +vain people at country dinners. + +George ate when he had eaten more than he needed; he ate long after +every one understood why he was so vast; he ate on and on sheerly as +a flourish--as a spectacle. He ate even when he himself began to +understand that there was daring in what he did, for his was a toreador +spirit so long as he could keep bright eyes fastened upon him. + +Finally, he ate to decide wagers made upon his gorging, though at times +during this last period his joviality deserted him. Anon his damp brow +would be troubled, and he knew moments of thoughtfulness. + + + + +XXI + +MY LITTLE SWEETHEARTS + +When George did stop, it was abruptly, during one of these intervals of +sobriety, and he and Miss Pratt came out of the house together rather +quietly, joining one of the groups of young people chatting with +after-dinner languor under the trees. However, Mr. Crooper began to +revive presently, in the sweet air of outdoors, and, observing some +of the more flashing gentlemen lighting cigarettes, he was moved to +laughter. He had not smoked since his childhood--having then been bonded +through to twenty-one with a pledge of gold--and he feared that these +smoking youths might feel themselves superior. Worse, Miss Pratt might +be impressed, therefore he laughed in scorn, saying: + +“Burnin' up ole trash around here, I expect!” He sniffed searchingly. +“Somebody's set some ole rags on fire.” Then, as in discovery, he cried, +“Oh no, only cigarettes!” + +Miss Pratt, that tactful girl, counted four smokers in the group about +her, and only one abstainer, George. She at once defended the smokers, +for it is to be feared that numbers always had weight with her. “Oh, but +cigarettes is lubly smell!” she said. “Untle Georgiecums maybe be too +'ittle boy for smokings!” + +This archness was greeted loudly by the smokers, and Mr. Crooper was +put upon his mettle. He spoke too quickly to consider whether or no the +facts justified his assertion. “Me? I don't smoke paper and ole carpets. +I smoke cigars!” + +He had created the right impression, for Miss Pratt clapped her hands. +“Oh, 'plendid! Light one, Untle Georgiecums! Light one ever 'n' ever so +quick! P'eshus Flopit an' me we want see dray, big, 'normous man smoke +dray, big, 'normous cigar!” + +William and Johnnie Watson, who had been hovering morbidly, unable to +resist the lodestone, came nearer, Johnnie being just in time to hear +his cousin's reply. + +“I--I forgot my cigar-case.” + +Johnnie's expression became one of biting skepticism. “What you talkin' +about, George? Didn't you promise Uncle George you'd never smoke till +you're of age, and Uncle George said he'd give you a thousand dollars on +your twenty-first birthday? What 'd you say about your 'cigar-case'?” + +George felt that he was in a tight place, and the lovely eyes of Miss +Pratt turned upon him questioningly. He could not flush, for he was +already so pink after his exploits with unnecessary nutriment that more +pinkness was impossible. He saw that the only safety for him lay in +boisterous prevarication. “A thousand dollars!” he laughed loudly. “I +thought that was real money when I was ten years old! It didn't stand in +MY way very long, I guess! Good ole George wanted his smoke, and he went +after it! You know how I am, Johnnie, when I go after anything. I been +smokin' cigars I dunno how long!” Glancing about him, his eye became +reassured; it was obvious that even Johnnie had accepted this airy +statement as the truth, and to clinch plausibility he added: “When I +smoke, I smoke! I smoke cigars straight along--light one right on the +stub of the other. I only wish I had some with me, because I miss 'em +after a meal. I'd give a good deal for something to smoke right now! I +don't mean cigarettes; I don't want any paper--I want something that's +all tobacco!” + +William's pale, sad face showed a hint of color. With a pang he +remembered the package of My Little Sweetheart All-Tobacco Cuban +Cigarettes (the Package of Twenty for Ten Cents) which still reposed, +untouched, in the breast pocket of his coat. His eyes smarted a little +as he recalled the thoughts and hopes that had accompanied the purchase; +but he thought, “What would Sydney Carton do?” + +William brought forth the package of My Little Sweetheart All-Tobacco +Cuban Cigarettes and placed it in the large hand of George Crooper. And +this was a noble act, for William believed that George really wished to +smoke. “Here,” he said, “take these; they're all tobacco. I'm goin' to +quit smokin', anyway.” And, thinking of the name, he added, gently, with +a significance lost upon all his hearers, “I'm sure you ought to have +'em instead of me.” + +Then he went away and sat alone upon the fence. + +“Light one, light one!” cried Miss Pratt. “Ev'ybody mus' be happy, an' +dray, big, 'normous man tan't be happy 'less he have his all-tobatto +smote. Light it, light it!” + +George drew as deep a breath as his diaphragm, strangely oppressed since +dinner, would permit, and then bravely lit a Little Sweetheart. There +must have been some valiant blood in him, for, as he exhaled the smoke, +he covered a slight choking by exclaiming, loudly: “THAT'S good! That's +the ole stuff! That's what I was lookin' for!” + +Miss Pratt was entranced. “Oh, 'plendid!” she cried, watching him with +fascinated eyes. “Now take dray, big, 'normous puffs! Take dray, big, +'NORMOUS puffs!” + +George took great, big, enormous puffs. + +She declared that she loved to watch men smoke, and William's heart, as +he sat on the distant fence, was wrung and wrung again by the vision of +her playful ecstasies. But when he saw her holding what was left of the +first Little Sweetheart for George to light a second at its expiring +spark, he could not bear it. He dropped from the fence and moped away to +be out of sight once more. This was his darkest hour. + +Studiously avoiding the vicinity of the smokehouse, he sought the little +orchard where he had beheld her sitting with George; and there he sat +himself in sorrowful reverie upon the selfsame fallen tree. How long +he remained there is uncertain, but he was roused by the sound of music +which came from the lawn before the farmhouse. Bitterly he smiled, +remembering that Wallace Banks had engaged Italians with harp, violin, +and flute, promising great things for dancing on a fresh-clipped lawn--a +turf floor being no impediment to seventeen's dancing. Music! To see her +whirling and smiling sunnily in the fat grasp of that dancing bear! He +would stay in this lonely orchard; SHE would not miss him. + +But though he hated the throbbing music and the sound of the laughing +voices that came to him, he could not keep away--and when he reached the +lawn where the dancers were, he found Miss Pratt moving rhythmically in +the thin grasp of Wallace Banks. Johnnie Watson approached, and spoke in +a low tone, tinged with spiteful triumph. + +“Well, anyway, ole fat George didn't get the first dance with her! She's +the guest of honor, and Wallace had a right to it because he did all the +work. He came up to 'em and ole fat George couldn't say a thing. Wallace +just took her right away from him. George didn't say anything at all, +but I s'pose after this dance he'll be rushin' around again and nobody +else 'll have a chance to get near her the rest of the afternoon. My +mother told me I ought to invite him over here, out I had no business +to do it; he don't know the first principles of how to act in a town he +don't live in!” + +“Where'd he go?” William asked, listlessly, for Mr. Crooper was nowhere +in sight. + +“I don't know--he just walked off without sayin' anything. But he'll be +back, time this dance is over, never you fear, and he'll grab her again +and--What's the matter with Joe?” + +Joseph Bullitt had made his appearance at a corner of the house, some +distance from where they stood. His face was alert under the impulse of +strong excitement, and he beckoned fiercely. “Come here!” And, when they +had obeyed, “He's around back of the house by a kind of shed,” said Joe. +“I think something's wrong. Come on, I'll show him to you.” + +But behind the house, whither they followed him in vague, strange hope, +he checked them. “LOOK THERE!” he said. + +His pointing finger was not needed. Sounds of paroxysm drew their +attention sufficiently--sounds most poignant, soul-rending, and +lugubrious. William and Johnnie perceived the large person of Mr. +Crooper; he was seated upon the ground, his back propped obliquely +against the smoke-house, though this attitude was not maintained +constantly. + +Facing him, at a little distance, a rugged figure in homely garments +stood leaning upon a hoe and regarding George with a cold interest. The +apex of this figure was a volcanic straw hat, triangular in profile and +coned with an open crater emitting reddish wisps, while below the +hat were several features, but more whiskers, at the top of a long, +corrugated red neck of sterling worth. A husky voice issued from the +whiskers, addressing George. + +“I seen you!” it said. “I seen you eatin'! This here farm is supposed to +be a sanitary farm, and you'd ought of knew better. Go it, doggone you! +Go it!” + +George complied. And three spectators, remaining aloof, but watching +zealously, began to feel their lost faith in Providence returning into +them; their faces brightened slowly, and without relapse. It was a +visible thing how the world became fairer and better in their eyes +during that little while they stood there. And William saw that his +Little Sweethearts had been an inspired purchase, after all; they had +delivered the final tap upon a tottering edifice. George's deeds at +dinner had unsettled, but Little Sweethearts had overthrown--and now +there was awful work among the ruins, to an ironical accompaniment of +music from the front yard, where people danced in heaven's sunshine! + +This accompaniment came to a stop, and Johnnie Watson jumped. He seized +each of his companions by a sleeve and spoke eagerly, his eyes glowing +with a warm and brotherly light. “Here!” he cried. “We better get around +there--this looks like it was goin' to last all afternoon. Joe, you +get the next dance with her, and just about time the music slows up you +dance her around so you can stop right near where Bill will be standin', +so Bill can get her quick for the dance after that. Then, Bill, you do +the same for me, and I'll do the same for Joe again, and then, Joe, you +do it for Bill again, and then Bill for me--and so on. If we go in right +now and work together we can crowd the rest out, and there won't anybody +else get to dance with her the whole day! Come on quick!” + +United in purpose, the three ran lightly to the dancing-lawn, and Mr. +Bullitt was successful, after a little debate, in obtaining the next +dance with the lovely guest of the day. “I did promise big Untle +Georgiecums,” she said, looking about her. + +“Well, I don't think he'll come,” said Joe. “That is, I'm pretty sure he +won't.” + +A shade fell upon the exquisite face. “No'ty. Bruvva Josie-Joe! The Men +ALWAYS tum when Lola promises dances. Mustn't be rude!” + +“Well--” Joe began, when he was interrupted by the Swedish lady named +Anna, who spoke to them from the steps of the house. Of the merrymakers +they were the nearest. + +“Dot pick fella,” said Anna, “dot one dot eats--we make him in a +petroom. He holler! He tank he neet some halp.” + +“Does he want a doctor?” Joe asked. + +“Doctor? No! He want make him in a amyoulance for hospital!” + +“I'll go look at him,” Johnnie Watson volunteered, running up. “He's my +cousin, and I guess I got to take the responsibility.” + +Miss Pratt paid the invalid the tribute of one faintly commiserating +glance toward the house. “Well,” she said, “if people would rather eat +too much than dance!” She meant “dance with ME!” though she thought +it prettier not to say so. “Come on, Bruvva Josie-Joe!” she cried, +joyously. + +And a little later Johnnie Watson approached her where she stood with +a restored and refulgent William, about to begin the succeeding dance. +Johnnie dropped into her hand a ring, receiving one in return. “I +thought I better GET it,” he said, offering no further explanation. +“I'll take care of his until we get home. He's all right,” said Johnnie, +and then perceiving a sudden advent of apprehension upon the sensitive +brow of William, he went on reassuringly: “He's doin' as well as anybody +could expect; that is--after the crazy way he DID! He's always been +considered the dumbest one in all our relations--never did know how +to act. I don't mean he's exactly not got his senses, or ought to be +watched, anything like that--and of course he belongs to an awful +good family--but he's just kind of the black sheep when it comes to +intelligence, or anything like that. I got him as comfortable as a +person could be, and they're givin' him hot water and mustard and stuff, +but what he needs now is just to be kind of quiet. It'll do him a lot o' +good,” Johnnie concluded, with a spark in his voice, “to lay there the +rest of the afternoon and get quieted down, kind of.” + +“You don't think there's any--” William began, and, after a pause, +continued--“any hope--of his getting strong enough to come out and dance +afterwhile?” + +Johnnie shook his head. “None in the world!” he said, conclusively. “The +best we can do for him is to let him entirely alone till after supper, +and then ask nobody to sit on the back seat of the trolley-car goin' +home, so we can make him comfortable back there, and let him kind of +stretch out by himself.” + +Then gaily tinkled harp, gaily sang flute and violin! Over the +greensward William lightly bore his lady, while radiant was the cleared +sky above the happy dancers. William's fingers touched those delicate +fingers; the exquisite face smiled rosily up to him; undreamable +sweetness beat rhythmically upon his glowing ears; his feet moved in a +rhapsody of companionship with hers. They danced and danced and danced! + +Then Joe danced with her, while William and Johnnie stood with hands +upon each other's shoulders and watched, mayhap with longing, but +without spite; then Johnnie danced with her while Joe and William +watched--and then William danced with her again. + +So passed the long, ineffable afternoon away--ah, Seventeen! + +“... 'Jav a good time at the trolley-party?” the clerk in the corner +drug-store inquired that evening. + +“Fine!” said William, taking his overcoat from the hook where he had +left it. + +“How j' like them Little Sweethearts I sold you?” + +“FINE!” said William. + + + + +XXII + +FORESHADOWINGS + +Now the last rose had blown; the dandelion globes were long since on the +wind; gladioli and golden-glow and salvia were here; the season moved +toward asters and the goldenrod. This haloed summer still idled on +its way, yet all the while sped quickly; like some languid lady in an +elevator. + +There came a Sunday--very hot. + +Mr. and Mrs. Baxter, having walked a scorched half-mile from church, +drooped thankfully into wicker chairs upon their front porch, though +Jane, who had accompanied them, immediately darted away, swinging her +hat by its ribbon and skipping as lithesomely as if she had just come +forth upon a cool morning. + +“I don't know how she does it!” her father moaned, glancing after her +and drying his forehead temporarily upon a handkerchief. “That would +merely kill me dead, after walking in this heat.” + +Then, for a time, the two were content to sit in silence, nodding +to occasional acquaintances who passed in the desultory after-church +procession. Mr. Baxter fanned himself with sporadic little bursts of +energy which made his straw hat creak, and Mrs. Baxter sighed with the +heat, and gently rocked her chair. + +But as a group of five young people passed along the other side of the +street Mr. Baxter abruptly stopped fanning himself, and, following the +direction of his gaze, Mrs. Baxter ceased to rock. In half-completed +attitudes they leaned slightly forward, sharing one of those pauses of +parents who unexpectedly behold their offspring. + +“My soul!” said William's father. “Hasn't that girl gone home YET?” + +“He looks pale to me,” Mrs. Baxter murmured, absently. “I don't think he +seems at all well, lately.” + +During seventeen years Mr. Baxter had gradually learned not to protest +anxieties of this kind, unless he desired to argue with no prospect +of ever getting a decision. “Hasn't she got any HOME?” he demanded, +testily. “Isn't she ever going to quit visiting the Parchers and let +people have a little peace?” + +Mrs. Baxter disregarded this outburst as he had disregarded her remark +about William's pallor. “You mean Miss Pratt?” she inquired, dreamily, +her eyes following the progress of her son. “No, he really doesn't look +well at all.” + +“Is she going to visit the Parchers all summer?” Mr. Baxter insisted. + +“She already has, about,” said Mrs. Baxter. + +“Look at that boy!” the father grumbled. “Mooning along with those other +moon-calves--can't even let her go to church alone! I wonder how many +weeks of time, counting it out in hours, he's wasted that way this +summer?” + +“Oh, I don't know! You see, he never goes there in the evening.” + +“What of that? He's there all day, isn't he? What do they find to talk +about? That's the mystery to me! Day after day; hours and hours--My +soul! What do they SAY?” + +Mrs. Baxter laughed indulgently. “People are always wondering that about +the other ages. Poor Willie! I think that a great deal of the time their +conversation would be probably about as inconsequent as it is now. You +see Willie and Joe Bullitt are walking one on each side of Miss Pratt, +and Johnnie Watson has to walk behind with May Parcher. Joe and Johnnie +are there about as much as Willie is, and, of course, it's often his +turn to be nice to May Parcher. He hasn't many chances to be tete-a-tete +with Miss Pratt.” + +“Well, she ought to go home. I want that boy to get back into his +senses. He's in an awful state.” + +“I think she is going soon,” said Mrs. Baxter. “The Parchers are to have +a dance for her Friday night, and I understand there's to be a floor +laid in the yard and great things. It's a farewell party.” + +“That's one mercy, anyhow!” + +“And if you wonder what they say,” she resumed, “why, probably they're +all talking about the party. And when Willie IS alone with her--well, +what does anybody say?” Mrs. Baxter interrupted herself to laugh. “Jane, +for instance--she's always fascinated by that darky, Genesis, when he's +at work here in the yard, and they have long, long talks; I've seen them +from the window. What on earth do you suppose they talk about? That's +where Jane is now. She knew I told Genesis I'd give him something if +he'd come and freeze the ice-cream for us to-day, and when we got here +she heard the freezer and hopped right around there. If you went out to +the back porch you'd find them talking steadily--but what on earth about +I couldn't guess to save my life!” + +And yet nothing could have been simpler: as a matter of fact, Jane and +Genesis (attended by Clematis) were talking about society. That is to +say, their discourse was not sociologic; rather it was of the frivolous +and elegant. Watteau prevailed with them over John Stuart Mill--in a +word, they spoke of the beau monde. + +Genesis turned the handle of the freezer with his left hand, allowing +his right the freedom of gesture which was an intermittent necessity +when he talked. In the matter of dress, Genesis had always been among +the most informal of his race, but to-day there was a change almost +unnerving to the Caucasian eye. He wore a balloonish suit of purple, +strangely scalloped at pocket and cuff, and more strangely decorated +with lines of small parasite buttons, in color blue, obviously buttons +of leisure. His bulbous new shoes flashed back yellow fire at the +embarrassed sun, and his collar (for he had gone so far) sent forth +other sparkles, playing upon a polished surface over an inner graining +of soot. Beneath it hung a simple, white, soiled evening tie, draped in +a manner unintended by its manufacturer, and heavily overburdened by a +green glass medallion of the Emperor Tiberius, set in brass. + +“Yesm,” said Genesis. “Now I'm in 'at Swim--flyin' roun' ev'y night wif +all lem blue-vein people--I say, 'Mus' go buy me some blue-vein clo'es! +Ef I'm go'n' a START, might's well start HIGH!' So firs', I buy me +thishere gol' necktie pin wi' thishere lady's face carved out o' green +di'mon', sittin' in the middle all 'at gol'. 'Nen I buy me pair Royal +King shoes. I got a frien' o' mine, thishere Blooie Bowers; he say Royal +King shoes same kine o' shoes HE wear, an' I walk straight in 'at sto' +where they keep 'em at. 'Don' was'e my time showin' me no ole-time +shoes,' I say. 'Run out some them big, yella, lump-toed Royal Kings +befo' my eyes, an' firs' pair fit me I pay price, an' wear 'em right off +on me!' 'Nen I got me thishere suit o' clo'es--OH, oh! Sign on 'em in +window: 'Ef you wish to be bes'-dress' man in town take me home fer six +dolluhs ninety-sevum cents.' ''At's kine o' suit Genesis need,' I say. +'Ef Genesis go'n' a start dressin' high, might's well start top!'” + +Jane nodded gravely, comprehending the reasonableness of this view. +“What made you decide to start, Genesis?” she asked, earnestly. “I mean, +how did it happen you began to get this way?” + +“Well, suh, 'tall come 'bout right like kine o' slidin' into it 'stid +o' hoppin' an' jumpin'. I'z spen' the even' at 'at lady's house, Fanny, +what cook nex' do', las' year. Well, suh, 'at lady Fanny, she quit +privut cookin', she kaytliss--” + +“She's what?” Jane asked. “What's that mean, Genesis--kaytliss?” + +“She kaytuhs,” he explained. “Ef it's a man you call him kaytuh; ef it's +a lady, she's a kaytliss. She does kaytun fer all lem blue-vein fam'lies +in town. She make ref'eshmuns, bring waituhs--'at's kaytun. You' maw +give big dinnuh, she have Fanny kaytuh, an' don't take no trouble 'tall +herself. Fanny take all 'at trouble.” + +“I see,” said Jane. “But I don't see how her bein' a kaytliss started +you to dressin' so high, Genesis.” + +“Thishere way. Fanny say, 'Look here, Genesis, I got big job t'morra +night an' I'm man short, 'count o' havin' to have a 'nouncer.'” + +“A what?” + +“Fanny talk jes' that way. Goin' be big dinnuh-potty, an' thishere +blue-vein fam'ly tell Fanny they want whole lot extry sploogin'; tell +her put fine-lookin' cullud man stan' by drawin'-room do'--ask ev'ybody +name an' holler out whatever name they say, jes' as they walk in. +Thishere fam'ly say they goin' show what's what, 'nis town, an' they +boun' Fanny go git 'em a 'nouncer. 'Well, what's mattuh YOU doin' 'at +'nouncin'?' Fanny say. 'Who--me?' I tell her. 'Yes, you kin, too!' she +say, an' she say she len' me 'at waituh suit yoosta b'long ole Henry +Gimlet what die' when he owin' Fanny sixteen dolluhs--an' Fanny tuck +an' keep 'at waituh suit. She use 'at suit on extry waituhs when she got +some on her hands what 'ain't got no waituh suit. 'You wear 'at suit,' +Fanny say, 'an' you be good 'nouncer, 'cause you' a fine, big man, an' +got a big, gran' voice; 'nen you learn befo' long be a waituh, Genesis, +an' git dolluh an' half ev'y even' you waitin ', 'sides all 'at money +you make cuttin' grass daytime.' Well, suh, I'z stan' up doin' 'at +'nouncin' ve'y nex' night. White lady an' ge'lmun walk todes my do', I +step up to 'em--I step up to 'em thisaway.” + +Here Genesis found it pleasant to present the scene with some +elaboration. He dropped the handle of the freezer, rose, assumed a +stately, but ingratiating, expression, and “stepped up” to the imagined +couple, using a pacing and rhythmic gait--a conservative prance, which +plainly indicated the simultaneous operation of an orchestra. Then +bending graciously, as though the persons addressed were of dwarfish +stature, “'Scuse me,” he said, “but kin I please be so p'lite as to +'quiah you' name?” For a moment he listened attentively, then nodded, +and, returning with the same aristocratic undulations to an imaginary +doorway near the freezer, “Misto an' Missuz Orlosko Rinktum!” he +proclaimed, sonorously. + +“WHO?” cried Jane, fascinated. “Genesis, 'nounce that again, right +away!” + +Genesis heartily complied. + +“Misto an' Missuz Orlosko Rinktum!” he bawled. + +“Was that really their names?” she asked, eagerly. + +“Well, I kine o' fergit,” Genesis admitted, resuming his work with the +freezer. “Seem like I rickalect SOMEBODY got name good deal like what I +say, 'cause some mighty blue-vein names at 'at dinnuh-potty, yessuh! But +I on'y git to be 'nouncer one time, 'cause Fanny tellin' me nex' fam'ly +have dinnuh-potty make heap o' fun. Say I done my 'nouncin' GOOD, but +say what's use holler'n' names jes' fer some the neighbors or they own +aunts an' uncles to walk in, when ev'ybody awready knows 'em? So Fanny +pummote me to waituh, an' I roun' right in amongs' big doin's mos' ev'y +night. Pass ice-cream, lemonade, lemon-ice, cake, samwitches. 'Lemme +han' you li'l' mo' chicken salad, ma'am'--' 'Low me be so kine as to git +you f'esh cup coffee, suh'--'S way ole Genesis talkin' ev'y even' 'ese +days!” + +Jane looked at him thoughtfully. “Do you like it better than cuttin' +grass, Genesis?” she asked. + +He paused to consider. “Yes'm--when ban' play all lem TUNES! My +goo'ness, do soun' gran'!” + +“You can't do it to-night, though, Genesis,” said Jane. “You haf to be +quiet on Sunday nights, don't you?” + +“Yes'm. 'Ain' got no mo' kaytun till nex' Friday even'.” + +“Oh, I bet that's the party for Miss Pratt at Mr. Parcher's!” Jane +cried. “Didn't I guess right?” + +“Yes'm. I reckon I'm a-go'n' a see one you' fam'ly 'at night; see him +dancin'--wait on him at ref'eshmuns.” + +Jane's expression became even more serious than usual. “Willie? I don't +know whether he's goin', Genesis.” + +“Lan' name!” Genesis exclaimed. “He die ef he don' git INvite to 'at +ball!” + +“Oh, he's invited,” said Jane. “Only I think maybe he won't go.” + +“My goo'ness! Why ain' he goin'?” + +Jane looked at her friend studiously before replying. “Well, it's a +secret,” she said, finally, “but it's a very inter'sting one, an' I'll +tell you if you never tell.” + +“Yes'm, I ain' tellin' nobody.” + +Jane glanced round, then stepped a little closer and told the secret +with the solemnity it deserved. “Well, when Miss Pratt first came to +visit Miss May Parcher, Willie used to keep papa's evening clo'es in +his window-seat, an' mamma wondered what HAD become of 'em. Then, after +dinner, he'd slip up there an' put 'em on him, an' go out through the +kitchen an' call on Miss Pratt. Then mamma found 'em, an' she thought he +oughtn't to do that, so she didn't tell him or anything, an' she didn't +even tell papa, but she had the tailor make 'em ever an' ever so much +bigger, 'cause they were gettin' too tight for papa. An' well, so after +that, even if Willie could get 'em out o' mamma's clo'es-closet where +she keeps 'em now, he'd look so funny in 'em he couldn't wear 'em. Well, +an' then he couldn't go to pay calls on Miss Pratt in the evening since +then, because mamma says after he started to go there in that suit he +couldn't go without it, or maybe Miss Pratt or the other ones that's in +love of her would think it was pretty queer, an' maybe kind of expeck it +was papa's all the time. Mamma says she thinks Willie must have worried +a good deal over reasons to say why he'd always go in the daytime after +that, an' never came in the evening, an' now they're goin' to have this +party, an' she says he's been gettin' paler and paler every day since +he heard about it. Mamma says he's pale SOME because Miss Pratt's goin' +away, but she thinks it's a good deal more because, well, if he would +wear those evening clo'es just to go CALLIN', how would it be to go to +that PARTY an' not have any! That's what mamma thinks--an', Genesis, you +promised you'd never tell as long as you live!” + +“Yes'm. _I_ ain' tellin',” Genesis chuckled. “I'm a-go'n' agit me one +nem waituh suits befo' long, myse'f, so's I kin quit wearin' 'at ole +Henry Gimlet suit what b'long to Fanny, an' have me a privut suit o' +my own. They's a secon'-han' sto' ovuh on the avynoo, where they got +swallertail suits all way f'um sevum dolluhs to nineteem dolluhs an' +ninety-eight cents. I'm a--” + +Jane started, interrupting him. “'SH!” she whispered, laying a finger +warningly upon her lips. + +William had entered the yard at the back gate, and, approaching over the +lawn, had arrived at the steps of the porch before Jane perceived +him. She gave him an apprehensive look, but he passed into the house +absent-mindedly, not even flinching at sight of Clematis--and Mrs. +Baxter was right, William did look pale. + +“I guess he didn't hear us,” said Jane, when he had disappeared into the +interior. “He acks awful funny!” she added, thoughtfully. “First when he +was in love of Miss Pratt, he'd be mad about somep'm almost every minute +he was home. Couldn't anybody say ANYthing to him but he'd just behave +as if it was frightful, an' then if you'd see him out walkin' with Miss +Pratt, well, he'd look like--like--” Jane paused; her eye fell upon +Clematis and by a happy inspiration she was able to complete her simile +with remarkable accuracy. “He'd look like the way Clematis looks at +people! That's just EXACTLY the way he'd look, Genesis, when he was +walkin' with Miss Pratt; an' then when he was home he got so quiet he +couldn't answer questions an' wouldn't hear what anybody said to him +at table or anywhere, an' papa 'd nearly almost bust. Mamma 'n' papa 'd +talk an' talk about it, an'”--she lowered her voice--“an' I knew what +they were talkin' about. Well, an' then he'd hardly ever get mad any +more; he'd just sit in his room, an' sometimes he'd sit in there without +any light, or he'd sit out in the yard all by himself all evening, +maybe; an' th'other evening after I was in bed I heard 'em, an' papa +said--well, this is what papa told mamma.” And again lowering her +voice, she proffered the quotation from her father in atone somewhat +awe-struck: “Papa said, by Gosh! if he ever 'a' thought a son of his +could make such a Word idiot of himself he almost wished we'd both been +girls!” + +Having completed this report in a violent whisper, Jane nodded +repeatedly, for emphasis, and Genesis shook his head to show that he was +as deeply impressed as she wished him to be. “I guess,” she added, after +a pause “I guess Willie didn't hear anything you an' I talked about him, +or clo'es, or anything.” + +She was mistaken in part. William had caught no reference to himself, +but he had overheard something and he was now alone in his room, +thinking about it almost feverishly. “A secon'-han' sto' ovuh on the +avynoo, where they got swaller-tail suits all way f'um sevum dolluhs to +nineteem dolluhs an' ninety-eight cents.” + +... Civilization is responsible for certain longings in the breast +of man--artificial longings, but sometimes as poignant as hunger and +thirst. Of these the strongest are those of the maid for the bridal +veil, of the lad for long trousers, and of the youth for a tailed coat +of state. To the gratification of this last, only a few of the early +joys in life are comparable. Indulged youths, too rich, can know, to the +unctuous full, neither the longing nor the gratification; but one such +as William, in “moderate circumstances,” is privileged to pant for his +first evening clothes as the hart panteth after the water-brook--and +sometimes, to pant in vain. Also, this was a crisis in William's +life: in addition to his yearning for such apparel, he was racked by a +passionate urgency. + +As Jane had so precociously understood, unless he should somehow manage +to obtain the proper draperies he could not go to the farewell dance +for Miss Pratt. Other unequipped boys could go in their ordinary “best +clothes,” but William could not; for, alack! he had dressed too well too +soon! + +He was in desperate case. + +The sorrow of the approaching great departure was but the heavier +because it had been so long deferred. To William it had seemed that this +flower-strewn summer could actually end no more than he could actually +die, but Time had begun its awful lecture, and even Seventeen was +listening. + +Miss Pratt, that magic girl, was going home. + + + + +XXIII + +FATHERS FORGET + +To the competent twenties, hundreds of miles suggesting no +impossibilities, such departures may be rending, but not tragic. +Implacable, the difference to Seventeen! Miss Pratt was going home, and +Seventeen could not follow; it could only mourn upon the lonely shore, +tracing little angelic footprints left in the sand. + +To Seventeen such a departure is final; it is a vanishing. + +And now it seemed possible that William might be deprived even of the +last romantic consolations: of the “last waltz together,” of the last, +last “listening to music in the moonlight together”; of all those sacred +lasts of the “last evening together.” + +He had pleaded strongly for a “dress-suit” as a fitting recognition +of his seventeenth birthday anniversary, but he had been denied by +his father with a jocularity more crushing than rigor. Since then--in +particular since the arrival of Miss Pratt--Mr. Baxter's temper had been +growing steadily more and more even. That is, as affected by William's +social activities, it was uniformly bad. Nevertheless, after heavy +brooding, William decided to make one final appeal before he resorted to +measures which the necessities of despair had caused him to contemplate. + +He wished to give himself every chance for a good effect; therefore, he +did not act hastily, but went over what he intended to say, rehearsing +it with a few appropriate gestures, and even taking some pleasure in the +pathetic dignity of this performance, as revealed by occasional +glances at the mirror of his dressing-table. In spite of these little +alleviations, his trouble was great and all too real, for, unhappily, +the previous rehearsal of an emotional scene does not prove the emotion +insincere. + +Descending, he found his father and mother still sitting upon the front +porch. Then, standing before them, solemn-eyed, he uttered a preluding +cough, and began: + +“Father,” he said in a loud voice, “I have come to--” + +“Dear me!” Mrs. Baxter exclaimed, not perceiving that she was +interrupting an intended oration. “Willie, you DO look pale! Sit down, +poor child; you oughtn't to walk so much in this heat.” + +“Father,” William repeated. “Fath--” + +“I suppose you got her safely home from church,” Mr. Baxter said. “She +might have been carried off by footpads if you three boys hadn't been +along to take care of her!” + +But William persisted heroically. “Father--” he said. “Father, I have +come to--” + +“What on earth's the matter with you?” Mr. Baxter ceased to fan himself; +Mrs. Baxter stopped rocking, and both stared, for it had dawned upon +them that something unusual was beginning to take place. + +William backed to the start and tried it again. “Father, I have come +to--” He paused and gulped, evidently expecting to be interrupted, +but both of his parents remained silent, regarding him with puzzled +surprise. “Father,” he began once more, “I have come--I have come +to--to place before you something I think it's your duty as my father +to undertake, and I have thought over this step before laying it before +you.” + +“My soul!” said Mr. Baxter, under his breath. “My soul!” + +“At my age,” William continued, swallowing, and fixing his earnest eyes +upon the roof of the porch, to avoid the disconcerting stare of his +father--“at my age there's some things that ought to be done and some +things that ought not to be done. If you asked me what I thought OUGHT +to be done, there is only one answer: When anybody as old as I am has +to go out among other young men his own age that already got one, like +anyway half of them HAVE, who I go with, and their fathers have already +taken such a step, because they felt it was the only right thing to +do, because at my age and the young men I go with's age, it IS the only +right thing to do, because that is something nobody could deny, at my +age--” Here William drew a long breath, and, deciding to abandon that +sentence as irrevocably tangled, began another: “I have thought over +this step, because there comes a time to every young man when they must +lay a step before their father before something happens that they would +be sorry for. I have thought this undertaking over, and I am certain it +would be your honest duty--” + +“My soul!” gasped Mr. Baxter. “I thought I knew you pretty well, but you +talk like a stranger to ME! What is all this? What you WANT?” + +“A dress-suit!” said William. + +He had intended to say a great deal more before coming to the point, +but, although through nervousness he had lost some threads of his +rehearsed plea, it seemed to him that he was getting along well and +putting his case with some distinction and power. He was surprised and +hurt, therefore, to hear his father utter a wordless shout in a tone of +wondering derision. + +“I have more to say--” William began. + +But Mr. Baxter cut him off. “A dress-suit!” he cried. “Well, I'm glad +you were talking about SOMETHING, because I honestly thought it must be +too much sun!” + +At this, the troubled William brought his eyes down from the porch roof +and forgot his rehearsal. He lifted his hand appealingly. “Father,” he +said, “I GOT to have one!” + +“'Got to'!” Mr. Baxter laughed a laugh that chilled the supplicant +through and through. “At your age I thought I was lucky if I had ANY +suit that was fit to be seen in. You're too young, Willie. I don't want +you to get your mind on such stuff, and if I have my way, you won't have +a dress-suit for four years more, anyhow.” + +“Father, I GOT to have one. I got to have one right away!” The urgency +in William's voice was almost tearful. “I don't ask you to have it made, +or to go to expensive tailors, but there's plenty of good ready-made +ones that only cost about forty dollars; they're advertised in the +paper. Father, wouldn't you spend just forty dollars? I'll pay it back +when I'm in business; I'll work--” + +Mr. Baxter waved all this aside. “It's not the money. It's the principle +that I'm standing for, and I don't intend--” + +“Father, WON'T you do it?” + +“No, I will not!” + +William saw that sentence had been passed and all appeals for a new +trial denied. He choked, and rushed into the house without more ado. + +“Poor boy!” his mother said. + +“Poor boy nothing!” fumed Mr. Baxter. “He's about lost his mind over +that Miss Pratt. Think of his coming out here and starting a regular +debating society declamation before his mother and father! Why, I never +heard anything like it in my life! I don't like to hurt his feelings, +and I'd give him anything I could afford that would do him any good, +but all he wants it for now is to splurge around in at this party before +that little yellow-haired girl! I guess he can wear the kind of clothes +most of the other boys wear--the kind _I_ wore at parties--and never +thought of wearing anything else. What's the world getting to be +like? Seventeen years old and throws a fit because he can't have a +dress-suit!” + +Mrs. Baxter looked thoughtful. “But--but suppose he felt he couldn't go +to the dance unless he wore one, poor boy--” + +“All the better,” said Mr. Baxter, firmly. “Do him good to keep away and +get his mind on something else.” + +“Of course,” she suggested, with some timidity, “forty dollars isn't a +great deal of money, and a ready-made suit, just to begin with--” + +Naturally, Mr. Baxter perceived whither she was drifting. “Forty dollars +isn't a thousand,” he interrupted, “but what you want to throw it away +for? One reason a boy of seventeen oughtn't to have evening clothes +is the way he behaves with ANY clothes. Forty dollars! Why, only this +summer he sat down on Jane's open paint-box, twice in one week!” + +“Well--Miss Pratt IS going away, and the dance will be her last night. +I'm afraid it would really hurt him to miss it. I remember once, before +we were engaged--that evening before papa took me abroad, and you--” + +“It's no use, mamma,” he said. “We were both in the twenties--why, _I_ +was six years older than Willie, even then. There's no comparison at +all. I'll let him order a dress-suit on his twenty-first birthday and +not a minute before. I don't believe in it, and I intend to see that +he gets all this stuff out of his system. He's got to learn some hard +sense!” + +Mrs. Baxter shook her head doubtfully, but she said no more. Perhaps she +regretted a little that she had caused Mr. Baxter's evening clothes to +be so expansively enlarged--for she looked rather regretful. She also +looked rather incomprehensible, not to say cryptic, during the long +silence which followed, and Mr. Baxter resumed his rocking, unaware of +the fixity of gaze which his wife maintained upon him--a thing the most +loyal will do sometimes. + +The incomprehensible look disappeared before long; but the regretful +one was renewed in the mother's eyes whenever she caught glimpses of her +son, that day, and at the table, where William's manner was gentle--even +toward his heartless father. + +Underneath that gentleness, the harried self of William was no longer +debating a desperate resolve, but had fixed upon it, and on the +following afternoon Jane chanced to be a witness of some resultant +actions. She came to her mother with an account of them. + +“Mamma, what you s'pose Willie wants of those two ole market-baskets +that were down cellar?” + +“Why, Jane?” + +“Well, he carried 'em in his room, an' then he saw me lookin'; an' he +said, 'G'way from here!' an' shut the door. He looks so funny! What's he +want of those ole baskets, mamma?” + +“I don't know. Perhaps he doesn't even know, himself, Jane.” + +But William did know, definitely. He had set the baskets upon chairs, +and now, with pale determination, he was proceeding to fill them. When +his task was completed the two baskets contained: + +One “heavy-weight winter suit of clothes.” + +One “light-weight summer suit of clothes.” + +One cap. + +One straw hat. + +Two pairs of white flannel trousers. + +Two Madras shirts. + +Two flannel shirts. + +Two silk shirts. + +Seven soft collars. + +Three silk neckties. + +One crocheted tie. + +Eight pairs of socks. + +One pair of patent-leather shoes. + +One pair of tennis-shoes. + +One overcoat. + +Some underwear. + +One two-foot shelf of books, consisting of several sterling works +upon mathematics, in a damaged condition; five of Shakespeare's plays, +expurgated for schools and colleges, and also damaged; a work upon +political economy, and another upon the science of physics; Webster's +Collegiate Dictionary; How to Enter a Drawing-Room and Five Hundred +Other Hints; Witty Sayings from Here and There; Lorna Doone; Quentin +Durward; The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, a very old copy of Moths, +and a small Bible. + +William spread handkerchiefs upon the two over-bulging cargoes, that +their nature might not be disclosed to the curious, and, after listening +a moment at his door, took the baskets, one upon each arm, then went +quickly down the stairs and out of the house, out of the yard, and into +the alley--by which route he had modestly chosen to travel. + +... After an absence of about two hours he returned empty-handed +and anxious. “Mother, I want to speak to you,” he said, addressing Mrs +Baxter in a voice which clearly proved the strain of these racking days. +“I want to speak to you about something important.” + +“Yes, Willie?” + +“Please send Jane away. I can't talk about important things with a child +in the room.” + +Jane naturally wished to stay, since he was going to say something +important. “Mamma, do I HAF to go?” + +“Just a few minutes, dear.” + +Jane walked submissively out of the door, leaving it open behind her. +Then, having gone about six feet farther, she halted and, preserving a +breathless silence, consoled herself for her banishment by listening to +what was said, hearing it all as satisfactorily as if she had remained +in the room. Quiet, thoughtful children, like Jane, avail themselves of +these little pleasures oftener than is suspected. + +“Mother,” said William, with great intensity, “I want to ask you please +to lend me three dollars and sixty cents.” + +“What for, Willie?” + +“Mother, I just ask you to lend me three dollars and sixty cents.” + +“But what FOR?” + +“Mother, I don't feel I can discuss it any; I simply ask you: Will you +lend me three dollars and sixty cents?” + +Mrs. Baxter laughed gently. “I don't think I could, Willie, but +certainly I should want to know what for.” + +“Mother, I am going on eighteen years of age, and when I ask for a +small sum of money like three dollars and sixty cents I think I might be +trusted to know how to use it for my own good without having to answer +questions like a ch--” + +“Why, Willie,” she exclaimed, “you ought to have plenty of money of your +own!” + +“Of course I ought,” he agreed, warmly. “If you'd ask father to give me +a regular allow--” + +“No, no; I mean you ought to have plenty left out of that old junk and +furniture I let you sell last month. You had over nine dollars!' + +“That was five weeks ago,” William explained, wearily. + +“But you certainly must have some of it left. Why, it was MORE than nine +dollars, I believe! I think it was nearer ten. Surely you haven't--” + +“Ye gods!” cried the goaded William. “A person going on eighteen +years old ought to be able to spend nine dollars in five weeks without +everybody's acting like it was a crime! Mother, I ask you the simple +question: Will you PLEASE lend me three dollars and sixty cents?” + +“I don't think I ought to, dear. I'm sure your father wouldn't wish +me to, unless you'll tell me what you want it for. In fact, I won't +consider it at all unless you do tell me.” + +“You won't do it?” he quavered. + +She shook her head gently. “You see, dear, I'm afraid the reason you +don't tell me is because you know that I wouldn't give it to you if I +knew what you wanted it for.” + +This perfect diagnosis of the case so disheartened him that after a few +monosyllabic efforts to continue the conversation with dignity he gave +it up, and left in such a preoccupation with despondency that he passed +the surprised Jane in the hall without suspecting what she had been +doing. + +That evening, after dinner, he addressed to his father an impassioned +appeal for three dollars and sixty cents, laying such stress of pathos +on his principal argument that if he couldn't have a dress-suit, at +least he ought to be given three dollars and sixty CENTS (the emphasis +is William's) that Mr. Baxter was moved in the direction of consent--but +not far enough. “I'd like to let you have it, Willie,” he said, excusing +himself for refusal, “but your mother felt SHE oughtn't to do it unless +you'd say what you wanted it for, and I'm sure she wouldn't like me to +do it. I can't let you have it unless you get her to say she wants me +to.” + +Thus advised, the unfortunate made another appeal to his mother the next +day, and, having brought about no relaxation of the situation, again +petitioned his father, on the following evening. So it went; the torn +and driven William turning from parent to parent; and surely, since the +world began, the special sum of three dollars and sixty cents has never +been so often mentioned in any one house and in the same space of time +as it was in the house of the Baxters during Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, +and Thursday of that oppressive week. + +But on Friday William disappeared after breakfast and did not return to +lunch. + + + + +XXIV + +CLOTHES MAKE THE MAN + +Mrs. Baxter was troubled. During the afternoon she glanced often from +the open window of the room where she had gone to sew, but the peaceful +neighborhood continued to be peaceful, and no sound of the harassed +footsteps of William echoed from the pavement. However, she saw Genesis +arrive (in his weekday costume) to do some weeding, and Jane immediately +skip forth for mingled purposes of observation and conversation. + +“What DO they say?” thought Mrs. Baxter, observing that both Jane and +Genesis were unusually animated. But for once that perplexity was to be +dispersed. After an exciting half-hour Jane came flying to her mother, +breathless. + +“Mamma,” she cried, “I know where Willie is! Genesis told me, 'cause he +saw him, an' he talked to him while he was doin' it.” + +“Doing what? Where?” + +“Mamma, listen! What you think Willie's doin'? I bet you can't g--” + +“Jane!” Mrs Baxter spoke sharply. “Tell me what Genesis said, at once.” + +“Yes'm. Willie's sittin' in a lumber-yard that Genesis comes by on his +way from over on the avynoo where all the colored people live--an' he's +countin' knot-holes in shingles.” + +“He is WHAT?” + +“Yes'm. Genesis knows all about it, because he was thinkin' of doin' +it himself, only he says it would be too slow. This is the way it is, +mamma. Listen, mamma, because this is just exackly the way it is. Well, +this lumber-yard man got into some sort of a fuss because he bought +millions an' millions of shingles, mamma, that had too many knots in, +an' the man don't want to pay for 'em, or else the store where he bought +'em won't take 'em back, an' they got to prove how many shingles are +bad shingles, or somep'm, an' anyway, mamma, that's what Willie's doin'. +Every time he comes to a bad shingle, mamma, he puts it somewheres else, +or somep'm like that, mamma, an' every time he's put a thousand bad +shingles in this other place they give him six cents. He gets the six +cents to keep, mamma--an' that's what he's been doin' all day!” + +“Good gracious!” + +“Oh, but that's nothing, mamma--just you wait till you hear the rest. +THAT part of it isn't anything a TALL, mamma! You wouldn't hardly notice +that part of it if you knew the other part of it, mamma. Why, that +isn't ANYTHING!” Jane made demonstrations of scorn for the insignificant +information already imparted. + +“Jane!” + +“Yes'm?” + +“I want to know everything Genesis told you,” said her mother, “and I +want you to tell it as quickly as you can.” + +“Well, I AM tellin' it, mamma!” Jane protested. “I'm just BEGINNING to +tell it. I can't tell it unless there's a beginning, can I? How could +there be ANYTHING unless you had to begin it, mamma?” + +“Try your best to go on, Jane!” + +“Yes'm. Well, Genesis says--Mamma!” Jane interrupted herself with a +little outcry. “Oh! I bet THAT'S what he had those two market-baskets +for! Yes, sir! That's just what he did! An' then he needed the rest +o' the money an' you an' papa wouldn't give him any, an' so he began +countin' shingles to-day 'cause to-night's the night of the party an' he +just HASS to have it!” + +Mrs. Baxter, who had risen to her feet, recalled the episode of the +baskets and sank into a chair. “How did Genesis know Willie wanted forty +dollars, and if Willie's pawned something how did Genesis know THAT? Did +Willie tell Gen--” + +“Oh no, mamma, Willie didn't want forty dollars--only fourteen!” + +“But he couldn't get even the cheapest readymade dress-suit for fourteen +dollars.” + +“Mamma, you're gettin' it all mixed up!” Jane cried. “Listen, mamma! +Genesis knows all about a second-hand store over on the avynoo; an' it +keeps 'most everything, an' Genesis says it's the nicest store! It keeps +waiter suits all the way up to nineteen dollars and ninety-nine cents. +Well, an' Genesis wants to get one of those suits, so he goes in there +all the time, an' talks to the man an' bargains an' bargains with him, +'cause Genesis says this man is the bargainest man in the wide worl', +mamma! That's what Genesis says. Well, an' so this man's name is One-eye +Beljus, mamma. That's his name, an' Genesis says so. Well, an' so this +man that Genesis told me about, that keeps the store--I mean One-eye +Beljus, mamma--well, One-eye Beljus had Willie's name written down in a +book, an' he knew Genesis worked for fam'lies that have boys like Willie +in 'em, an' this morning One-eye Beljus showed Genesis Willie's name +written down in this book, an' One-eye Beljus asked Genesis if he knew +anybody by that name an' all about him. Well, an' so at first Genesis +pretended he was tryin' to remember, because he wanted to find out what +Willie went there for. Genesis didn't tell any stories, mamma; he +just pretended he couldn't remember, an' so, well, One-eye Beljus kept +talkin' an' pretty soon Genesis found out all about it. One-eye Beljus +said Willie came in there an' tried on the coat of one of those waiter +suits--” + +“Oh no!” gasped Mrs. Baxter. + +“Yes'm, an' One-eye Beljus said it was the only one that would fit +Willie, an' One-eye Beljus told Willie that suit was worth fourteen +dollars, an' Willie said he didn't have any money, but he'd like to +trade something else for it. Well, an' so One-eye Beljus said this was +an awful fine suit an' the only one he had that had b'longed to a white +gentleman. Well, an' so they bargained, an' bargained, an' bargained, +an' BARGAINED! An' then, well, an' so at last Willie said he'd go an' +get everything that b'longed to him, an' One-eye Beljus could pick out +enough to make fourteen dollars' worth, an' then Willie could have +the suit. Well, an' so Willie came home an' put everything he had that +b'longed to him into those two baskets, mamma--that's just what he +did, 'cause Genesis says he told One-eye Beljus it was everything that +b'longed to him, an' that would take two baskets, mamma. Well, then, +an' so he told One-eye Beljus to pick out fourteen dollars' worth, an' +One-eye Beljus ast Willie if he didn't have a watch. Well, Willie took +out his watch an' One-eye Beljus said it was an awful bad watch, but he +would put it in for a dollar; an' he said, 'I'll put your necktie pin +in for forty cents more,' so Willie took it out of his necktie an' then +One-eye Beljus said it would take all the things in the baskets to make +I forget how much, mamma, an' the watch would be a dollar more, an' the +pin forty cents, an' that would leave just three dollars an' sixty cents +more for Willie to pay before he could get the suit.” + +Mrs. Baxter's face had become suffused with high color, but she wished +to know all that Genesis had said, and, mastering her feelings with an +effort, she told Jane to proceed--a command obeyed after Jane had taken +several long breaths. + +“Well, an' so the worst part of it is, Genesis says, it's because that +suit is haunted.” + +“What!” + +“Yes'm,” said Jane, solemnly; “Genesis says it's haunted. Genesis says +everybody over on the avynoo knows all about that suit, an' he says +that's why One-eye Beljus never could sell it before. Genesis says +One-eye Beljus tried to sell it to a colored man for three dollars, +but the man said he wouldn't put in on for three hunderd dollars, an' +Genesis says HE wouldn't, either, because it belonged to a Dago waiter +that--that--” Jane's voice sank to a whisper of unctuous horror. She was +having a wonderful time! “Mamma, this Dago waiter, he lived over on the +avynoo, an' he took a case-knife he'd sharpened--AN' HE CUT A LADY'S +HEAD OFF WITH IT!” + +Mrs. Baxter screamed faintly. + +“An' he got hung, mamma! If you don't believe it, you can ask One-eye +Beljus--I guess HE knows! An' you can ask--” + +“Hush!” + +“An' he sold this suit to One-eye Beljus when he was in jail, mamma. He +sold it to him before he got hung, mamma.” + +“Hush, Jane!” + +But Jane couldn't hush now. “An' he had that suit on when he cut the +lady's head off, mamma, an' that's why it's haunted. They cleaned it all +up excep' a few little spots of bl--” + +“JANE!” shouted her mother. “You must not talk about such things, and +Genesis mustn't tell, you stories of that sort!” + +“Well, how could he help it, if he told me about Willie?” Jane urged, +reasonably. + +“Never mind! Did that crazy ch--Did Willie LEAVE the baskets in that +dreadful place?” + +“Yes'm--an' his watch an' pin,” Jane informed her, impressively. “An' +One-eye Beljus wanted to know if Genesis knew Willie, because One-eye +Beljus wanted to know if Genesis thought Willie could get the three +dollars an; sixty cents, an' One-eye Beljus wanted to know if Genesis +thought he could get anything more out of him besides that. He told +Genesis he hadn't told Willie he COULD have the suit, after all; he just +told him he THOUGHT he could, but he wouldn't say for certain till he +brought him the three dollars an' sixty cents. So Willie left all his +things there, an' his watch an--” + +“That will do!” Mrs. Baxter's voice was sharper than it had ever been in +Jane's recollection. “I don't need to hear any more--and I don't WANT to +hear any more!” + +Jane was justly aggrieved. “But, mamma, it isn't MY fault!” + +Mrs. Baxter's lips parted to speak, but she checked herself. “Fault?” + she said, gravely. “I wonder whose fault it really is!” + +And with that she went hurriedly into William's room and made a brief +inspection of his clothes-closet and dressing-table. Then, as Jane +watched her in awed silence, she strode to the window, and called, +loudly: + +“Genesis!” + +“Yes'm?” came the voice from below. + +“Go to that lumber-yard where Mr. William is at work and bring him +here to me at once. If he declines to come, tell him--” Her voice broke +oddly; she choked, but Jane could not decide with what emotion. “Tell +him--tell him I ordered you to use force if necessary! Hurry!” + +“YES'M!” + +Jane ran to the window in time to see Genesis departing seriously +through the back gate. + +“Mamma--” + +“Don't talk to me now, Jane,” Mrs. Baxter said, crisply. “I want you to +go down in the yard, and when Willie comes tell him I'm waiting for him +here in his own room. And don't come with him, Jane. Run!” + +“Yes, mamma.” Jane was pleased with this appointment; she anxiously +desired to be the first to see how Willie “looked.” + +... He looked flurried and flustered and breathless, and there were +blisters upon the reddened palms of his hands. “What on earth's the +matter, mother?” he asked, as he stood panting before her. “Genesis said +something was wrong, and he said you told him to hit me if I wouldn't +come.” + +“Oh NO!” she cried. “I only meant I thought perhaps you wouldn't obey +any ordinary message--” + +“Well, well, it doesn't matter, but please hurry and say what you want +to, because I got to get back and--” + +“No,” Mrs. Baxter said, quietly, “you're not going back to count any +more shingles, Willie. How much have you earned?” + +He swallowed, but spoke bravely. “Thirty-six cents. But I've been +getting lots faster the last two hours and there's a good deal of time +before six o'clock. Mother--” + +“No,” she said. “You're going over to that horrible place where you've +left your clothes and your watch and all those other things in the two +baskets, and you're going to bring them home at once.” + +“Mother!” he cried, aghast. “Who told you?” + +“It doesn't matter. You don't want your father to find out, do you? Then +get those things back here as quickly as you can. They'll have to be +fumigated after being in that den.” + +“They've never been out of the baskets,” he protested, hotly, “except +just to be looked at. They're MY things, mother, and I had a right to +do what I needed to with 'em, didn't I?” His utterance became difficult. +“You and father just CAN'T understand--and you won't do anything to help +me--” + +“Willie, you can go to the party,” she said, gently. “You didn't need +those frightful clothes at all.” + +“I do!” he cried. “I GOT to have 'em! I CAN'T go in my day clo'es! +There's a reason you wouldn't understand why I can't. I just CAN'T!” + +“Yes,” she said, “you can go to the party.” + +“I can't, either! Not unless you give me three dollars and twenty-four +cents, or unless I can get back to the lumber-yard and earn the rest +before--” + +“No!” And the warm color that had rushed over Mrs. Baxter during Jane's +sensational recital returned with a vengeance. Her eyes flashed. “If +you'd rather I sent a policeman for those baskets, I'll send one. I +should prefer to do it--much! And to have that rascal arrested. If you +don't want me to send a policeman you can go for them yourself, but +you must start within ten minutes, because if you don't I'll telephone +headquarters. Ten minutes, Willie, and I mean it!” + +He cried out, protesting. She would make him a thing of scorn forever +and soil his honor, if she sent a policeman. Mr. Beljus was a fair +and honest tradesman, he explained, passionately, and had not made the +approaches in this matter. Also, the garments in question, though not +entirely new, nor of the highest mode, were of good material and in +splendid condition. Unmistakably they were evening clothes, and such a +bargain at fourteen dollars that William would guarantee to sell them +for twenty after he had worn them this one evening. Mr. Beljus himself +had said that he would not even think of letting them go at fourteen +to anybody else, and as for the two poor baskets of worn and useless +articles offered in exchange, and a bent scarfpin and a worn-out old +silver watch that had belonged to great-uncle Ben--why, the ten dollars +and forty cents allowed upon them was beyond all ordinary liberality; +it was almost charity. There was only one place in town where evening +clothes were rented, and the suspicious persons in charge had insisted +that William obtain from his father a guarantee to insure the return of +the garments in perfect condition. So that was hopeless. And wasn't it +better, also, to wear clothes which had known only one previous occupant +(as was the case with Mr. Beljus's offering) than to hire what chance +hundreds had hired? Finally, there was only one thing to be considered +and this was the fact that William HAD to have those clothes! + +“Six minutes,” said Mrs. Baxter, glancing implacably at her watch. “When +it's ten I'll telephone.” + +And the end of it was, of course, victory for the woman--victory both +moral and physical. Three-quarters of an hour later she was unburdening +the contents of the two baskets and putting the things back in place, +illuminating these actions with an expression of strong distaste--in +spite of broken assurances that Mr. Beljus had not more than touched any +of the articles offered to him for valuation. + +... At dinner, which was unusually early that evening, Mrs. Baxter did +not often glance toward her son; she kept her eyes from that white face +and spent most of her time in urging upon Mr. Baxter that he should +be prompt in dressing for a card-club meeting which he and she were +to attend that evening. These admonitions of hers were continued so +pressingly that Mr. Baxter, after protesting that there was no use in +being a whole hour too early, groaningly went to dress without even +reading his paper. + +William had retired to his own room, where he lay upon his bed in the +darkness. He heard the evening noises of the house faintly through the +closed door: voices and the clatter of metal and china from the far-away +kitchen, Jane's laugh in the hall, the opening and closing of the doors. +Then his father seemed to be in distress about something. William heard +him complaining to Mrs. Baxter, and though the words were indistinct, +the tone was vigorously plaintive. Mrs. Baxter laughed and appeared +to make light of his troubles, whatever they were--and presently +their footsteps were audible from the stairway; the front door closed +emphatically, and they were gone. + +Everything was quiet now. The open window showed as a greenish oblong +set in black, and William knew that in a little while there would come +through the stillness of that window the distant sound of violins. That +was a moment he dreaded with a dread that ached. And as he lay on his +dreary bed he thought of brightly lighted rooms where other boys were +dressing eagerly faces and hair shining, hearts beating high--boys who +would possess this last evening and the “last waltz together,” the last +smile and the last sigh. + +It did not once enter his mind that he could go to the dance in his +“best suit,” or that possibly the other young people at the party would +be too busy with their own affairs to notice particularly what he wore. +It was the unquestionable and granite fact, to his mind, that the whole +derisive World would know the truth about his earlier appearances in his +father's clothes. And that was a form of ruin not to be faced. In the +protective darkness and seclusion of William's bedroom, it is possible +that smarting eyes relieved themselves by blinking rather energetically; +it is even possible that there was a minute damp spot upon the pillow. +Seventeen cannot always manage the little boy yet alive under all the +coverings. + +Now arrived that moment he had most painfully anticipated, and +dance-music drifted on the night;--but there came a tapping upon his +door and a soft voice spoke. + +“Will-ee?” + +With a sharp exclamation William swung his legs over the edge of the +bed and sat up. Of all things he desired not, he desired no conversation +with, or on the part of, Jane. But he had forgotten to lock his +door--the handle turned, and a dim little figure marched in. + +“Willie, Adelia's goin' to put me to bed.” + +“You g'way from here,” he said, huskily. “I haven't got time to talk to +you. I'm busy.” + +“Well, you can wait a minute, can't you?” she asked, reasonably. “I haf +to tell you a joke on mamma.” + +“I don't want to hear any jokes!” + +“Well, I HAF to tell you this one 'cause she told me to! Oh!” Jane +clapped her hand over her mouth and jumped up and down, offering a +fantastic silhouette against the light of the Open door. “Oh, oh, OH!” + +“What's matter?” + +“She said I mustn't, MUSTN'T tell that she told me to tell! My goodness! +I forgot that! Mamma took me off alone right after dinner, an' she told +me to tell you this joke on her a little after she an' papa had left +the house, but she said, 'Above all THINGS,' she said, 'DON'T let Willie +know _I_ said to tell him.' That's just what she said, an' here that's +the very first thing I had to go an' do!” + +“Well, what of it?” + +Jane quieted down. The pangs of her remorse were lost in her love of +sensationalism, and her voice sank to the thrilling whisper which it was +one of her greatest pleasures to use. “Did you hear what a fuss papa was +makin' when he was dressin' for the card-party?” + +“_I_ don't care if--” + +“He had to go in his reg'lar clo'es!” whispered Jane, triumphantly. +“An' this is the joke on mamma: you know that tailor that let papa's +dress-suit 'way, 'way out; well, Mamma thinks that tailor must think +she's crazy, or somep'm 'cause she took papa's dress-suit to him last +Monday to get it pressed for this card-party, an she guesses he must of +understood her to tell him to do lots besides just pressin' it. Anyway, +he went an' altered it, an' he took it 'way, 'way IN again; an' this +afternoon when it came back it was even tighter 'n what it was in the +first place, an' papa couldn't BEGIN to get into it! Well, an' so it's +all pressed an' ev'ything, an' she stopped on the way out, an' whispered +to me that she'd got so upset over the joke on her that she couldn't +remember where she put it when she took it out o' papa's room after he +gave up tryin' to get inside of it. An' that,” cried Jane--“that's +the funniest thing of all! Why, it's layin' right on her bed this very +minute!” + +In one bound William leaped through the open door. Two seconds sufficed +for his passage through the hall to his mother's bedroom--and there, +neatly spread upon the lace coverlet and brighter than coronation robes, +fairer than Joseph's holy coat, It lay! + + + + +XXV + +YOUTH AND MR. PARCHER + +As a hurried worldling, in almost perfectly fitting evening clothes, +passed out of his father's gateway and hurried toward the place whence +faintly came the sound of dance-music, a child's voice called sweetly +from an unidentified window of the darkened house behind him: + +“Well, ANYWAY, you try and have a good time, Willie!” + +William made no reply; he paused not in his stride. Jane's farewell +injunction, though obviously not ill-intended, seemed in poor taste, and +a reply might have encouraged her to believe that, in some measure at +least, he condescended to discuss his inner life with her. He departed +rapidly, but with hauteur. The moon was up, but shade-trees were thick +along the sidewalk, and the hauteur was invisible to any human eye; +nevertheless, William considered it necessary. + +Jane's friendly but ill-chosen “ANYWAY” had touched doubts already +annoying him. He was certain to be late to the party--so late, indeed, +that it might prove difficult to obtain a proper number of dances with +the sacred girl in whose honor the celebration was being held. Too +many were steeped in a sense of her sacredness, well he wot! and he was +unable to find room in his apprehensive mind for any doubt that these +others would be accursedly diligent. + +But as he hastened onward his spirits rose, and he did reply to Jane, +after all, though he had placed a hundred yards between them. + +“Yes, and you can bet your bottom dollar I will, too!” he muttered, +between his determined teeth. + +The very utterance of the words increased the firmness of his decision, +and at the same time cheered him. His apprehensions fell away, and a +glamorous excitement took their place, as he turned a corner and the +music burst more loudly upon his tingling ear. For there, not half-way +to the next street, the fairy scene lay spread before him. + +Spellbound groups of uninvited persons, most of them colored, rested +their forearms upon the upper rail of the Parchers' picket fence, +offering to William's view a silhouette like that of a crowd at a fire. +Beyond the fence, bright forms went skimming, shimmering, wavering over +a white platform, while high overhead the young moon sprayed a thinner +light down through the maple leaves, to where processions of rosy globes +hung floating in the blue night. The mild breeze trembled to the silver +patterings of a harp, to the sweet, barbaric chirping of plucked strings +of violin and 'cello--and swooned among the maple leaves to the rhythmic +crooning of a flute. And, all the while, from the platform came the +sounds of little cries in girlish voices, and the cadenced shuffling +of young feet, where the witching dancemusic had its way, as ever and +forever, with big and little slippers. + +The heart of William had behaved tumultuously the summer long, whenever +his eyes beheld those pickets of the Parchers' fence, but now it outdid +all its previous riotings. He was forced to open his mouth and gasp +for breath, so deep was his draught of that young wine, romance. +Yonder--somewhere in the breath-taking radiance--danced his Queen with +all her Court about her. Queen and Court, thought William, and nothing +less exorbitant could have expressed his feeling. For seventeen needs +only some paper lanterns, a fiddle, and a pretty girl--and Versailles is +all there! + +The moment was so rich that William crossed the street with a slower +step. His mood changed: an exaltation had come upon him, though he was +never for an instant unaware of the tragedy beneath all this worldly +show and glamor. It was the last night of the divine visit; to-morrow +the town would lie desolate, a hollow shell in the dust, without her. +Miss Pratt would be gone--gone utterly--gone away on the TRAIN! But +to-night was just beginning, and to-night he would dance with her; he +would dance and dance with her--he would dance and dance like mad! He +and she, poetic and fated pair, would dance on and on! They would be +intoxicated by the lights--the lights, the flowers, and the music. Nay, +the flowers might droop, the lights might go out, the music cease and +dawn come--she and he would dance recklessly on--on--on! + +A sense of picturesqueness--his own picturesqueness--made him walk +rather theatrically as he passed through the groups of humble onlookers +outside the picket fence. Many of these turned to stare at the belated +guest, and William was unconscious of neither their low estate nor his +own quality as a patrician man-about-town in almost perfectly fitting +evening dress. A faint, cold smile was allowed to appear upon his lips, +and a fragment from a story he had read came momentarily to his mind.... +“Through the gaping crowds the young Augustan noble was borne down +from the Palatine, scornful in his jeweled litter....” + +An admiring murmur reached William's ear. + +“OH, oh, honey! Look attem long-tail suit! 'At's a rich boy, honey!” + +“Yessum, SO! Bet he got his pockets pack' full o' twenty-dolluh gol' +pieces right iss minute!” + +“You right, honey!” + +William allowed the coldness of his faint smile to increase to become +scornful. These poor sidewalk creatures little knew what seethed inside +the alabaster of the young Augustan noble! What was it to THEM that this +was Miss Pratt's last night and that he intended to dance and dance with +her, on and on? + +Almost sternly he left these squalid lives behind him and passed to the +festal gateway. + +Upon one of the posts of that gateway there rested the elbow of a +contemplative man, middleaged or a little worse. Of all persons having +pleasure or business within the bright inclosure, he was, that evening, +the least important; being merely the background parent who paid the +bills. However, even this unconsidered elder shared a thought in common +with the Augustan now approaching: Mr. Parcher had just been thinking +that there was true romance in the scene before him. + +But what Mr. Parcher contemplated as romance arose from the fact that +these young people were dancing on a spot where their great-grandfathers +had scalped Indians. Music was made for them by descendants, it might +well be, of Romulus, of Messalina, of Benvenuto Cellini, and, around +behind the house, waiting to serve the dancers with light food +and drink, lounged and gossiped grandchildren of the Congo, only +a generation or so removed from dances for which a chance stranger +furnished both the occasion and the refreshments. Such, in brief, was +Mr. Parcher's peculiar view of what constituted the romantic element. + +And upon another subject preoccupying both Mr. Parcher and William, +their two views, though again founded upon one thought, had no real +congeniality. The preoccupying subject was the imminence of Miss Pratt's +departure;--neither Mr. Parcher nor William forgot it for an instant. No +matter what else played upon the surface of their attention, each kept +saying to himself, underneath: “This is the last night--the last night! +Miss Pratt is going away--going away to-morrow!” + +Mr. Parcher's expression was peaceful. It was more peaceful than it had +been for a long time. In fact, he wore the look of a man who had been +through the mill but now contemplated a restful and health-restoring +vacation. For there are people in this world who have no respect for the +memory of Ponce de Leon, and Mr. Parcher had come to be of their number. +The elimination of William from his evenings had lightened the burden; +nevertheless, Mr. Parcher would have stated freely and openly to any +responsible party that a yearning for the renewal of his youth had not +been intensified by his daughter's having as a visitor, all summer long, +a howling belle of eighteen who talked baby-talk even at breakfast and +spread her suitors all over the small house--and its one veranda--from +eight in the morning until hours of the night long after their mothers +(in Mr. Parcher's opinion) should have sent their fathers to march them +home. Upon Mr. Parcher's optimism the effect of so much unavoidable +observation of young love had been fatal; he declared repeatedly that +his faith in the human race was about gone. Furthermore, his physical +constitution had proved pathetically vulnerable to nightly quartets, +quintets, and even octets, on the porch below his bedchamber window, so +that he was wont to tell his wife that never, never could he expect to +be again the man he had been in the spring before Miss Pratt came to +visit May. And, referring to conversations which he almost continuously +overheard, perforce, Mr. Parcher said that if this was the way HE talked +at that age, he would far prefer to drown in an ordinary fountain, and +be dead and done with it, than to bathe in Ponce de Leon's. + +Altogether, the summer had been a severe one; he doubted that he could +have survived much more of it. And now that it was virtually over, +at last, he was so resigned to the departure of his daughter's lovely +little friend that he felt no regret for the splurge with which her +visit was closing. Nay, to speed the parting guest--such was his lavish +mood--twice and thrice over would he have paid for the lights, the +flowers, the music, the sandwiches, the coffee, the chicken salad, the +cake, the lemonade-punch, and the ice-cream. + +Thus did the one thought divide itself between William and Mr. Parcher, +keeping itself deep and pure under all their other thoughts. “Miss Pratt +is going away!” thought William and Mr. Parcher. “Miss PRATT is going +away--to-morrow!” + +The unuttered words advanced tragically toward the gate in the head of +William at the same time that they moved contentedly away in the head +of Mr. Parcher; for Mr. Parcher caught sight of his wife just then, and +went to join her as she sank wearily upon the front steps. + +“Taking a rest for a minute?” he inquired. “By George! we're both +entitled to a good LONG rest, after to-night! If we could afford it, +we'd go away to a quiet little sanitarium in the hills, somewhere, +and--” He ceased to speak and there was the renewal of an old bitterness +in his expression as his staring eyes followed the movements of a +stately young form entering the gateway. “Look at it!” said Mr. Parcher +in a whisper. “Just look at it!” + +“Look at what?” asked his wife. + +“That Baxter boy!” said Mr. Parcher, as William passed on toward the +dancers. “What's he think he's imitating--Henry Irving? Look at his +walk!” + +“He walks that way a good deal, lately, I've noticed,” said Mrs. Parcher +in a tired voice. “So do Joe Bullitt and--” + +“He didn't even come to say good evening to you,” Mr. Parcher +interrupted. “Talk about MANNERS, nowadays! These young--” + +“He didn't see us.” + +“Well, we're used to that,” said Mr. Parcher. “None of 'em see us. +They've worn holes in all the cane-seated chairs, they've scuffed up the +whole house, and I haven't been able to sit down anywhere down-stairs +for three months without sitting on some dam boy; but they don't even +know we're alive! Well, thank the Lord, it's over--after to-night!” His +voice became reflective. “That Baxter boy was the worst, until he took +to coming in the daytime when I was down-town. I COULDN'T have stood it +if he'd kept on coming in the evening. If I'd had to listen to any more +of his talking or singing, either the embalmer or the lunatic-asylum +would have had me, sure! I see he's got hold of his daddy's dress-suit +again for to-night.” + +“Is it Mr. Baxter's dress-suit?” Mrs. Parcher inquired. “How do you +know?” + +Mr. Parcher smiled. “How I happen to know is a secret,” he said. “I +forgot about that. His little sister, Jane, told me that Mrs. Baxter had +hidden it, or something, so that Willie couldn't wear it, but I guess +Jane wouldn't mind my telling YOU that she told me especially as they're +letting him use it again to-night. I suppose he feels grander 'n the +King o' Siam!” + +“No,” Mrs. Parcher returned, thoughtfully. “I don't think he does, just +now.” Her gaze was fixed upon the dancing-platform, which most of +the dancers were abandoning as the music fell away to an interval +of silence. In the center of the platform there remained one group, +consisting of Miss Pratt and five orators, and of the orators the most +impassioned and gesticulative was William. + +“They all seem to want to dance with her all the time,” said Mrs. +Parcher. “I heard her telling one of the boys, half an hour ago, that +all she could give him was either the twenty-eighth regular dance or the +sixteenth 'extra.'” + +“The what?” Mr. Parcher demanded, whirling to face her. “Do they think +this party's going to keep running till day after to-morrow?” And then, +as his eyes returned to the group on the platform, “That boy seems to +have quite a touch of emotional insanity,” he remarked, referring to +William. “What IS the matter with him?” + +“Oh, nothing,” his wife returned. “Only trying to arrange a dance with +her. He seems to be in difficulties.” + + + + +XXVI + +MISS BOKE + +Nothing could have been more evident than William's difficulties. They +continued to exist, with equal obviousness, when the group broke up in +some confusion, after a few minutes of animated discussion; Mr. Wallace +Banks, that busy and executive youth, bearing Miss Pratt triumphantly +off to the lemonade-punch-bowl, while William pursued Johnnie Watson +and Joe Bullitt. He sought to detain them near the edge of the platform, +though they appeared far from anxious to linger in his company; and he +was able to arrest their attention only by clutching an arm of each. In +fact, the good feeling which had latterly prevailed among these three +appeared to be in danger of disintegrating. The occasion was too +vital; and the watchword for “Miss Pratt's last night” was +Devil-Take-the-Hindmost! + +“Now you look here, Johnnie,” William said, vehemently, “and you listen, +too, Joe! You both got seven dances apiece with her, anyway, all on +account of my not getting here early enough, and you got to--” + +“It wasn't because of any such reason,” young Mr. Watson protested. “I +asked her for mine two days ago.” + +“Well, THAT wasn't fair, was it?” William cried. “Just because I never +thought of sneaking in ahead like that, you go and--” + +“Well, you ought to thought of it,” Johnnie retorted, jerking his arm +free of William's grasp. “I can't stand here GABBIN' all night!” And he +hurried away. + +“Joe,” William began, fastening more securely upon Mr. Bullitt--“Joe, +I've done a good many favors for you, and--” + +“I've got to see a man,” Mr. Bullitt interrupted. “Lemme go, Silly Bill. +There's some body I got to see right away before the next dance begins. +I GOT to! Honest I have!” + +William seized him passionately by the lapels of his coat. “Listen, Joe. +For goodness' sake can't you listen a MINUTE? You GOT to give me--” + +“Honest, Bill,” his friend expostulated, backing away as forcefully as +possible, “I got to find a fellow that's here to-night and ask him about +something important before--” + +“Ye gods! Can't you wait a MINUTE?” William cried, keeping his grip upon +Joe's lapels. “You GOT to give me anyway TWO out of all your dances with +her! You heard her tell me, yourself, that she'd be willing if you or +Johnnie or--” + +“Well, I only got five or six with her, and a couple extras. Johnnie's +got seven. Whyn't you go after Johnnie? I bet he'd help you out, all +right, if you kept after him. What you want to pester ME for, Bill?” + +The brutal selfishness of this speech, as well as its cold-blooded +insincerity, produced in William the impulse to smite. Fortunately, his +only hope lay in persuasion, and after a momentary struggle with his own +features he was able to conceal what he desired to do to Joe's. + +He swallowed, and, increasing the affectionate desperation of his clutch +upon Mr. Bullitt's lapels, “Joe,” he began, huskily--“Joe, if _I_'d got +six reg'lar and two extras with Miss Pratt her last night here, and you +got here late, and it wasn't your fault--I couldn't help being late, +could I? It wasn't my fault I was late, I guess, was it? Well, if I +was in YOUR place I wouldn't act the way you and Johnnie do--not in a +thousand years I wouldn't! I'd say, 'You want a couple o' my dances with +Miss Pratt, ole man? Why, CERTAINLY--'” + +“Yes, you would!” was the cynical comment of Mr. Bullitt, whose averted +face and reluctant shoulders indicated a strong desire to conclude the +interview. “To-night, especially!” he added. + +“Look here, Joe,” said William, desperately, “don't you realize that +this is the very last night Miss Pratt's going to be in this town?” + +“You bet I do!” These words, though vehement, were inaudible; being +formed in the mind of Mr. Bullitt, but, for diplomatic reasons, not +projected upon the air by his vocal organs. + +William continued: “Joe, you and I have been friends ever since you and +I were boys.” He spoke with emotion, but Joe had no appearance of being +favorably impressed. “And when I look back,” said William, “I expect +I've done more favors for you than I ever have for any oth--” + +But Mr. Bullitt briskly interrupted this appealing reminiscence. +“Listen here, Silly Bill,” he said, becoming all at once friendly and +encouraging--“Bill, there's other girls here you can get dances with. +There's one or two of 'em sittin' around in the yard. You can have a +bully time, even if you did come late.” And, with the air of discharging +happily all the obligations of which William had reminded him, he added, +“I'll tell you THAT much, Bill!” + +“Joe, you got to give me anyway ONE da--” + +“Look!” said Mr. Bullitt, eagerly. “Look sittin' yonder, over under +that tree all by herself! That's a visiting girl named Miss Boke; she's +visiting some old uncle or something she's got livin' here, and I bet +you could--” + +“Joe, you GOT to--” + +“I bet that Miss Boke's a good dancer, Bill,” Joe continued, warmly. +“May Parcher says so. She was tryin' to get me to dance with her myself, +but I couldn't, or I would of. Honest, Bill, I would of! Bill, if I was +you I'd sail right in there before anybody else got a start, and I'd--” + +“Ole man,” said William, gently, “you remember the time Miss Pratt and I +had an engagement to go walkin', and you wouldn't of seen her for a week +on account of your aunt dyin' in Kansas City, if I hadn't let you go +along with us? Ole man, if you--” + +But the music sounded for the next dance, and Joe felt that it was +indeed time to end this uncomfortable conversation. “I got to go, Bill,” + he said. “I GOT to!” + +“Wait just one minute,” William implored. “I want to say just this: +if--” + +“Here!” exclaimed Mr. Bullitt. “I got to GO!” + +“I know it. That's why--” + +Heedless of remonstrance, Joe wrenched himself free, for it would have +taken a powerful and ruthless man to detain him longer. “What you take +me for?” he demanded, indignantly. “I got this with Miss PRATT!” + +And evading a hand which still sought to clutch him, he departed hotly. + +... Mr. Parcher's voice expressed wonder, a little later, as he +recommended his wife to turn her gaze in the direction of “that Baxter +boy” again. “Just look at him!” said Mr. Parcher. “His face has got more +genuine idiocy in it than I've seen around here yet, and God knows I've +been seeing some miracles in that line this summer!” + +“He's looking at Lola Pratt,” said Mrs. Parcher. + +“Don't you suppose I can see that?” Mr. Parcher returned, with some +irritation. “That's what's the trouble with him. Why don't he QUIT +looking at her?” + +“I think probably he feels badly because she's dancing with one of the +other boys,” said his wife, mildly. + +“Then why can't he dance with somebody else himself?” Mr. Parcher +inquired, testily. “Instead of standing around like a calf looking out +of the butcher's wagon! By George! he looks as if he was just going to +MOO!” + +“Of course he ought to be dancing with somebody,” Mrs. Parcher remarked, +thoughtfully. “There are one or two more girls than boys here, and +he's the only boy not dancing. I believe I'll--” And, not stopping to +complete the sentence, she rose and walked across the interval of grass +to William. “Good evening, William,” she said, pleasantly. “Don't you +want to dance?” + +“Ma'am?” said William, blankly, and the eyes he turned upon here were +glassy with anxiety. He was still determined to dance on and on and on +with Miss Pratt, but he realized that there were great obstacles to be +overcome before he could begin the process. He was feverishly awaiting +the next interregnum between dances--then he would show Joe Bullitt and +Johnnie Watson and Wallace Banks, and some others who had set themselves +in his way, that he was “abs'lutely not goin' to stand it!” + +He couldn't stand it, he told himself, even if he wanted to--not +to-night! He had “been through enough” in order to get to the party, he +thought, thus defining sufferings connected with his costume, and now +that he was here he WOULD dance and dance, on and on, with Miss Pratt. +Anything else was unthinkable. + +He HAD to! + +“Don't you want to dance?” Mrs. Parcher repeated. “Have you looked +around for a girl without a partner?” + +He continued to stare at her, plainly having no comprehension of her +meaning. + +“Girl?” he echoed, in a tone of feeble inquiry. + +She smiled and nodded, taking his arm. “You come with me,” she said. +“I'LL fix you up!” + +William suffered her to conduct him across the yard. Intensely +preoccupied with what he meant to do as soon as the music paused, he +was somewhat hazy, but when he perceived that he was being led in the +direction of a girl, sitting solitary under one of the maple-trees, the +sudden shock of fear aroused his faculties. + +“What--where--” he stammered, halting and seeking to detach himself from +his hostess. + +“What is it?” she asked. + +“I got--I got to--” William began, uneasily. “I got to--” + +His purpose was to excuse himself on the ground that he had to find a +man and tell him something important before the next dance, for in the +confusion of the moment his powers refused him greater originality. +But the vital part of his intended excuse remained unspoken, being +disregarded and cut short, as millions of other masculine diplomacies +have been, throughout the centuries, by the decisive action of ladies. + +Miss Boke had been sitting under the mapletree for a long time--so long, +indeed, that she was acquiring a profound distaste for forestry and even +for maple syrup. In fact, her state of mind was as desperate, in its +way, as William's; and when a hostess leads a youth (in almost perfectly +fitting conventional black) toward a girl who has been sitting alone +through dance after dance, that girl knows what that youth is going to +have to do. + +It must be confessed for Miss Boke that her eyes had been upon William +from the moment Mrs. Parcher addressed him. Nevertheless, as the pair +came toward her she looked casually away in an indifferent manner. And +yet this may have been but a seeming unconsciousness, for upon the very +instant of William's halting, and before he had managed to stammer “I +got to--” for the fourth time, Miss Boke sprang to her feet and met Mrs. +Parcher more than halfway. + +“Oh, Mrs. Parcher!” she called, coming forward. + +“I got--” the panic-stricken William again hastily began. “I got to--” + +“Oh, Mrs. Parcher,” cried Miss Boke, “I've been SO worried! There's a +candle in that Japanese lantern just over your head, and I think it's +going out.” + +“I'll run and get a fresh one in a minute,” said Mrs. Parcher, smiling +benevolently and retaining William's arm with a little difficulty. “We +were just coming to find you. I've brought--” + +“I got to--I got to find a m--” William made a last, stricken effort. + +“Miss Boke, this is Mr. Baxter,” said Mrs. Parcher, and she added, with +what seemed to William hideous garrulity, “He and you both came late, +dear, and he hasn't any dances engaged, either. So run and dance, and +have a nice time together.” + +Thereupon this disastrous woman returned to her husband. Her look was +conscientious; she thought she had done something pleasant! + +The full horror of his position was revealed to William in the relieved, +confident, proprietor's smile of Miss Boke. For William lived by a code +from which no previous experience had taught him any means of escape. +Mrs. Parcher had made the statement--so needless and so ruinous--that +he had no engagements; and in his dismay he had been unable to deny this +fatal truth; he had been obliged to let it stand. Henceforth, he was +committed absolutely to Miss Boke until either some one else asked her +to dance, or (while yet in her close company) William could obtain an +engagement with another girl. The latter alternative presented certain +grave difficulties, also contracting William to dance with the other +girl before once more obtaining his freedom, but undeniably he regarded +it from the first as the more hopeful. + +He had to give form to the fatal invitation. “M'av this dance 'thyou?” + he muttered, doggedly. + +“Vurry pleased to!” Miss Boke responded, whereupon they walked in +silence to the platform, stepped upon its surface, and embraced. + +They made a false start. + +They made another. + +They stood swaying to catch the time; then made another. After that they +tried again, and were saved from a fall only by spasmodic and noticeable +contortions. + +Miss Boke laughed tolerantly, as if forgiving William for his +awkwardness, and his hot heart grew hotter with that injustice. She was +a large, ample girl, weighing more than William (this must be definitely +claimed in his behalf), and she had been spending the summer at a +lakeside hotel where she had constantly danced “man's part.” To paint +William's predicament at a stroke, his partner was a determined rather +than a graceful dancer--and their efforts to attune themselves to each +other and to the music were in a fair way to attract general attention. + +A coarse chuckle, a half-suppressed snort, assailed William's scarlet +ear, and from the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of Joe Bullitt +gliding by, suffused; while over Joe's detested shoulder could be seen +the adorable and piquant face of the One girl--also suffused. + +“Doggone it!” William panted. + +“Oh, you mustn't be discouraged with yourself,” said Miss Boke, +genially. “I've met lots of Men that had trouble to get started and +turned out to be right good dancers, after all. It seems to me we're +kind of workin' against each other. I'll tell you--you kind of let me +do the guiding and I'll get you going fine. Now! ONE, two, ONE, two! +There!” + +William ceased to struggle for dominance, and their efforts to “get +started” were at once successful. With a muscular power that was +surprising, Miss Boke bore him out into the circling current, swung +him round and round, walked him backward half across the platform, then +swung him round and round and round again. For a girl, she “guided” + remarkably well; nevertheless, a series of collisions, varying in +intensity, marked the path of the pair upon the rather crowded platform. +In such emergencies Miss Boke proved herself deft in swinging William +to act as a buffer, and he several times found himself heavily stricken +from the rear; anon his face would be pressed suffocatingly into Miss +Boke's hair, without the slightest wish on his part for such intimacy. +He had a helpless feeling, fully warranted by the circumstances. Also, +he soon became aware that Miss Boke's powerful “guiding” was observed +by the public; for, after one collision, more severe than others, a low +voice hissed in his ear: + +“SHE WON'T HURT YOU MUCH, SILLY BILL. SHE'S ONLY IN FUN!” + +This voice belonged to the dancer with whom he had just been in painful +contact, Johnnie Watson. However, Johnnie had whirled far upon another +orbit before William found a retort, and then it was a feeble one. + +“I wish YOU'D try a few dances with her!” he whispered, inaudibly, but +with unprecedented bitterness, as the masterly arm of his partner just +saved him from going over the edge of the platform. “I bet she'd kill +you!” + +More than once he tried to assert himself and resume his natural place +as guide, but each time he did so he immediately got out of step with +his partner, their knees collided embarrassingly, they staggered and +walked upon each other's insteps--and William was forced to abandon the +unequal contest. + +“I just love dancing,” said Miss Boke, serenely. “Don't you, Mr. +Baxter?” + +“What?” he gulped. “Yeh.” + +“It's a beautiful floor for dancing, isn't it?” + +“Yeh.” + +“I just love dancing,” Miss Boke thought proper to declare again. “Don't +you love it, Mr. Baxter?” + +This time he considered his enthusiasm to be sufficiently indicated by a +nod. He needed all his breath. + +“It's lovely,” she murmured. “I hope they don't play 'Home, Sweet +Home' very early at parties in this town. I could keep on like this all +night!” + +To the gasping William it seemed that she already had kept on like this +all night, and he expressed himself in one great, frank, agonized moan +of relief when the music stopped. “I sh' think those musicians 'd be +dead!” he said, as he wiped his brow. And then discovering that May +Parcher stood at his elbow, he spoke hastily to her. “M'av the next +'thyou?” + +But Miss Parcher had begun to applaud the musicians for an encore. She +shook her head. “Next's the third extra,” she said. “And, anyhow, this +one's going to be encored now. You can have the twenty-second--if there +IS any!” William threw a wild glance about him, looking for other girls, +but the tireless orchestra began to play the encore, and Miss Boke, who +had been applauding, instantly cast herself upon his bosom. “Come on!” + she cried. “Don't let's miss a second of it; It's just glorious!” + +When the encore was finished she seized William's arm, and, mentioning +that she'd left her fan upon the chair under the maple-tree, added, +“Come on! Let's go get it QUICK!” + +Under the maple-tree she fanned herself and talked of her love for +dancing until the music sounded again. “Come on!” she cried, then. +“Don't let's miss a second of it! It's just glorious!” + +And grasping his arm, she propelled him toward the platform with a merry +little rush. + +So passed five dances. Long, long dances. + +Likewise five encores. Long encores. + + + + +XXVII + +MAROONED + +At every possible opportunity William hailed other girls with a hasty +“M'av the next 'thyou?” but he was indeed unfortunate to have arrived so +late. + +The best he got was a promise of “the nineteenth--if there IS any!” + +After each dance Miss Boke conducted him back to the maple-tree, aloof +from the general throng, and William found the intermissions almost +equal to his martyrdoms upon the platform. But, as there was a barely +perceptible balance in their favor, he collected some fragments of his +broken spirit, when Miss Boke would have borne him to the platform for +the sixth time, and begged to “sit this one out,” alleging that he had +“kind of turned his ankle, or something,” he believed. + +The cordial girl at once placed him upon the chair and gallantly +procured another for herself. In her solicitude she sat close to him, +looking fondly at his face, while William, though now and then rubbing +his ankle for plausibility's sake, gazed at the platform with an +expression which Gustave Dore would gratefully have found suggestive. +William was conscious of a voice continually in action near him, but +not of what it said. Miss Boke was telling him of the dancing “up at the +lake” where she had spent the summer, and how much she had loved it, but +William missed all that. Upon the many-colored platform the ineffable +One drifted to and fro, back and forth; her little blonde head, in a +golden net, glinting here and there like a bit of tinsel blowing across +a flower-garden. + +And when that dance and its encore were over she went to lean against a +tree, while Wallace Banks fanned her, but she was so busy with Wallace +that she did not notice William, though she passed near enough to waft a +breath of violet scent to his wan nose. A fragment of her silver speech +tinkled in his ear: + +“Oh, Wallie Banks! Bid pid s'ant have Bruvva Josie-Joe's dance 'less Joe +say so. Lola MUS' be fair. Wallie mustn't--” + +“That's that Miss Pratt,” observed Miss Boke, following William's gaze +with some interest. “You met her yet?” + +“Yeh,” said William. + +“She's been visiting here all summer,” Miss Boke informed him. “I was at +a little tea this afternoon, and some of the girls said this Miss Pratt +said she'd never DREAM of getting engaged to any man that didn't have +seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars. I don't know if it's true or +not, but I expect so. Anyway, they said they heard her say so.” + +William lifted his right hand from his ankle and passed it, time after +time, across his damp forehead. He did not believe that Miss Pratt could +have expressed herself in so mercenary a manner, but if she HAD--well, +one fact in British history had so impressed him that he remembered +it even after Examination: William Pitt, the younger, had been Prime +Minister of England at twenty-one. + +If an Englishman could do a thing like that, surely a bright, energetic +young American needn't feel worried about seven hundred and fifty +thousand dollars! And although William, at seventeen, had seldom +possessed more than seven hundred and fifty cents, four long years must +pass, and much could be done, before he would reach the age at which +William Pitt attained the premiership--coincidentally a good, ripe, +marriageable age. Still, seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars is +a stiffish order, even allowing four long years to fill it; and +undoubtedly Miss Boke's bit of gossip added somewhat to the already +sufficient anxieties of William's evening. + +“Up at the lake,” Miss Boke chattered on, “we got to use the hotel +dining-room for the hops. It's a floor a good deal like this floor is +to-night--just about oily enough and as nice a floor as ever I danced +on. We have awf'ly good times up at the lake. 'Course there aren't so +many Men up there, like there are here to-night, and I MUST say I AM +glad to get a chance to dance with a Man again! I told you you'd dance +all right, once we got started, and look at the way it's turned out: +our steps just suit exactly! If I must say it, I could scarcely think of +anybody I EVER met I'd rather dance with. When anybody's step suits in +with mine, that way, why, I LOVE to dance straight through an evening +with one person, the way we're doing.” + +Dimly, yet with strong repulsion, William perceived that their +interminable companionship had begun to affect Miss Boke with a liking +for him. And as she chattered chummily on, revealing this increasing +cordiality all the while--though her more obvious topics were dancing, +dancing-floors, and “the lake”--the reciprocal sentiment roused in his +breast was that of Sindbad the Sailor for the Old Man of the Sea. + +He was unable to foresee a future apart from her; and when she informed +him that she preferred his style of dancing to all other styles shown +by the Men at this party, her thus singling him out for praise only +emphasized, in his mind, that point upon which he was the most +embittered. + +“Yes!” he reflected. “It had to be ME!” With all the crowd to choose +from, Mrs. Parcher had to go and pick on HIM! All, all the others went +about, free as air, flitting from girl to girl--girls that danced like +girls! All, all except William, danced with Miss PRATT! What Miss Pratt +had offered HIM was a choice between the thirty-second dance and +the twenty-first extra. THAT was what he had to look forward to: the +thirty-second reg'lar or the twenty-first extra! + +Meanwhile, merely through eternity, he was sealed unto Miss Boke. + +The tie that bound them oppressed him as if it had been an ill-omened +matrimony, and he sat beside her like an unwilling old husband. All the +while, Miss Boke had no appreciation whatever of her companion's real +condition, and, when little, spasmodic, sinister changes appeared in his +face (as they certainly did from time to time) she attributed them to +pains in his ankle. However, William decided to discard his ankle, +after they had “sat out” two dances on account of it. He decided that he +preferred dancing, and said he guessed he must be better. + +So they danced again--and again. + +When the fourteenth dance came, about half an hour before midnight, they +were still dancing together. + +It was upon the conclusion of this fourteenth dance that Mr. Parcher +mentioned to his wife a change in his feelings toward William. “I've +been watching him,” said Mr. Parcher, “and I never saw true misery show +plainer. He's having a really horrible time. By George! I hate him, but +I've begun to feel kind of sorry for him! Can't you trot up somebody +else, so he can get away from that fat girl?” + +Mrs. Parcher shook her head in a discouraged way. “I've tried, and I've +tried, and I've tried!” she said. + +“Well, try again.” + +“I can't now.” She waved her hand toward the rear of the house. Round +the corner marched a short procession of negroes, bearing trays; and +the dancers were dispersing themselves to chairs upon the lawn “for +refreshments.” + +“Well, do something,” Mr. Parcher urged. “We don't want to find him in +the cistern in the morning!” + +Mrs. Parcher looked thoughtful, then brightened. “_I_ know!” she said. +“I'll make May and Lola and their partners come sit in this little +circle of chairs here, and then I'll go and bring Willie and Miss Boke +to sit with them. I'll give Willie the seat at Lola's left. You keep the +chairs.” + +Straightway she sped upon her kindly errand. It proved successful, so +successful, indeed, that without the slightest effort--without even a +hint on her part--she brought not only William and his constant friend +to sit in the circle with Miss Pratt, Miss Parcher and their escorts, +but Mr. Bullitt, Mr. Watson, Mr. Banks, and three other young gentlemen +as well. Nevertheless, Mrs. Parcher managed to carry out her plan, +and after a little display of firmness, saw William satisfactorily +established in the chair at Miss Pratt's left. + +At last, at last, he sat beside the fairy-like creature, and filled +his lungs with infinitesimal particles of violet scent. More: he was no +sooner seated than the little blonde head bent close to his; the golden +net brushed his cheek. She whispered: + +“No'ty ickle boy Batster! Lola's last night, an' ickle boy Batster +fluttin'! Flut all night wif dray bid dirl!” + +William made no reply. + +There are occasions, infrequent, of course, when even a bachelor is not +flattered by being accused of flirting. William's feelings toward Miss +Boke had by this time come to such a pass that he, regarded the charge +of flirting with her as little less than an implication of grave +mental deficiency. And well he remembered how Miss Pratt, beholding his +subjugated gymnastics in the dance, had grown pink with laughter! But +still the rose-leaf lips whispered: + +“Lola saw! Lola saw bad boy Batster under dray bid tree fluttin' wif +dray bid dirl. Fluttin' all night wif dray bid 'normous dirl!” + +Her cruelty was all unwitting; she intended to rally him sweetly. But +seventeen is deathly serious at such junctures, and William was in a +sensitive condition. He made no reply in words. Instead, he drew himself +up (from the waist, that is, because he was sitting) with a kind of +proud dignity. And that was all. + +“Oo tross?” whispered Lola. + +He spake not. + +“'Twasn't my fault about dancing,” she said. “Bad boy! What made you +come so late?” + +He maintained his silence and the accompanying icy dignity, whereupon +she made a charming little pout. + +“Oo be so tross,” she said, “Lola talk to nice Man uvver side of her!” + +With that she turned her back upon him and prattled merrily to the +gentleman of sixteen upon her right. + +Still and cold sat William. Let her talk to the Man at the other side +of her as she would, and never so gaily, William knew that she was +conscious every instant of the reproachful presence upon her left. And +somehow these moments of quiet and melancholy dignity became the most +satisfactory he had known that evening. For as he sat, so silent, so +austere, and not yet eating, though a plate of chicken salad had been +placed upon his lap, he began to feel that there was somewhere about +him a mysterious superiority which set him apart from other people--and +above them. This quality, indefinable and lofty, had carried him through +troubles, that very night, which would have wrecked the lives of such +simple fellows as Joe Bullitt and Johnnie Watson. And although Miss +Pratt continued to make merry with the Man upon her right, it seemed +to William that this was but outward show. He had a strange, subtle +impression that the mysterious superiority which set him apart from +others was becoming perceptible to her--that she was feeling it, too. + +Alas! Such are the moments Fate seizes upon to play the clown! + +Over the chatter and laughter of the guests rose a too familiar voice. +“Lemme he'p you to nice tongue samwich, lady. No'm? Nice green lettuce +samwich, lady?” + +Genesis! + +“Nice tongue samwich, suh? Nice lettuce samwich, lady?” he could be +heard vociferating--perhaps a little too much as if he had sandwiches +for sale. “Lemme jes' lay this nice green lettuce samwich on you' plate +fer you.” + +His wide-spread hand bore the tray of sandwiches high overhead, for his +style in waiting was florid, though polished. He walked with a faint, +shuffling suggestion of a prance, a lissome pomposity adopted in +obedience to the art-sense within him which bade him harmonize himself +with occasions of state and fashion. His manner was the super-supreme +expression of graciousness, but the graciousness was innocent, being but +an affectation and nothing inward--for inwardly Genesis was humble. He +was only pretending to be the kind of waiter he would like to be. + +And because he was a new waiter he strongly wished to show familiarity +with his duties--familiarity, in fact, with everything and everybody. +This yearning, born of self-doubt, and intensified by a slight touch of +gin, was beyond question the inspiration of his painful behavior when +he came near the circle of chairs where sat Mr. and Mrs. Parcher, Miss +Parcher, Miss Pratt, Miss Boke, Mr. Watson, Mr. Bullitt, others--and +William. + +“Nice tongue samwich, lady!” he announced, semi-cake-walking beneath his +high-borne tray. + +“Nice green lettuce sam--” He came suddenly to a dramatic dead-stop as he +beheld William sitting before him, wearing that strange new dignity and +Mr. Baxter's evening clothes. “Name o' goo'ness!” Genesis exclaimed, so +loudly that every one looked up. “How in the livin' worl' you evuh come +to git here? You' daddy sut'ny mus' 'a' weakened 'way down 'fo' he let +you wear his low-cut ves' an' pants an' long-tail coat! I bet any man +fifty cents you gone an' stole 'em out aftuh he done went to bed!” + +And he burst into a wild, free African laugh. + +At seventeen such things are not embarrassing; they are catastrophical. +But, mercifully, catastrophes often produce a numbness in the victims. +More as in a trance than actually William heard the outbreak of his +young companions; and, during the quarter of an hour subsequent to +Genesis's performance, the oft-renewed explosions of their mirth made +but a kind of horrid buzzing in his ears. Like sounds borne from far +away were the gaspings of Mr. and Mrs. Parcher, striving with all their +strength to obtain mastery of themselves once more. + +... A flourish of music challenged the dancers. Couples appeared upon +the platform. + +The dreadful supper was over. + +The ineffable One, supremely pink, rose from her seat at William's +side and moved toward the platform with the glowing Joe Bullitt. Then +William, roused to action by this sight, sprang to his feet and took a +step toward them. But it was only one weak step. + +A warm and ample hand placed itself firmly inside the crook of his +elbow. “Let's get started for this one before the floor gets all crowded +up,” said Miss Boke. + +Miss Boke danced and danced with him; she danced him on--and on--and +on---- + +At half past one the orchestra played “Home, Sweet Home.” As the last +bars sounded, a group of earnest young men who had surrounded the lovely +guest of honor, talking vehemently, broke into loud shouts, embraced one +another and capered variously over the lawn. Mr. Parcher beheld from a +distance these manifestations, and then, with an astonishment even more +profound, took note of the tragic William, who was running toward him, +radiant--Miss Boke hovering futilely in the far background. + +“What's all the hullabaloo?” Mr. Parcher inquired. + +“Miss Pratt!” gasped William. “Miss Pratt!” + +“Well, what about her?” + +And upon receiving William's reply, Mr. Parcher might well have +discerned behind it the invisible hand of an ironic but recompensing +Providence making things even--taking from the one to give to the other. + +“She's going to stay!” shouted the happy William. “She's promised to +stay another week!” + +And then, mingling with the sounds of rejoicing, there ascended to +heaven the stricken cry of an elderly man plunging blindly into the +house in search of his wife. + + + + +XXVIII + +RANNIE KIRSTED + +Observing the monotonously proper behavior of the sun, man had an absurd +idea and invented Time. Becoming still more absurd, man said, “So much +shall be a day; such and such shall be a week. All weeks shall be the +same length.” Yet every baby knows better! How long for Johnnie Watson, +for Joe Bullitt, for Wallace Banks--how long for William Sylvanus Baxter +was the last week of Miss Pratt? No one can answer. How long was that +week for Mr. Parcher? Again the mind is staggered. + +Many people, of course, considered it to be a week of average size. +Among these was Jane. + +Throughout seven days which brought some tense moments to the Baxter +household, Jane remained calm; and she was still calm upon the eighth +morning as she stood in the front yard of her own place of residence, +gazing steadily across the street. The object of her grave attention was +an ample brick house, newly painted white after repairs and enlargements +so inspiring to Jane's faculty for suggesting better ways of doing +things, that the workmen had learned to address her, with a slight +bitterness, as “Madam President.” + +Throughout the process of repair, and until the very last of the +painting, Jane had considered this house to be as much her property as +anybody's; for children regard as ownerless all vacant houses and all +houses in course of construction or radical alteration. Nothing short of +furniture--intimate furniture in considerable quantity--hints that the +public is not expected. However, such a hint, or warning, was conveyed +to Jane this morning, for two “express wagons” were standing at the curb +with their backs impolitely toward the brick house; and powerful-voiced +men went surging to and fro under fat arm-chairs, mahogany tables, +disarticulated bedsteads, and baskets of china and glassware; while a +harassed lady appeared in the outer doorway, from time to time, with +gestures of lamentation and entreaty. Upon the sidewalk, between the +wagons and the gate, was a broad wet spot, vaguely circular, with a +partial circumference of broken glass and extinct goldfish. + +Jane was forced to conclude that the brick house did belong to somebody, +after all. Wherefore, she remained in her own yard, a steadfast +spectator, taking nourishment into her system at regular intervals. +This was beautifully automatic: in each hand she held a slice of bread, +freely plastered over with butter, apple sauce, and powdered sugar; +and when she had taken somewhat from the right hand, that hand slowly +descended with its burden, while, simultaneously, the left began to +rise, reaching the level of her mouth precisely at the moment when a +little wave passed down her neck, indicating that the route was clear. +Then, having made delivery, the left hand sank, while the right began to +rise again. And, so well had custom trained Jane's members, never once +did she glance toward either of these faithful hands or the food that +it supported; her gaze was all the while free to remain upon the house +across the way and the great doings before it. + +After a while, something made her wide eyes grow wider almost to their +utmost. Nay, the event was of that importance her mechanical hands +ceased to move and stopped stock-still, the right half-way up, the left +half-way down, as if because of sudden motor trouble within Jane. Her +mouth was equally affected, remaining open at a visible crisis in the +performance of its duty. These were the tokens of her agitation upon +beholding the removal of a dolls' house from one of the wagons. This +dolls' house was at least five feet high, of proportionate breadth and +depths the customary absence of a facade disclosing an interior of four +luxurious floors, with stairways, fireplaces, and wall-paper. Here was a +mansion wherein doll-duchesses, no less, must dwell. + +Straightway, a little girl ran out of the open doorway of the brick +house and, with a self-importance concentrated to the point of +shrewishness, began to give orders concerning the disposal of her +personal property, which included (as she made clear) not only the +dolls' mansion, but also three dolls' trunks and a packing-case of fair +size. She was a thin little girl, perhaps half a year younger than Jane; +and she was as soiled, particularly in respect to hands, brow, chin, and +the knees of white stockings, as could be expected of any busybodyish +person of nine or ten whose mother is house-moving. But she was +gifted--if we choose to put the matter in the hopeful, sweeter way--she +was gifted with an unusually loud and shrill voice, and she made herself +heard over the strong-voiced men to such emphatic effect that one of the +latter, with the dolls' mansion upon his back, paused in the gateway to +acquaint her with his opinion that of all the bossy little girls he had +ever seen, heard, or heard of, she was the bossiest. + +“THE worst!” he added. + +The little girl across the street was of course instantly aware of Jane, +though she pretended not to be; and from the first her self-importance +was in large part assumed for the benefit of the observer. After a +momentary silence, due to her failure to think of any proper response to +the workman who so pointedly criticized her, she resumed the peremptory +direction of her affairs. She ran in and out of the house, her brow dark +with frowns, her shoulders elevated; and by every means at her disposal +she urged her audience to behold the frightful responsibilities of one +who must keep a thousand things in her head at once, and yet be ready +for decisive action at any instant. + +There may have been one weakness in this strong performance: the +artistic sincerity of it was a little discredited by the increasing +frequency with which the artist took note of her effect. During each +of her most impressive moments, she flashed, from the far corner of her +eye, two questions at Jane: “How about THAT one? Are you still watching +Me?” + +Then, apparently in the very midst of her cares, she suddenly and +without warning ceased to boss, walked out into the street, halted, and +stared frankly at Jane. + +Jane had begun her automatic feeding again. She continued it, meanwhile +seriously returning the stare of the new neighbor. For several minutes +this mutual calm and inoffensive gaze was protracted; then Jane, after +swallowing the last morsel of her supplies, turned her head away and +looked at a tree. The little girl, into whose eyes some wistfulness had +crept, also turned her head and looked at a tree. After a while, she +advanced to the curb on Jane's side of the street, and, swinging her +right foot, allowed it to kick the curbstone repeatedly. + +Jane came out to the sidewalk and began to kick one of the +fence-pickets. + +“You see that ole fatty?” asked the little girl, pointing to one of the +workmen, thus sufficiently identified. + +“Yes.” + +“That's the one broke the goldfish,” said the little girl. There was a +pause during which she continued to scuff the curbstone with her shoe, +Jane likewise scuffing the fence-picket. “I'm goin' to have papa get him +arrested,” added the stranger. + +“My papa got two men arrested once,” Jane said, calmly. “Two or three.” + +The little girl's eyes, wandering upward, took note of Jane's papa's +house, and of a fierce young gentleman framed in an open window +up-stairs. He was seated, wore ink upon his forehead, and tapped his +teeth with a red penholder. + +“Who is that?” she asked. + +“It's Willie.” + +“Is it your papa?” + +“NO-O-O-O!” Jane exclaimed. “It's WILLIE!” + +“Oh,” said the little girl, apparently satisfied. + +Each now scuffed less energetically with her shoe; feet slowed down; +so did conversation, and, for a time, Jane and the stranger wrapped +themselves in stillness, though there may have been some silent +communing between them. Then the new neighbor placed her feet far apart +and leaned backward upon nothing, curving her front outward and her +remarkably flexible spine inward until a profile view of her was grandly +semicircular. + +Jane watched her attentively, but without comment. However, no one +could have doubted that the processes of acquaintance were progressing +favorably. + +“Let's go in our yard,” said Jane. + +The little girl straightened herself with a slight gasp, and accepted +the invitation. Side by side, the two passed through the open gate, +walked gravely forth upon the lawn, and halted, as by common consent. +Jane thereupon placed her feet wide apart and leaned backward upon +nothing, attempting the feat in contortion just performed by the +stranger. + +“Look,” she said. “Look at ME!” + +But she lacked the other's genius, lost her balance, and fell. Born +persistent, she immediately got to her feet and made fresh efforts. + +“No! Look at ME!” the little girl cried, becoming semicircular again. +“This is the way. I call it 'puttin' your stummick out o' joint.' You +haven't got yours out far enough.” + +“Yes, I have,” said Jane, gasping. + +“Well, to do it right, you must WALK that way. As soon as you get your +stummick out o' joint, you must begin an' walk. Look! Like this.” And +the little girl, having achieved a state of such convexity that her +braided hair almost touched the ground behind her, walked successfully +in that singular attitude. + +“I'm walkin',” Jane protested, her face not quite upside down. “Look! +I'M walkin' that way, too. My stummick--” + +There came an outraged shout from above, and a fierce countenance, +stained with ink, protruded from the window. + +“Jane!” + +“What?” + +“Stop that! Stop putting your stomach out in front of you like that! +It's disgraceful!” + +Both young ladies, looking rather oppressed, resumed the perpendicular. +“Why doesn't he like it?” the stranger asked in a tone of pure wonder. + +“I don't know,” said Jane. “He doesn't like much of anything. He's +seventeen years old.” + +After that, the two stared moodily at the ground for a little while, +chastened by the severe presence above; then Jane brightened. + +“_I_ know!” she exclaimed, cozily. “Let's play callers. Right here by +this bush 'll be my house. You come to call on me, an' we'll talk +about our chuldren. You be Mrs. Smith an' I'm Mrs. Jones.” And in the +character of a hospitable matron she advanced graciously toward the new +neighbor. “Why, my dear Mrs. SMITH, come right IN! I THOUGHT you'd call +this morning. I want to tell you about my lovely little daughter. She's +only ten years old, an' says the brightest THINGS! You really must--” + +But here Jane interrupted herself abruptly, and, hopping behind the +residential bush, peeped over it, not at Mrs. Smith, but at a boy of ten +or eleven who was passing along the sidewalk. Her expression was gravely +interested, somewhat complacent; and Mrs. Smith was not so lacking in +perception that she failed to understand how completely--for the time +being, at least--calling was suspended. + +The boy whistled briskly, “My country, 'tis of thee,” and though his +knowledge of the air failed him when he finished the second line, he +was not disheartened, but began at the beginning again, continuing +repeatedly after this fashion to offset monotony by patriotism. He +whistled loudly; he walked with ostentatious intent to be at some heavy +affair in the distance; his ears were red. He looked neither to the +right nor to the left. + +That is, he looked neither to the right nor to the left until he had +passed the Baxters' fence. But when he had gone as far as the upper +corner of the fence beyond, he turned his head and looked back, without +any expression--except that of a whistler--at Jane. And thus, still +whistling “My country, 'tis of thee,” and with blank pink face over his +shoulder, he proceeded until he was out of sight. + +“Who was that boy?” the new neighbor then inquired. + +“It's Freddie,” said Jane, placidly. “He's in our Sunday-school. He's in +love of me.” + +“JANE!” + +Again the outraged and ink-stained countenance glared down from the +window. + +“What you want?” Jane asked. + +“What you MEAN talking about such things?” William demanded. “In all my +life I never heard anything as disgusting! Shame on you!” + +The little girl from across the street looked upward thoughtfully. “He's +mad,” she remarked, and, regardless of Jane's previous information, “It +IS your papa, isn't it?” she insisted. + +“No!” said Jane, testily. “I told you five times it's my brother +Willie.” + +“Oh!” said the little girl, and, grasping the fact that William's +position was, in dignity and authority, negligible, compared with that +which she had persisted in imagining, she felt it safe to tint her +upward gaze with disfavor. “He acts kind of crazy,” she murmured. + +“He's in love of Miss Pratt,” said Jane. “She's goin' away to-day. She +said she'd go before, but to-day she IS! Mr. Parcher, where she visits, +he's almost dead, she's stayed so long. She's awful, I think.” + +William, to whom all was audible, shouted, hoarsely, “I'll see to YOU!” + and disappeared from the window. + +“Will he come down here?” the little girl asked, taking a step toward +the gate. + +“No. He's just gone to call mamma. All she'll do' ll be to tell us to go +play somewheres else. Then we can go talk to Genesis.” + +“Who?” + +“Genesis. He's puttin' a load of coal in the cellar window with a +shovel. He's nice.” + +“What's he put the coal in the window for?” + +“He's a colored man,” said Jane. + +“Shall we go talk to him now?” + +“No,” Jane said, thoughtfully. “Let's be playin' callers when mamma +comes to tell us to go 'way. What was your name?” + +“Rannie.” + +“No, it wasn't.” + +“It is too, Rannie,” the little girl insisted. “My whole name's Mary +Randolph Kirsted, but my short name's Rannie.” + +Jane laughed. “What a funny name!” she said. “I didn't mean your real +name; I meant your callers' name. One of us was Mrs. Jones, and one +was--” + +“I want to be Mrs. Jones,” said Rannie. + +“Oh, my DEAR Mrs. Jones,” Jane began at once, “I want to tell you +about my lovely chuldren. I have two, one only seven years old, and the +other--” + +“Jane!” called Mrs. Baxter from William's window. + +“Yes'm?” + +“You must go somewhere else to play. Willie's trying to work at his +studies up here, and he says you've disturbed him very much.” + +“Yes'm.” + +The obedient Jane and her friend turned to go, and as they went, Miss +Mary Randolph Kirsted allowed her uplifted eyes to linger with increased +disfavor upon William, who appeared beside Mrs. Baxter at the window. + +“I tell you what let's do,” Rannie suggested in a lowered voice. “He got +so fresh with us, an' made your mother come, an' all, let's--let's--” + +She hesitated. + +“Let's what?” Jane urged her, in an eager whisper. + +“Let's think up somep'n he won't like--an' DO it!” + +They disappeared round a corner of the house, their heads close +together. + + + + +XXIX + +“DON'T FORGET!” + +Up-stairs, Mrs. Baxter moved to the door of her son's room, pretending +to be unconscious of the gaze he maintained upon her. Mustering courage +to hum a little tune and affecting inconsequence, she had nearly crossed +the threshold when he said, sternly: + +“And this is all you intend to say to that child?” + +“Why, yes, Willie.” + +“And yet I told you what she said!” he cried. “I told you I HEARD her +stand there and tell that dirty-faced little girl how that idiot boy +that's always walkin' past here four or five times a day, whistling and +looking back, was in 'love of' her! Ye gods! What kind of a person will +she grow up into if you don't punish her for havin' ideas like that at +her age?” + +Mrs. Baxter regarded him mildly, not replying, and he went on, with loud +indignation: + +“I never heard of such a thing! That Worm walkin' past here four or five +times a day just to look at JANE! And her standing there, calmly tellin' +that sooty-faced little girl, 'He's in love of me'! Why, it's enough to +sicken a man! Honestly, if I had my way, I'd see that both she and that +little Freddie Banks got a first-class whipping!” + +“Don't you think, Willie,” said Mrs. Baxter--“don't you think that, +considering the rather noncommittal method of Freddie's courtship, you +are suggesting extreme measures?” + +“Well, SHE certainly ought to be punished!” he insisted, and then, with +a reversal to agony, he shuddered. “That's the least of it!” he cried. +“It's the insulting things you always allow her to say of one of the +noblest girls in the United States--THAT'S what counts! On the very last +day--yes, almost the last hour--that Miss Pratt's in this town, you let +your only daughter stand there and speak disrespectfully of her--and +then all you do is tell her to 'go and play somewhere else'! I don't +understand your way of bringing up a child,” he declared, passionately. +“I do NOT!” + +“There, there, Willie,” Mrs. Baxter said. “You're all wrought up--” + +“I am NOT wrought up!” shouted William. “Why should I be charged with--” + +“Now, now!” she said. “You'll feel better to-morrow.” + +“What do you mean by that?” he demanded, breathing deeply. + +For reply she only shook her head in an odd little way, and in her +parting look at him there was something at once compassionate, amused, +and reassuring. + +“You'll be all right, Willie,” she said, softly, and closed the door. + +Alone, William lifted clenched hands in a series of tumultuous +gestures at the ceiling; then he moaned and sank into a chair at his +writing-table. Presently a comparative calm was restored to him, and +with reverent fingers he took from a drawer a one-pound box of candy, +covered with white tissue-paper, girdled with blue ribbon. He set the +box gently beside him upon the table; then from beneath a large, green +blotter drew forth some scribbled sheets. These he placed before him, +and, taking infinite pains with his handwriting, slowly copied: + + +DEAR LOLA--I presume when you are reading these lines it will be this +afternoon and you will be on the train moving rapidly away from this old +place here farther and farther from it all. As I sit here at my old desk +and look back upon it all while I am writing this farewell letter I hope +when you are reading it you also will look back upon it all and think +of one you called (Alias) Little Boy Baxter. As I sit here this morning +that you are going away at last I look back and I cannot rember any +summer in my whole life which has been like this summer, because a great +change has come over me this summer. If you would like to know what this +means it was something like I said when John Watson got there yesterday +afternoon and interrupted what I said. May you enjoy this candy and think +of the giver. I will put something in with this letter. It is something +maybe you would like to have and in exchange I would give all I possess +for one of you if you would send it to me when you get home. Please do +this for now my heart is braking. Yours sincerely, WILLIAM S. BAXTER +(ALIAS) LITTLE BOY BAXTER. + + +William opened the box of candy and placed the letter upon the top layer +of chocolates. Upon the letter he placed a small photograph (wrapped in +tissue-paper) of himself. Then, with a pair of scissors, he trimmed +an oblong of white cardboard to fit into the box. Upon this piece of +cardboard he laboriously wrote, copying from a tortured, inky sheet +before him: + + IN DREAM + BY WILLIAM S. BAXTER + + The sunset light + Fades into night + But never will I forget + The smile that haunts me yet + Through the future four long years + I hope you will remember with tears + Whate'er my rank or station + Whilst receiving my education + Though far away you seem + I will see thee in dream. + +He placed his poem between the photograph and the letter, closed the +box, and tied the tissue-paper about it again with the blue ribbon. +Throughout these rites (they were rites both in spirit and in manner) he +was subject to little catchings of the breath, half gulp, half sigh. But +the dolorous tokens passed, and he sat with elbows upon the table, +his chin upon his hands, reverie in his eyes. Tragedy had given way to +gentler pathos;--beyond question, something had measurably soothed him. +Possibly, even in this hour preceding the hour of parting, he knew a +little of that proud amazement which any poet is entitled to feel over +each new lyric miracle just wrought. + +Perhaps he was helped, too, by wondering what Miss Pratt would think of +him when she read “In Dream,” on the train that afternoon. For reasons +purely intuitive, and decidedly without foundation in fact, he was +satisfied that no rival farewell poem would be offered her, and so it +may be that he thought “In Dream” might show her at last, in one blaze +of light, what her eyes had sometimes fleetingly intimated she did +perceive in part--the difference between William and such every-day, +rather well-meaning, fairly good-hearted people as Joe Bullitt, Wallace +Banks, Johnnie Watson, and others. Yes, when she came to read “In +Dream,” and to “look back upon it all,” she would surely know--at last! + +And then, when the future four long years (while receiving his +education) had passed, he would go to her. He would go to her, and +she would take him by the hand, and lead him to her father, and say, +“Father, this is William.” + +But William would turn to her, and, with the old, dancing light in his +eyes, “No, Lola,” he would say, “not William, but Ickle Boy Baxter! +Always and always, just that for you; oh, my dear!” + +And then, as in story and film and farce and the pleasanter kinds of +drama, her father would say, with kindly raillery, “Well, when you two +young people get through, you'll find me in the library, where I have a +pretty good BUSINESS proposition to lay before YOU, young man!” + +And when the white-waistcoated, white-side-burned old man had, +chuckling, left the room, William would slowly lift his arms; but Lola +would move back from him a step--only a step--and after laying a finger +archly upon her lips to check him, “Wait, sir!” she would say. “I have a +question to ask you, sir!” + +“What question, Lola?” + +“THIS question, sir!” she would reply. “In all that summer, sir, so long +ago, why did you never tell me what you WERE, until I had gone away and +it was too late to show you what I felt? Ah, Ickle Boy Baxter, I never +understood until I looked back upon it all, after I had read 'In Dream,' +on the train that day! THEN I KNEW!” “And now, Lola?” William would say. +“Do you understand me, NOW?” + +Shyly she would advance the one short step she had put between +them, while he, with lifted, yearning arms, this time destined to no +disappointment---- + +At so vital a moment did Mrs. Baxter knock at his door and consoling +reverie cease to minister unto William. Out of the rosy sky he dropped, +falling miles in an instant, landing with a bump. He started, placed the +sacred box out of sight, and spoke gruffly. + +“What you want?” + +“I'm not coming in, Willie,” said his mother. “I just wanted to know--I +thought maybe you were looking out of the window and noticed where those +children went.” + +“What children?” + +“Jane and that little girl from across the street--Kirsted, her name +must be.” + +“No. I did not.” + +“I just wondered,” Mrs. Baxter said, timidly. “Genesis thinks he +heard the little Kirsted girl telling Jane she had plenty of money for +carfare. He thinks they went somewhere on a street-car. I thought maybe +you noticed wheth--” + +“I told you I did not.” + +“All right,” she said, placatively. “I didn't mean to bother you, dear.” + +Following this there was a silence; but no sound of receding footsteps +indicated Mrs. Baxter's departure from the other side of the closed +door. + +“Well, what you WANT?” William shouted. + +“Nothing--nothing at all,” said the compassionate voice. “I just thought +I'd have lunch a little later than usual; not till half past one. That +is if--well, I thought probably you meant to go to the station to see +Miss Pratt off on the one-o'clock train.” + +Even so friendly an interest as this must have appeared to the quivering +William an intrusion in his affairs, for he demanded, sharply: + +“How'd you find out she's going at one o'clock?” + +“Why--why, Jane mentioned it,” Mrs. Baxter replied, with obvious +timidity. “Jane said--” + +She was interrupted by the loud, desperate sound of William's fist +smiting his writing-table, so sensitive was his condition. “This is just +unbearable!” he cried. “Nobody's business is safe from that child!” + +“Why, Willie, I don't see how it matters if--” + +He uttered a cry. “No! Nothing matters! Nothing matters at all! Do you +s'pose I want that child, with her insults, discussing when Miss Pratt +is or is not going away? Don't you know there are SOME things that have +no business to be talked about by every Tom, Dick, and Harry?” + +“Yes, dear,” she said. “I understand, of course. Jane only told me she +met Mr. Parcher on the street, and he mentioned that Miss Pratt was +going at one o'clock to-day. That's all I--” + +“You say you understand,” he wailed, shaking his head drearily at the +closed door, “and yet, even on such a day as this, you keep TALKING! +Can't you see sometimes there's times when a person can't stand to--” + +“Yes, Willie,” Mrs. Baxter interposed, hurriedly. “Of course! I'm going +now. I have to go hunt up those children, anyway. You try to be back for +lunch at half past one--and don't worry, dear; you really WILL be all +right!” + +She departed, a sigh from the abyss following her as she went down the +hall. Her comforting words meant nothing pleasant to her son, who felt +that her optimism was out of place and tactless. He had no intention to +be “all right,” and he desired nobody to interfere with his misery. + +He went to his mirror, and, gazing long--long and piercingly--at the +William there limned, enacted, almost unconsciously, a little scene of +parting. The look of suffering upon the mirrored face slowly altered; in +its place came one still sorrowful, but tempered with sweet indulgence. +He stretched out his hand, as if he set it upon a head at about the +height of his shoulder. + +“Yes, it may mean--it may mean forever!” he said in a low, tremulous +voice. “Little girl, we MUST be brave!” + +And the while his eyes gazed into the mirror, they became expressive +of a momentary pleased surprise, as if, even in the arts of sorrow, he +found himself doing better than he knew. But his sorrow was none the +less genuine because of that. + +Then he noticed the ink upon his forehead, and went away to wash. When +he returned he did an unusual thing--he brushed his coat thoroughly, +removing it for this special purpose. After that, he earnestly combed +and brushed his hair, and retied his tie. Next, he took from a drawer +two clean handkerchiefs. He placed one in his breast pocket, part of the +colored border of the handkerchief being left on exhibition, and with +the other he carefully wiped his shoes. Finally, he sawed it back and +forth across them, and, with a sigh, languidly dropped it upon the +floor, where it remained. + +Returning to the mirror, he again brushed his hair--he went so far, this +time, as to brush his eyebrows, which seemed not much altered by the +operation. Suddenly, he was deeply affected by something seen in the +glass. + +“By George!” he exclaimed aloud. + +Seizing a small hand-mirror, he placed it in juxtaposition to his right +eye, and closely studied his left profile as exhibited in the larger +mirror. Then he examined his right profile, subjecting it to a like +scrutiny emotional, yet attentive and prolonged. + +“By George!” he exclaimed, again. “By George!” + +He had made a discovery. There was a downy shadow upon his upper lip. +What he had just found out was that this down could be seen projecting +beyond the line of his lip, like a tiny nimbus. It could be seen in +PROFILE. + +“By GEORGE!” William exclaimed. + +He was still occupied with the two mirrors when his mother again tapped +softly upon his door, rousing him as from a dream (brief but engaging) +to the heavy realities of that day. + +“What you want now?” + +“I won't come in,” said Mrs. Baxter. “I just came to see.” + +“See what?” + +“I wondered--I thought perhaps you needed something. I knew your watch +was out of order--” + +“F'r 'evan's sake what if it is?” + +She offered a murmur of placative laughter as her apology, and said: +“Well, I just thought I'd tell you--because if you did intend going to +the station, I thought you probably wouldn't want to miss it and get +there too late. I've got your hat here all nicely brushed for you. It's +nearly twenty minutes of one, Willie.” + +“WHAT?” + +“Yes, it is. It's--” + +She had no further speech with him. + +Breathless, William flung open his door, seized the hat, racketed down +the stairs, and out through the front door, which he left open behind +him. Eight seconds later he returned at a gallop, hurtled up the stairs +and into his room, emerging instantly with something concealed under his +coat. Replying incoherently to his mother's inquiries, he fell down the +stairs as far as the landing, used the impetus thus given as a help to +greater speed for the rest of the descent--and passed out of hearing. + +Mrs. Baxter sighed, and went to a window in her own room, and looked +out. + +William was already more than half-way to the next corner, where there +was a car-line that ran to the station; but the distance was not too +great for Mrs. Baxter to comprehend the nature of the symmetrical white +parcel now carried in his right hand. Her face became pensive as she +gazed after the flying slender figure:--there came to her mind the +recollection of a seventeen-year-old boy who had brought a box of candy +(a small one, like William's) to the station, once, long ago, when she +had been visiting in another town. For just a moment she thought of that +boy she had known, so many years ago, and a smile came vaguely upon her +lips. She wondered what kind of a woman he had married, and how many +children he had--and whether he was a widower---- + +The fleeting recollection passed; she turned from the window and shook +her head, puzzled. + +“Now where on earth could Jane and that little Kirsted girl have gone?” + she murmured. + +... At the station, William, descending from the street-car, found +that he had six minutes to spare. Reassured of so much by the great +clock in the station tower, he entered the building, and, with calm +and dignified steps, crossed the large waiting-room. Those calm +and dignified steps were taken by feet which little betrayed the +tremulousness of the knees above them. Moreover, though William's +face was red, his expression--cold, and concentrated upon high +matters--scorned the stranger, and warned the lower classes that the +mission of this bit of gentry was not to them. + +With but one sweeping and repellent glance over the canaille present, +he made sure that the person he sought was not in the waiting-room. +Therefore, he turned to the doors which gave admission to the tracks, +but before he went out he paused for an instant of displeasure. Hard by +the doors stood a telephone-booth, and from inside this booth a little +girl of nine or ten was peering eagerly out at William, her eyes just +above the lower level of the glass window in the door. + +Even a prospect thus curtailed revealed her as a smudged and dusty +little girl; and, evidently, her mother must have been preoccupied with +some important affair that day; but to William she suggested nothing +familiar. As his glance happened to encounter hers, the peering +eyes grew instantly brighter with excitement;--she exposed her whole +countenance at the window, and impulsively made a face at him. + +William had not the slightest recollection of ever having seen her +before. + +He gave her one stern look and went on; though he felt that something +ought to be done. The affair was not a personal one--patently, this was +a child who played about the station and amused herself by making faces +at everybody who passed the telephone-booth--still, the authorities +ought not to allow it. People did not come to the station to be +insulted. + +Three seconds later the dusty-faced little girl and her moue were sped +utterly from William's mind. For, as the doors swung together behind +him, he saw Miss Pratt. There were no gates nor iron barriers to obscure +the view; there was no train-shed to darken the air. She was at +some distance, perhaps two hundred feet, along the tracks, where +the sleeping-cars of the long train would stop. But there she stood, +mistakable for no other on this wide earth! + +There she stood--a glowing little figure in the hazy September sunlight, +her hair an amber mist under the adorable little hat; a small bunch +of violets at her waist; a larger bunch of fragrant but less expensive +sweet peas in her right hand; half a dozen pink roses in her left; her +little dog Flopit in the crook of one arm; and a one-pound box of candy +in the crook of the other--ineffable, radiant, starry, there she stood! + +Near her also stood her young hostess, and Wallace Banks, Johnnie +Watson, and Joe Bullitt--three young gentlemen in a condition of +solemn tensity. Miss Parcher saw William as he emerged from the +station building, and she waved her parasol in greeting, attracting the +attention of the others to him, so that they: all turned and stared. + +Seventeen sometimes finds it embarrassing (even in a state of deep +emotion) to walk two hundred feet, or thereabout, toward a group of +people who steadfastly watch the long approach. And when the watching +group contains the lady of all the world before whom one wishes to +appear most debonair, and contains not only her, but several rivals, +who, though FAIRLY good-hearted, might hardly be trusted to neglect such +an opportunity to murmur something jocular about one--No, it cannot be +said that William appeared to be wholly without self-consciousness. + +In fancy he had prophesied for this moment something utterly different. +He had seen himself parting from her, the two alone as within a cloud. +He had seen himself gently placing his box of candy in her hands, some +of his fingers just touching some of hers and remaining thus lightly in +contact to the very last. He had seen himself bending toward the sweet +blonde head to murmur the few last words of simple eloquence, while +her eyes lifted in mysterious appeal to his--and he had put no other +figures, not even Miss Parcher's, into this picture. + +Parting is the most dramatic moment in young love, and if there is one +time when the lover wishes to present a lofty but graceful appearance it +is at the last. To leave with the loved one, for recollection, a final +picture of manly dignity in sorrow--that, above all things, is +the lover's desire. And yet, even at the beginning of William's +two-hundred-foot advance (later so much discussed) he felt the heat +surging over his ears, and, as he took off his hat, thinking to wave it +jauntily in reply to Miss Parcher, he made but an uncertain gesture of +it, so that he wished he had not tried it. Moreover, he had covered less +than a third of the distance, when he became aware that all of the +group were staring at him with unaccountable eagerness, and had begun to +laugh. + +William felt certain that his attire was in no way disordered, nor in +itself a cause for laughter;--all of these people had often seen him +dressed as he was to-day, and had preserved their gravity. But, in spite +of himself, he took off his hat again, and looked to see if anything +about it might explain this mirth, which, at his action, increased. Nay, +the laughter began to be shared by strangers; and some set down their +hand-luggage for greater pleasure in what they saw. + +William's inward state became chaotic. + +He tried to smile carelessly, to prove his composure, but he found that +he had lost almost all control over his features. He had no knowledge +of his actual expression except that it hurt him. In desperation he fell +back upon hauteur; he managed to frown, and walked proudly. At that +they laughed the more, Wallace Banks rudely pointing again and again at +William; and not till the oncoming sufferer reached a spot within +twenty feet of these delighted people did he grasp the significance of +Wallace's repeated gesture of pointing. Even then he understood only +when the gesture was supplemented by half-articulate shouts: + +“Behind you! Look BEHIND you!” + +The stung youth turned. + +There, directly behind him, he beheld an exclusive little procession +consisting of two damsels in single file, the first soiled with +house-moving, the second with apple sauce. + +For greater caution they had removed their shoes; and each damsel, +as she paraded, dangled from each far-extended hand a shoe. And both +damsels, whether beneath apple sauce or dust smudge, were suffused with +the rapture of a great mockery. + +They were walking with their stummicks out o' joint. + +At sight of William's face they squealed. They turned and ran. They got +themselves out of sight. + +Simultaneously, the air filled with solid thunder and the pompous train +shook the ground. Ah, woe's the word! This was the thing that meant to +bear away the golden girl and honeysuckle of the world--meant to, and +would, not abating one iron second! + +Now a porter had her hand-bag. + +Dear Heaven! to be a porter--yes, a colored one! What of that, NOW? Just +to be a simple porter, and journey with her to the far, strange pearl +among cities whence she had come! + +The gentle porter bowed her toward the steps of his car; but first she +gave Flopit into the hands of May Parcher, for a moment, and whispered +a word to Wallace Banks; then to Joe Bullitt; then to Johnnie +Watson;--then she ran to William. + +She took his hand. + +“Don't forget!” she whispered. “Don't forget Lola!” + +He stood stock-still. His face was blank, his hand limp. He said +nothing. + +She enfolded May Parcher, kissed her devotedly; then, with Flopit once +more under her arm, she ran and jumped upon the steps just as the train +began to move. She stood there, on the lowest step, slowly gliding away +from them, and in her eyes there was a sparkle of tears, left, it may +be, from her laughter at poor William's pageant with Jane and Rannie +Kirsted--or, it may be, not. + +She could not wave to her friends, in answer to their gestures of +farewell, for her arms were too full of Flopit and roses and candy and +sweet peas; but she kept nodding to them in a way that showed them how +much she thanked them for being sorry she was going--and made it clear +that she was sorry, too, and loved them all. + +“Good-by!” she meant. + +Faster she glided; the engine passed from sight round a curve beyond a +culvert, but for a moment longer they could see the little figure upon +the steps--and, to the very last glimpse they had of her, the small, +golden head was still nodding “Good-by!” Then those steps whereon she +stood passed in their turn beneath the culvert, and they saw her no +more. + +Lola Pratt was gone! + +Wet-eyed, her young hostess of the long summer turned away, and stumbled +against William. “Why, Willie Baxter!” she cried, blinking at him. + +The last car of the train had rounded the curve and disappeared, but +William was still waving farewell--not with his handkerchief, but with +a symmetrical, one-pound parcel, wrapped in white tissue-paper, girdled +with blue ribbon. + +“Never mind!” said May Parcher. “Let's all walk Up-town together, and +talk about her on the way, and we'll go by the express-office, and you +can send your candy to her by express, Willie.” + + + + +XXX + +THE BRIDE-TO-BE + +In the smallish house which all summer long, from morning until late +at night, had resounded with the voices of young people, echoing their +songs, murmurous with their theories of love, or vibrating with their +glee, sometimes shaking all over during their more boisterous moods--in +that house, now comparatively so vacant, the proprietor stood and +breathed deep breaths. + +“Hah!” he said, inhaling and exhaling the air profoundly. + +His wife was upon the porch, outside, sewing. The silence was deep. +He seemed to listen to it--to listen with gusto; his face slowly +broadening, a pinkish tint overspreading it. His flaccid cheeks appeared +to fill, to grow firm again, a smile finally widening them. + +“HAH!” he breathed, sonorously. He gave himself several resounding slaps +upon the chest, then went out to the porch and sat in a rocking-chair +near his wife. He spread himself out expansively. “My Glory!” he said. +“I believe I'll take off my coat! I haven't had my coat off, outside of +my own room, all summer. I believe I'll take a vacation! By George, I +believe I'll stay home this afternoon!” + +“That's nice,” said Mrs. Parcher. + +“Hah!” he said. “My Glory! I believe I'll take off my shoes!” + +And, meeting no objection, he proceeded to carry out this plan. + +“Hah-AH!” he said, and placed his stockinged feet upon the railing, +where a number of vines, running upon strings, made a screen between the +porch and the street. He lit a large cigar. “Well, well!” he said. “That +tastes good! If this keeps on, I'll be in as good shape as I was last +spring before you know it!” Leaning far back in the rocking-chair, his +hands behind his head, he smoked with fervor; but suddenly he jumped in +a way which showed that his nerves were far from normal. His feet came +to the floor with a thump, he jerked the cigar out of his mouth, and +turned a face of consternation upon his wife. + +“What's the matter?” + +“Suppose,” said Mr. Patcher, huskily--“suppose she missed her train.” + +Mrs. Parcher shook her head. + +“Think not?” he said, brightening. “I ordered the livery-stable to have +a carriage here in lots of time.” + +“They did,” said Mrs. Parcher, severely. “About five dollars' worth.” + +“Well, I don't mind that,” he returned, putting his feet up again. +“After all, she was a mighty fine little girl in her way. The only +trouble with me was that crowd of boys;--having to listen to them +certainly liked to killed me, and I believe if she'd stayed just one +more day I'd been a goner! Of all the dam boys I ever--” He paused, +listening. + +“Mr. Parcher!” a youthful voice repeated. + +He rose, and, separating two of the vines which screened the end of the +porch from the street, looked out. Two small maidens had paused upon the +sidewalk, and were peering over the picket fence. + +“Mr. Parcher,” said Jane, as soon as his head appeared between the +vines--“Mr. Parcher, Miss Pratt's gone. She's gone away on the cars.” + +“You think so?” he asked, gravely. + +“We saw her,” said Jane. “Rannie an' I were there. Willie was goin' to +chase us, I guess, but we went in the baggage-room behind trunks, an' +we saw her go. She got on the cars, an' it went with her in it. Honest, +she's gone away, Mr. Parcher.” + +Before speaking, Mr. Parcher took a long look at this telepathic child. +In his fond eyes she was a marvel and a darling. + +“Well--THANK you, Jane!” he said. + +Jane, however, had turned her head and was staring at the corner, which +was out of his sight. + +“Oo-oo-ooh!” she murmured. + +“What's the trouble, Jane?” + +“Willie!” she said. “It's Willie an' that Joe Bullitt, an' Johnnie +Watson, an' Mr. Wallace Banks. They're with Miss May Parcher. They're +comin' right here!” + +Mr. Parcher gave forth a low moan, and turned pathetically to his wife, +but she cheered him with a laugh. + +“They've only walked up from the station with May,” she said. “They +won't come in. You'll see!” + +Relieved, Mr. Parcher turned again to speak to Jane--but she was not +there. He caught but a glimpse of her, running up the street as fast as +she could, hand in hand with her companion. + +“Run, Rannie, run!” panted Jane. “I got to get home an' tell mamma about +it before Willie. I bet I ketch Hail Columbia, anyway, when he does get +there!” + +And in this she was not mistaken: she caught Hail Columbia. It lasted +all afternoon. + +It was still continuing after dinner. Thatt evening, when an +oft-repeated yodel, followed by a shrill-wailed, “Jane-ee! Oh, +Jane-NEE-ee!” brought her to an open window down-stairs. In the early +dusk she looked out upon the washed face of Rannie Kirsted, who stood on +the lawn below. + +“Come on out, Janie. Mamma says I can stay outdoors an' play till half +past eight.” + +Jane shook her head. “I can't. I can't go outside the house till +to-morrow. It's because we walked after Willie with our stummicks out o' +joint.” + +“Pshaw!” Rannie cried, lightly. “My mother didn't do anything to me for +that.” + +“Well, nobody told her on you,” said Jane, reasonably. + +“Can't you come out at all?” Rannie urged. “Go ask your mother. Tell +her--” + +“How can I,” Jane inquired, with a little heat, “when she isn't here to +ask? She's gone out to play cards--she and papa.” + +Rannie swung her foot. “Well,” she said, “I guess I haf to find SOMEp'n +to do! G' night!” + +With head bowed in thought she moved away, disappearing into the gray +dusk, while Jane, on her part, left the window and went to the open +front door. Conscientiously, she did not cross the threshold, but +restrained herself to looking out. On the steps of the porch sat +William, alone, his back toward the house. + +“Willie?” said Jane, softly; and, as he made no response, she lifted her +voice a little. “Will-ee!” + +“Whatchwant!” he grunted, not moving. + +“Willie, I told mamma I was sorry I made you feel so bad.” + +“All right!” he returned, curtly. + +“Well, when I haf to go to bed, Willie,” she said, “mamma told me +because I made you feel bad I haf to go up-stairs by myself, to-night.” + +She paused, seeming to hope that he would say something, but he spake +not. + +“Willie, I don't haf to go for a while yet, but when I do--maybe in +about a half an hour--I wish you'd come stand at the foot of the stairs +till I get up there. The light's lit up-stairs, but down around here +it's kind of dark.” + +He did not answer. + +“Will you, Willie?” + +“Oh, all RIGHT!” he said. + +This contented her, and she seated herself so quietly upon the floor, +just inside the door, that he ceased to be aware of her, thinking she +had gone away. He sat staring vacantly into the darkness, which had come +on with that abruptness which begins to be noticeable in September. +His elbows were on his knees, and his body was sunk far forward in an +attitude of desolation. + +The small noises of the town--that town so empty to-night--fell upon his +ears mockingly. It seemed to him incredible that so hollow a town could +go about its nightly affairs just as usual. A man and a woman, going +by, laughed loudly at something the man had said: the sound of their +laughter was horrid to William. And from a great distance from far out +in the country--there came the faint, long-drawn whistle of an engine. + +That was the sorrowfulest sound of all to William. His lonely mind's +eye sought the vasty spaces to the east; crossed prairie, and river, and +hill, to where a long train whizzed onward through the dark--farther +and farther and farther away. William uttered a sigh, so hoarse, so deep +from the tombs, so prolonged, that Jane, who had been relaxing herself +at full length upon the floor, sat up straight with a jerk. + +But she was wise enough not to speak. + +Now the full moon came masquerading among the branches of the +shade-trees; it came in the likeness of an enormous football, gloriously +orange. Gorgeously it rose higher, cleared the trees, and resumed its +wonted impersonation of a silver disk. Here was another mockery: What +was the use of a moon NOW? + +Its use appeared straightway. + +In direct coincidence with that rising moon, there came from a little +distance down the street the sound of a young male voice, singing. +It was not a musical voice, yet sufficiently loud; and it knew only a +portion of the words and air it sought to render, but, upon completing +the portion it did know, it instantly began again, and sang that portion +over and over with brightest patience. So the voice approached the +residence of the Baxter family, singing what the shades of night gave +courage to sing--instead of whistle, as in the abashing sunlight. + +Thus: + +“My countree, 'tis of thee, Sweet land of liber-tee, My countree, 'tis +of thee, Sweet land of liber-tee, My countree, 'tis of thee, Sweet land +of liber-tee, My countree, 'tis of thee, Sweet land of liber-tee, My +countree, 'tis--” + + +Jane spoke unconsciously. “It's Freddie,” she said. + +William leaped to his feet; this was something he could NOT bear! He +made a bloodthirsty dash toward the gate, which the singer was just in +the act of passing. + +“You GET OUT O' HERE!” William roared. + +The song stopped. Freddie Banks fled like a rag on the wind. + + +... Now here is a strange matter. + +The antique prophets prophesied successfully; they practised with some +ease that art since lost but partly rediscovered by M. Maeterlinck, who +proves to us that the future already exists, simultaneously with the +present. Well, if his proofs be true, then at this very moment when +William thought menacingly of Freddie Banks, the bright air of a happy +June evening--an evening ordinarily reckoned ten years, nine months and +twenty-one days in advance of this present sorrowful evening--the bright +air of that happy June evening, so far in the future, was actually +already trembling to a wedding-march played upon a church organ; and +this selfsame Freddie, with a white flower in his buttonhole, and in +every detail accoutred as a wedding usher, was an usher for this very +William who now (as we ordinarily count time) threatened his person. + +But for more miracles: + +As William turned again to resume his meditations upon the steps, his +incredulous eyes fell upon a performance amazingly beyond fantasy, and +without parallel as a means to make scorn of him. Not ten feet from the +porch--and in the white moonlight that made brilliant the path to the +gate--Miss Mary Randolph Kirsted was walking. She was walking with +insulting pomposity in her most pronounced semicircular manner. + +“YOU GET OUT O' HERE!” she said, in a voice as deep and hoarse as she +could make it. “YOU GET OUT O' HERE!” + +Her intention was as plain as the moon. She was presenting in her own +person a sketch of William, by this means expressing her opinion of him +and avenging Jane. + +“YOU GET OUT O' HERE!” she croaked. + +The shocking audacity took William's breath. He gasped; he sought for +words. + +“Why, you--you--” he cried. “You--you sooty-faced little girl!” + +In this fashion he directly addressed Miss Mary Randolph Kirsted for the +first time in his life. + +And that was the strangest thing of this strange evening. Strangest +because, as with life itself, there was nothing remarkable upon the +surface of it. But if M. Maeterlinck has the right of the matter, and +if the bright air of that June evening, almost eleven years in the +so-called future, was indeed already trembling to “Lohengrin,” then +William stood with Johnnie Watson against a great bank of flowers at the +foot of a church aisle; that aisle was roped with white-satin ribbons; +and William and Johnnie were waiting for something important to happen. +And then, to the strains of “Here Comes the Bride,” it did--a stately, +solemn, roseate, gentle young thing with bright eyes seeking through a +veil for William's eyes. + +Yes, if great M. Maeterlinck is right, it seems that William ought to +have caught at least some eerie echo of that wedding-march, however +faint--some bars or strains adrift before their time upon the moonlight +of this September night in his eighteenth year. + +For there, beyond the possibility of any fate to intervene, or of any +later vague, fragmentary memory of even Miss Pratt to impair, there in +that moonlight was his future before him. + +He started forward furiously. “You--you--you little--” + +But he paused, not wasting his breath upon the empty air. + +His bride-to-be was gone. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Seventeen, by Booth Tarkington + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SEVENTEEN *** + +***** This file should be named 1611-0.txt or 1611-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/1/1611/ + +Produced by Charles Keller and David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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