"SEVENTEEN\n\n\n\nA TALE OF YOUTH AND\n\nSUMMER TIME AND\n\nTHE BAXTER FAMILY\n\nESPECIALLY WILLIAM\n\n\nBy Booth Tarkington\n\n\n\n\nSEVENTEEN\n\n\n\n\nTO S.K.T.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n I. WILLIAM\n II. THE UNKNOWN\n III. THE PAINFUL AGE\n IV. GENESIS AND CLEMATIS\n V. SORROWS WITHIN A BOILER\n VI. TRUCULENCE\n VII. MR. BAXTER'S EVENING CLOTHES\n VIII. JANE\n IX. LITTLE SISTERS HAVE BIG EARS\n X. MR. PARCHER AND LOVE\n XI. BEGINNING A TRUE FRIENDSHIP\n XII. PROGRESS OF THE SYMPTOMS\n XIII. AT HOME TO HIS FRIENDS\n XIV. TIME DOES FLY\n XV. ROMANCE OF STATISTICS\n XVI. THE SHOWER\n XVII. JANE'S THEORY\n XVIII. THE BIG, FAT LUMMOX\n XIX. \"I DUNNO WHY IT IS\"\n XX. SYDNEY CARTON\n XXI. MY LITTLE SWEETHEARTS\n XXII. FORESHADOWINGS\n XXIII. FATHERS FORGET\n XXIV. CLOTHES MAKE THE MAN\n XXV. YOUTH AND MR. PARCHER\n XXVI. MISS BOKE\n XXVII. MAROONED\n XXVIII. RANNIE KIRSTED\n XXIX. ''DON'T FORGET!''\n XXX. THE BRIDE-TO-BE\n\n\n\n\nSEVENTEEN\n\n\n\n\nI\n\nWILLIAM\n\nWilliam Sylvanus Baxter paused for a moment of thought in front of the\ndrug-store at the corner of Washington Street and Central Avenue. He had\nan internal question to settle before he entered the store: he wished\nto allow the young man at the soda-fountain no excuse for saying, \"Well,\nmake up your mind what it's goin' to be, can't you?\" Rudeness of this\nkind, especially in the presence of girls and women, was hard to bear,\nand though William Sylvanus Baxter had borne it upon occasion, he\nhad reached an age when he found it intolerable. Therefore, to avoid\noffering opportunity for anything of the kind, he decided upon chocolate\nand strawberry, mixed, before approaching the fountain. Once there,\nhowever, and a large glass of these flavors and diluted ice-cream\nproving merely provocative, he said, languidly--an affectation, for he\ncould have disposed of half a dozen with gusto: \"Well, now I'm here, I\nmight as well go one more. Fill 'er up again. Same.\"\n\nEmerging to the street, penniless, he bent a fascinated and dramatic\ngaze upon his reflection in the drug-store window, and then, as he\nturned his back upon the alluring image, his expression altered to\none of lofty and uncondescending amusement. That was his glance at the\npassing public. From the heights, he seemed to bestow upon the world\na mysterious derision--for William Sylvanus Baxter was seventeen long\nyears of age, and had learned to present the appearance of one who\npossesses inside information about life and knows all strangers and most\nacquaintances to be of inferior caste, costume, and intelligence.\n\nHe lingered upon the corner awhile, not pressed for time. Indeed, he\nfound many hours of these summer months heavy upon his hands, for he had\nno important occupation, unless some intermittent dalliance with a\nwork on geometry (anticipatory of the distant autumn) might be thought\nimportant, which is doubtful, since he usually went to sleep on the\nshady side porch at his home, with the book in his hand. So, having\nnothing to call him elsewhere, he lounged before the drug-store in the\nearly afternoon sunshine, watching the passing to and fro of the lower\norders and bourgeoisie of the middle-sized midland city which claimed\nhim (so to speak) for a native son.\n\nApparently quite unembarrassed by his presence, they went about their\nbusiness, and the only people who looked at him with any attention were\npedestrians of color. It is true that when the gaze of these fell upon\nhim it was instantly arrested, for no colored person could have passed\nhim without a little pang of pleasure and of longing. Indeed, the\ntropical violence of William Sylvanus Baxter's tie and the strange\nbrilliancy of his hat might have made it positively unsafe for him to\nwalk at night through the negro quarter of the town. And though no man\ncould have sworn to the color of that hat, whether it was blue or green,\nyet its color was a saner thing than its shape, which was blurred,\ntortured, and raffish; it might have been the miniature model of a\nvolcano that had blown off its cone and misbehaved disastrously on its\nlower slopes as well. He had the air of wearing it as a matter of course\nand with careless ease, but that was only an air--it was the apple of\nhis eye.\n\nFor the rest, his costume was neutral, subordinate, and even a little\nneglected in the matter of a detail or two: one pointed flap of his soft\ncollar was held down by a button, but the other showed a frayed thread\nwhere the button once had been; his low patent-leather shoes were of a\nluster not solicitously cherished, and there could be no doubt that he\nneeded to get his hair cut, while something might have been done, too,\nabout the individualized hirsute prophecies which had made independent\nappearances, here and there, upon his chin. He examined these from time\nto time by the sense of touch, passing his hand across his face and\nallowing his finger-tips a slight tapping motion wherever they detected\na prophecy.\n\nThus he fell into a pleasant musing and seemed to forget the crowded\nstreet.\n\n\n\n\nII\n\nTHE UNKNOWN\n\nHe was roused by the bluff greeting of an acquaintance not dissimilar to\nhimself in age, manner, and apparel.\n\n\"H'lo, Silly Bill!\" said this person, halting beside William Sylvanus\nBaxter. \"What's the news?\"\n\nWilliam showed no enthusiasm; on the contrary, a frown of annoyance\nappeared upon his brow. The nickname \"Silly Bill\"--long ago compounded\nby merry child-comrades from \"William\" and \"Sylvanus\"--was not to his\ntaste, especially in public, where he preferred to be addressed simply\nand manfully as \"Baxter.\" Any direct expression of resentment, however,\nwas difficult, since it was plain that Johnnie Watson intended no\noffense whatever and but spoke out of custom.\n\n\"Don't know any,\" William replied, coldly.\n\n\"Dull times, ain't it?\" said Mr. Watson, a little depressed by his\nfriend's manner. \"I heard May Parcher was comin' back to town yesterday,\nthough.\"\n\n\"Well, let her!\" returned William, still severe.\n\n\"They said she was goin' to bring a girl to visit her,\" Johnnie began in\na confidential tone. \"They said she was a reg'lar ringdinger and--\"\n\n\"Well, what if she is?\" the discouraging Mr. Baxter interrupted. \"Makes\nlittle difference to ME, I guess!\"\n\n\"Oh no, it don't. YOU don't take any interest in girls! OH no!\"\n\n\"No, I do not!\" was the emphatic and heartless retort. \"I never saw one\nin my life I'd care whether she lived or died!\"\n\n\"Honest?\" asked Johnnie, struck by the conviction with which this speech\nwas uttered. \"Honest, is that so?\"\n\n\"Yes, 'honest'!\" William replied, sharply. \"They could ALL die, _I_\nwouldn't notice!\"\n\nJohnnie Watson was profoundly impressed. \"Why, _I_ didn't know you felt\nthat way about 'em, Silly Bill. I always thought you were kind of--\"\n\n\"Well, I do feel that way about 'em!\" said William Sylvanus Baxter, and,\noutraged by the repetition of the offensive nickname, he began to move\naway. \"You can tell 'em so for me, if you want to!\" he added over his\nshoulder. And he walked haughtily up the street, leaving Mr. Watson to\nponder upon this case of misogyny, never until that moment suspected.\n\nIt was beyond the power of his mind to grasp the fact that William\nSylvanus Baxter's cruel words about \"girls\" had been uttered because\nWilliam was annoyed at being called \"Silly Bill\" in a public place, and\nhad not known how to object otherwise than by showing contempt for any\ntopic of conversation proposed by the offender. This latter, being of\na disposition to accept statements as facts, was warmly interested,\ninstead of being hurt, and decided that here was something worth talking\nabout, especially with representatives of the class so sweepingly\nexcluded from the sympathies of Silly Bill.\n\nWilliam, meanwhile, made his way toward the \"residence section\" of the\ntown, and presently--with the passage of time found himself eased of his\nannoyance. He walked in his own manner, using his shoulders to emphasize\nan effect of carelessness which he wished to produce upon observers. For\nhis consciousness of observers was abnormal, since he had it whether any\none was looking at him or not, and it reached a crucial stage whenever\nhe perceived persons of his own age, but of opposite sex, approaching.\n\nA person of this description was encountered upon the sidewalk within a\nhundred yards of his own home, and William Sylvanus Baxter saw her while\nyet she was afar off. The quiet and shady thoroughfare was empty of all\nhuman life, at the time, save for those two; and she was upon the same\nside of the street that he was; thus it became inevitable that they\nshould meet, face to face, for the first time in their lives. He\nhad perceived, even in the distance, that she was unknown to him, a\nstranger, because he knew all the girls in this part of the town who\ndressed as famously in the mode as that! And then, as the distance\nbetween them lessened, he saw that she was ravishingly pretty; far, far\nprettier, indeed, than any girl he knew. At least it seemed so, for it\nis, unfortunately, much easier for strangers to be beautiful. Aside\nfrom this advantage of mystery, the approaching vision was piquant and\ngraceful enough to have reminded a much older boy of a spotless white\nkitten, for, in spite of a charmingly managed demureness, there was\nprecisely that kind of playfulness somewhere expressed about her. Just\nnow it was most definite in the look she bent upon the light and fluffy\nburden which she carried nestled in the inner curve of her right arm:\na tiny dog with hair like cotton and a pink ribbon round his neck--an\nanimal sated with indulgence and idiotically unaware of his privilege.\nHe was half asleep!\n\nWilliam did not see the dog, or it is the plain, anatomical truth\nthat when he saw how pretty the girl was, his heart--his physical\nheart--began to do things the like of which, experienced by an elderly\nperson, would have brought the doctor in haste. In addition, his\ncomplexion altered--he broke out in fiery patches. He suffered from\nbreathlessness and from pressure on the diaphragm.\n\nAfterward, he could not have named the color of the little parasol she\ncarried in her left hand, and yet, as it drew nearer and nearer, a rosy\nhaze suffused the neighborhood, and the whole world began to turn an\nexquisite pink. Beneath this gentle glow, with eyes downcast in thought,\nshe apparently took no note of William, even when she and William had\ncome within a few yards of each other. Yet he knew that she would look\nup and that their eyes must meet--a thing for which he endeavored to\nprepare himself by a strange weaving motion of his neck against the\nfriction of his collar--for thus, instinctively, he strove to obtain\ngreater ease and some decent appearance of manly indifference. He felt\nthat his efforts were a failure; that his agitation was ruinous and\nmust be perceptible at a distance of miles, not feet. And then, in\nthe instant of panic that befell, when her dark-lashed eyelids slowly\nlifted, he had a flash of inspiration.\n\nHe opened his mouth somewhat, and as her eyes met his, full and\nstartlingly, he placed three fingers across the orifice, and also\noffered a slight vocal proof that she had surprised him in the midst of\na yawn.\n\n\"Oh, hum!\" he said.\n\nFor the fraction of a second, the deep blue spark in her eyes glowed\nbrighter--gentle arrows of turquoise shot him through and through--and\nthen her glance withdrew from the ineffable collision. Her small,\nwhite-shod feet continued to bear her onward, away from him, while\nhis own dimmed shoes peregrinated in the opposite direction--William\nnecessarily, yet with excruciating reluctance, accompanying them. But\njust at the moment when he and the lovely creature were side by side,\nand her head turned from him, she spoke that is, she murmured, but he\ncaught the words.\n\n\"You Flopit, wake up!\" she said, in the tone of a mother talking\nbaby-talk. \"SO indifferink!\"\n\nWilliam's feet and his breath halted spasmodically. For an instant he\nthought she had spoken to him, and then for the first time he perceived\nthe fluffy head of the dog bobbing languidly over her arm, with the\nmotion of her walking, and he comprehended that Flopit, and not William\nSylvanus Baxter, was the gentleman addressed. But--but had she MEANT\nhim?\n\nHis breath returning, though not yet operating in its usual manner,\nhe stood gazing after her, while the glamorous parasol passed down the\nshady street, catching splashes of sunshine through the branches of\nthe maple-trees; and the cottony head of the tiny dog continued to be\nvisible, bobbing rhythmically over a filmy sleeve. Had she meant that\nWilliam was indifferent? Was it William that she really addressed?\n\nHe took two steps to follow her, but a suffocating shyness stopped him\nabruptly and, in a horror lest she should glance round and detect him\nin the act, he turned and strode fiercely to the gate of his own home\nbefore he dared to look again. And when he did look, affecting great\ncasualness in the action, she was gone, evidently having turned the\ncorner. Yet the street did not seem quite empty; there was still\nsomething warm and fragrant about it, and a rosy glamor lingered in\nthe air. William rested an elbow upon the gate-post, and with his chin\nreposing in his hand gazed long in the direction in which the unknown\nhad vanished. And his soul was tremulous, for she had done her work but\ntoo well.\n\n\"'Indifferink'!\" he murmured, thrilling at his own exceedingly\nindifferent imitation of her voice. \"Indifferink!\" that was just what he\nwould have her think--that he was a cold, indifferent man. It was what\nhe wished all girls to think. And \"sarcastic\"! He had been envious one\nday when May Parcher said that Joe Bullitt was \"awfully sarcastic.\"\nWilliam had spent the ensuing hour in an object-lesson intended to make\nMiss Parcher see that William Sylvanus Baxter was twice as sarcastic\nas Joe Bullitt ever thought of being, but this great effort had been\nunsuccessful, because William, failed to understand that Miss Parcher\nhad only been sending a sort of message to Mr. Bullitt. It was a device\nnot unique among her sex; her hope was that William would repeat her\nremark in such a manner that Joe Bullitt would hear it and call to\ninquire what she meant.\n\n\"'SO indifferink'!\" murmured William, leaning dreamily upon the\ngate-post. \"Indifferink!\" He tried to get the exact cooing quality of\nthe unknown's voice. \"Indifferink!\" And, repeating the honeyed word, so\nentrancingly distorted, he fell into a kind of stupor; vague, beautiful\npictures rising before him, the one least blurred being of himself, on\nhorseback, sweeping between Flopit and a racing automobile. And\nthen, having restored the little animal to its mistress, William\nsat carelessly in the saddle (he had the Guardsman's seat) while the\nperfectly trained steed wheeled about, forelegs in the air, preparing\nto go. \"But shall I not see you again, to thank you more properly?\" she\ncried, pleading. \"Some other day--perhaps,\" he answered.\n\nAnd left her in a cloud of dust.\n\n\n\n\nIII\n\nTHE PAINFUL AGE\n\n\"OH WILL--EE!\"\n\nThus a shrill voice, to his ears hideously different from that other,\ninterrupted and dispersed his visions. Little Jane, his ten-year-old\nsister, stood upon the front porch, the door open behind her, and in her\nhand she held a large slab of bread-and-butter covered with apple sauce\nand powdered sugar. Evidence that she had sampled this compound was upon\nher cheeks, and to her brother she was a repulsive sight.\n\n\"Will-ee!\" she shrilled. \"Look! GOOD!\" And to emphasize the adjective\nshe indelicately patted the region of her body in which she believed\nher stomach to be located. \"There's a slice for you on the dining-room\ntable,\" she informed him, joyously.\n\nOutraged, he entered the house without a word to her, and, proceeding\nto the dining-room, laid hands upon the slice she had mentioned, but\ndeclined to eat it in Jane's company. He was in an exalted mood, and\nthough in no condition of mind or body would he refuse food of almost\nany kind, Jane was an intrusion he could not suffer at this time.\n\nHe carried the refection to his own room and, locking the door, sat down\nto eat, while, even as he ate, the spell that was upon him deepened in\nintensity.\n\n\"Oh, eyes!\" he whispered, softly, in that cool privacy and shelter from\nthe world. \"Oh, eyes of blue!\"\n\nThe mirror of a dressing-table sent him the reflection of his own eyes,\nwhich also were blue; and he gazed upon them and upon the rest of his\nimage the while he ate his bread-and-butter and apple sauce and sugar.\nThus, watching himself eat, he continued to stare dreamily at the mirror\nuntil the bread-and-butter and apple sauce and sugar had disappeared,\nwhereupon he rose and approached the dressing-table to study himself at\ngreater advantage.\n\nHe assumed as repulsive an expression as he could command, at the same\ntime making the kingly gesture of one who repels unwelcome attentions;\nand it is beyond doubt that he was thus acting a little scene of\nindifference. Other symbolic dramas followed, though an invisible\nobserver might have been puzzled for a key to some of them. One,\nhowever, would have proved easily intelligible: his expression having\naltered to a look of pity and contrition, he turned from the mirror,\nand, walking slowly to a chair across the room, used his right hand in\na peculiar manner, seeming to stroke the air at a point about ten inches\nabove the back of the chair. \"There, there, little girl,\" he said in a\nlow, gentle voice. \"I didn't know you cared!\"\n\nThen, with a rather abrupt dismissal of this theme, he returned to the\nmirror and, after a questioning scrutiny, nodded solemnly, forming with\nhis lips the words, \"The real thing--the real thing at last!\" He\nmeant that, after many imitations had imposed upon him, Love--the real\nthing--had come to him in the end. And as he turned away he murmured,\n\"And even her name--unknown!\"\n\nThis evidently was a thought that continued to occupy him, for he walked\nup and down the room, frowning; but suddenly his brow cleared and his\neye lit with purpose. Seating himself at a small writing-table by\nthe window, he proceeded to express his personality--though with\nconsiderable labor--in something which he did not doubt to be a poem.\n\nThree-quarters of an hour having sufficed for its completion, including\n\"rewriting and polish,\" he solemnly signed it, and then read it several\ntimes in a state of hushed astonishment. He had never dreamed that he\ncould do anything like this.\n\n MILADY\n I do not know her name\n Though it would be the same\n Where roses bloom at twilight\n And the lark takes his flight\n It would be the same anywhere\n Where music sounds in air\n I was never introduced to the lady\n So I could not call her Lass or Sadie\n So I will call her Milady\n By the sands of the sea\n She always will be\n Just M'lady to me.\n --WILLIAM SYLVANUS BAXTER, Esq., July 14\n\nIt is impossible to say how many times he might have read the poem over,\nalways with increasing amazement at his new-found powers, had he not\nbeen interrupted by the odious voice of Jane.\n\n\"Will--ee!\"\n\nTo William, in his high and lonely mood, this piercing summons brought\nan actual shudder, and the very thought of Jane (with tokens of apple\nsauce and sugar still upon her cheek, probably) seemed a kind of\nsacrilege. He fiercely swore his favorite oath, acquired from the hero\nof a work of fiction he admired, \"Ye gods!\" and concealed his poem in\nthe drawer of the writing-table, for Jane's footsteps were approaching\nhis door.\n\n\"Will--ee! Mamma wants you.\" She tried the handle of the door.\n\n\"G'way!\" he said.\n\n\"Will--ee!\" Jane hammered upon the door with her fist. \"Will--ee!\"\n\n\"What you want?\" he shouted.\n\nJane explained, certain pauses indicating that her attention was\npartially diverted to another slice of bread-and-butter and apple sauce\nand sugar. \"Will--ee, mamma wants you--wants you to go help Genesis\nbring some wash-tubs home and a tin clo'es-boiler--from the second-hand\nman's store.\"\n\n\"WHAT!\"\n\nJane repeated the outrageous message, adding, \"She wants you to\nhurry--and I got some more bread-and-butter and apple sauce and sugar\nfor comin' to tell you.\"\n\nWilliam left no doubt in Jane's mind about his attitude in reference\nto the whole matter. His refusal was direct and infuriated, but, in the\nmidst of a multitude of plain statements which he was making, there\nwas a decisive tapping upon the door at a point higher than Jane could\nreach, and his mother's voice interrupted:\n\n\"Hush, Willie! Open the door, please.\"\n\nHe obeyed furiously, and Mrs. Baxter walked in with a deprecating air,\nwhile Jane followed, so profoundly interested that, until almost the\nclose of the interview, she held her bread-and-butter and apple sauce\nand sugar at a sort of way-station on its journey to her mouth.\n\n\"That's a nice thing to ask me to do!\" stormed the unfortunate William.\n\"Ye gods! Do you think Joe Bullitt's mother would dare to--\"\n\n\"Wait, dearie!\" Mrs. Baxter begged, pacifically. \"I just want to\nexplain--\"\n\n\"'Explain'! Ye gods!\"\n\n\"Now, now, just a minute, Willie!\" she said. \"What I wanted to explain\nwas why it's necessary for you to go with Genesis for the--\"\n\n\"Never!\" he shouted. \"Never! You expect me to walk through the public\nstreets with that awful-lookin' old nigger--\"\n\n\"Genesis isn't old,\" she managed to interpolate. \"He--\"\n\nBut her frantic son disregarded her. \"Second-hand wash-tubs!\" he\nvociferated. \"And tin clothes-boilers! THAT'S what you want your SON to\ncarry through the public streets in broad daylight! Ye gods!\"\n\n\"Well, there isn't anybody else,\" she said. \"Please don't rave so,\nWillie, and say 'Ye gods' so much; it really isn't nice. I'm sure nobody\n'll notice you--\"\n\n\"'Nobody'!\" His voice cracked in anguish. \"Oh no! Nobody except the\nwhole town! WHY, when there's anything disgusting has to be done\nin this family--why do _I_ always have to be the one? Why can't Genesis\nbring the second-hand wash-tubs without ME? Why can't the second-hand\nstore deliver 'em? Why can't--\"\n\n\"That's what I want to tell you,\" she interposed, hurriedly, and as the\nyouth lifted his arms on high in a gesture of ultimate despair, and\nthen threw himself miserably into a chair, she obtained the floor. \"The\nsecond-hand store doesn't deliver things,\" she said. \"I bought them at\nan auction, and it's going out of business, and they have to be taken\naway before half past four this afternoon. Genesis can't bring them in\nthe wheelbarrow, because, he says, the wheel is broken, and he says he\ncan't possibly carry two tubs and a wash-boiler himself; and he can't\nmake two trips because it's a mile and a half, and I don't like to ask\nhim, anyway; and it would take too long, because he has to get back and\nfinish cutting the grass before your papa gets home this evening. Papa\nsaid he HAD to! Now, I don't like to ask you, but it really isn't much.\nYou and Genesis can just slip up there and--\"\n\n\"Slip!\" moaned William. \"'Just SLIP up there'! Ye gods!\"\n\n\"Genesis is waiting on the back porch,\" she said. \"Really it isn't worth\nyour making all this fuss about.\"\n\n\"Oh no!\" he returned, with plaintive satire. \"It's nothing! Nothing at\nall!\"\n\n\"Why, _I_ shouldn't mind it,\" she said; briskly, \"if I had the time. In\nfact, I'll have to, if you won't.\"\n\n\"Ye gods!\" He clasped his head in his hands, crushed, for he knew that\nthe curse was upon him and he must go. \"Ye gods!\"\n\nAnd then, as he stamped to the door, his tragic eye fell upon Jane, and\nhe emitted a final cry of pain:\n\n\"Can't you EVER wash your face?\" he shouted.\n\n\n\n\nIV\n\nGENESIS AND CLEMATIS\n\nGenesis and his dog were waiting just outside the kitchen door, and\nof all the world these two creatures were probably the last in whose\ncompany William Sylvanus Baxter desired to make a public appearance.\nGenesis was an out-of-doors man and seldom made much of a toilet; his\noveralls in particular betraying at important points a lack of the\nanxiety he should have felt, since only Genesis himself, instead of\na supplementary fabric, was directly underneath them. And the aged,\ngrayish, sleeveless and neckless garment which sheltered him from waist\nto collar-bone could not have been mistaken for a jersey, even though\nwhat there was of it was dimly of a jerseyesque character. Upon the feet\nof Genesis were things which careful study would have revealed to be\npatent-leather dancing-pumps, long dead and several times buried;\nand upon his head, pressing down his markedly criminal ears, was a\nonce-derby hat of a brown not far from Genesis's own color, though\ndecidedly without his gloss. A large ring of strange metals with the\nstone missing, adorned a finger of his right hand, and from a corner of\nhis mouth projected an unlighted and spreading cigar stub which had the\nappearance of belonging to its present owner merely by right of salvage.\n\nAnd Genesis's dog, scratching himself at his master's feet, was the true\ncomplement of Genesis, for although he was a youngish dog, and had not\nlong been the property of Genesis, he was a dog that would have been\nrecognized anywhere in the world as a colored person's dog. He was not a\nspecial breed of dog--though there was something rather houndlike about\nhim--he was just a dog. His expression was grateful but anxious, and he\nwas unusually bald upon the bosom, but otherwise whitish and brownish,\nwith a gaunt, haunting face and no power to look anybody in the eye.\n\nHe rose apprehensively as the fuming William came out of the kitchen,\nbut he was prepared to follow his master faithfully, and when William\nand Genesis reached the street the dog was discovered at their heels,\nwhereupon William came to a decisive halt.\n\n\"Send that dog back,\" he said, resolutely. \"I'm not going through the\nstreets with a dog like that, anyhow!\"\n\nGenesis chuckled. \"He ain' goin' back,\" he said. \"'Ain' nobody kin\nmake 'at dog go back. I 'ain' had him mo'n two weeks, but I don' b'lieve\nPres'dent United States kin make 'at dog go back! I show you.\" And,\nwheeling suddenly, he made ferocious gestures, shouting. \"G'on back,\ndog!\"\n\nThe dog turned, ran back a few paces, halted, and then began to follow\nagain, whereupon Genesis pretended to hurl stones at him; but the animal\nonly repeated his manoeuver--and he repeated it once more when William\naided Genesis by using actual missiles, which were dodged with almost\ncareless adeptness.\n\n\"I'll show him!\" said William, hotly. \"I'll show him he can't follow\nME!\" He charged upon the dog, shouting fiercely, and this seemed to do\nthe work, for the hunted animal, abandoning his partial flights, turned\na tucked-under tail, ran all the way back to the alley, and disappeared\nfrom sight. \"There!\" said William. \"I guess that 'll show him!\"\n\n\"I ain' bettin' on it!\" said Genesis, as they went on. \"He nev' did\nstop foll'in' me yet. I reckon he the foll'indest dog in the worl'! Name\nClem.\"\n\n\"Well, he can't follow ME!\" said the surging William, in whose mind's\neye lingered the vision of an exquisite doglet, with pink-ribboned\nthroat and a cottony head bobbing gently over a filmy sleeve. \"He\ndoesn't come within a mile of ME, no matter what his name is!\"\n\n\"Name Clem fer short,\" said Genesis, amiably. \"I trade in a mandoline\nfer him what had her neck kind o' busted off on one side. I couldn' play\nher nohow, an' I found her, anyways. Yes-suh, I trade in 'at mandoline\nfer him 'cause always did like to have me a good dog--but I d'in' have\nme no name fer him; an' this here Blooie Bowers, what I trade in the\nmandoline to, he say HE d'in have no name fer him. Say nev' did know if\nWAS a name fer him 'tall. So I'z spen' the evenin' at 'at lady's house,\nFanny, what used to be cook fer Miz Johnson, nex' do' you' maw's; an'\nI ast Fanny what am I go'n' a do about it, an' Fanny say, 'Call him\nClematis,' she say. ''At's a nice name!' she say. 'Clematis.' So 'at's\nname I name him, Clematis. Call him Clem fer short, but Clematis his\nreal name. He'll come, whichever one you call him, Clem or Clematis.\nMake no diff'ence to him, long's he git his vittles. Clem or Clematis,\nHE ain' carin'!\"\n\nWilliam's ear was deaf to this account of the naming of Clematis; he\nwalked haughtily, but as rapidly as possible, trying to keep a little in\nadvance of his talkative companion, who had never received the training\nas a servitor which should have taught him his proper distance from the\nYoung Master. William's suffering eyes were fixed upon remoteness; and\nhis lips moved, now and then, like a martyr's, pronouncing inaudibly a\nsacred word. \"Milady! Oh, Milady!\"\n\nThus they had covered some three blocks of their journey--the\ntoo-democratic Genesis chatting companionably and William burning with\nmortification--when the former broke into loud laughter.\n\n\"What I tell you?\" he cried, pointing ahead. \"Look ayonnuh! NO, suh,\nPres'dent United States hisse'f ain' go tell 'at dog stay home!\"\n\nAnd there, at the corner before them, waited Clematis, roguishly lying\nin a mud-puddle in the gutter. He had run through alleys parallel to\ntheir course--and in the face of such demoniac cunning the wretched\nWilliam despaired of evading his society. Indeed, there was nothing to\ndo but to give up, and so the trio proceeded, with William unable to\ndecide which contaminated him more, Genesis or the loyal Clematis. To\nhis way of thinking, he was part of a dreadful pageant, and he winced\npitiably whenever the eye of a respectable passer-by fell upon him.\nEverybody seemed to stare--nay, to leer! And he felt that the whole\nworld would know his shame by nightfall.\n\nNobody, he reflected, seeing him in such company, could believe that he\nbelonged to \"one of the oldest and best families in town.\" Nobody would\nunderstand that he was not walking with Genesis for the pleasure of his\ncompanionship--until they got the tubs and the wash-boiler, when his\nsocial condition must be thought even more degraded. And nobody, he was\nshudderingly positive, could see that Clematis was not his dog (Clematis\nkept himself humbly a little in the rear, but how was any observer to\nknow that he belonged to Genesis and not to William?)\n\nAnd how frightful that THIS should befall him on such a day, the very\nday that his soul had been split asunder by the turquoise shafts of\nMilady's eyes and he had learned to know the Real Thing at last!\n\n\"Milady! Oh, Milady!\"\n\nFor in the elder teens adolescence may be completed, but not by\nexperience, and these years know their own tragedies. It is the time of\nlife when one finds it unendurable not to seem perfect in all outward\nmatters: in worldly position, in the equipments of wealth, in family,\nand in the grace, elegance, and dignity of all appearances in\npublic. And yet the youth is continually betrayed by the child still\nintermittently insistent within him, and by the child which undiplomatic\npeople too often assume him to be. Thus with William's attire: he could\nill have borne any suggestion that it was not of the mode, but taking\ncare of it was a different matter. Also, when it came to his appetite,\nhe could and would eat anything at any time, but something younger than\nhis years led him--often in semi-secrecy--to candy-stores and soda-water\nfountains and ice-cream parlors; he still relished green apples and knew\ncravings for other dangerous inedibles. But these survivals were far\nfrom painful to him; what injured his sensibilities was the disposition\non the part of people especially his parents, and frequently his aunts\nand uncles--to regard him as a little boy. Briefly, the deference his\nsoul demanded in its own right, not from strangers only, but from\nhis family, was about that which is supposed to be shown a Grand Duke\nvisiting his Estates. Therefore William suffered often.\n\nBut the full ignominy of the task his own mother had set him this\nafternoon was not realized until he and Genesis set forth upon the\nreturn journey from the second-hand shop, bearing the two wash-tubs, a\nclothes-wringer (which Mrs. Baxter had forgotten to mention), and the\ntin boiler--and followed by the lowly Clematis.\n\n\n\n\nV\n\nSORROWS WITHIN A BOILER\n\nThere was something really pageant-like about the little excursion now,\nand the glittering clothes-boiler, borne on high, sent flashing lights\nfar down the street. The wash-tubs were old-fashioned, of wood; they\nrefused to fit one within the other; so William, with his right hand,\nand Genesis, with his left, carried one of the tubs between them;\nGenesis carried the heavy wringer with his right hand, and he had\nfastened the other tub upon his back by means of a bit of rope which\npassed over his shoulder; thus the tin boiler, being a lighter burden,\nfell to William.\n\nThe cover would not stay in place, but continually fell off when he\nessayed to carry the boiler by one of its handles, and he made shift\nto manage the accursed thing in various ways--the only one proving\nphysically endurable being, unfortunately, the most grotesque. He\nwas forced to carry the cover in his left hand and to place his head\npartially within the boiler itself, and to support it--tilted obliquely\nto rest upon his shoulders--as a kind of monstrous tin cowl or helmet.\nThis had the advantage of somewhat concealing his face, though when\nhe leaned his head back, in order to obtain clearer vision of what was\nbefore him, the boiler slid off and fell to the pavement with a noise\nthat nearly caused a runaway, and brought the hot-cheeked William much\nderisory attention from a passing street-car. However, he presently\ncaught the knack of keeping it in position, and it fell no more.\n\nSeen from the rear, William was unrecognizable--but interesting.\nHe appeared to be a walking clothes-boiler, armed with a shield and\nconnected, by means of a wash-tub, with a negro of informal ideas\nconcerning dress. In fact, the group was whimsical, and three young\npeople who turned in behind it, out of a cross-street, indulged\nimmediately in fits of inadequately suppressed laughter, though neither\nMiss May Parcher nor Mr. Johnnie Watson even remotely suspected that the\nlegs beneath the clothes-boiler belonged to an acquaintance. And as\nfor the third of this little party, Miss Parcher's visitor, those\nperegrinating legs suggested nothing familiar to her.\n\n\"Oh, see the fun-ee laundrymans!\" she cried, addressing a cottony\ndoglet's head that bobbed gently up and down over her supporting arm.\n\"Sweetest Flopit must see, too! Flopit, look at the fun-ee laundrymans!\"\n\n\"'Sh!\" murmured Miss Parcher, choking. \"He might hear you.\"\n\nHe might, indeed, since they were not five yards behind him and the\ndulcet voice was clear and free. Within the shadowy interior of the\nclothes-boiler were features stricken with sudden, utter horror.\n\"FLOPIT!\"\n\nThe attention of Genesis was attracted by a convulsive tugging of the\ntub which he supported in common with William; it seemed passionately to\nurge greater speed. A hissing issued from the boiler, and Genesis caught\nthe words, huskily whispered:\n\n\"Walk faster! You got to walk faster.\"\n\nThe tub between them tugged forward with a pathos of appeal wasted upon\nthe easy-going Genesis.\n\n\"I got plenty time cut 'at grass befo' you' pa gits home,\" he said,\nreassuringly. \"Thishere rope what I got my extry tub slung to is 'mos'\nwo' plum thew my hide.\"\n\nHaving uttered this protest, he continued to ambulate at the same pace,\nthough somewhat assisted by the forward pull of the connecting tub, an\neasance of burden which he found pleasant; and no supplementary message\ncame from the clothes-boiler, for the reason that it was incapable\nof further speech. And so the two groups maintained for a time their\nrelative positions, about fifteen feet apart.\n\nThe amusement of the second group having abated through satiety, the\nminds of its components turned to other topics. \"Now Flopit must have\nhis darlin' 'ickle run,\" said Flopit's mistress, setting the doglet upon\nthe ground. \"That's why sweetest Flopit and I and all of us came for a\nwalk, instead of sitting on the nice, cool porch-kins. SEE the sweetie\ntoddle! Isn't he adorable, May? ISN'T he adorable, Mr. Watson?\"\n\nMr. Watson put a useless sin upon his soul, since all he needed to say\nwas a mere \"Yes.\" He fluently avowed himself to have become insane over\nthe beauty of Flopit.\n\nFlopit, placed upon the ground, looked like something that had dropped\nfrom a Christmas tree, and he automatically made use of fuzzy legs,\nsomewhat longer than a caterpillar's, to patter after his mistress. He\nwas neither enterprising nor inquisitive; he kept close to the rim of\nher skirt, which was as high as he could see, and he wished to be taken\nup and carried again. He was in a half-stupor; it was his desire\nto remain in that condition, and his propulsion was almost wholly\nsubconscious, though surprisingly rapid, considering his dimensions.\n\n\"My goo'ness!\" exclaimed Genesis, glancing back over his shoulder. \"'At\nli'l' thing ack like he think he go'n a GIT somewheres!\" And then, in\nanswer to a frantic pull upon the tub, \"Look like you mighty strong\nt'day,\" he said. \"I cain' go no fastuh!\" He glanced back again,\nchuckling. \"'At li'l' bird do well not mix up nothin' 'ith ole man\nClematis!\"\n\nClematis, it happened, was just coming into view, having been detained\nround the corner by his curiosity concerning a set of Louis XVI.\nfurniture which some house-movers were unpacking upon the sidewalk. A\ncurl of excelsior, in fact, had attached itself to his nether lip,\nand he was pausing to remove it--when his roving eye fell upon Flopit.\nClematis immediately decided to let the excelsior remain where it was,\nlest he miss something really important.\n\nHe approached with glowing eagerness at a gallop.\n\nThen, having almost reached his goal, he checked himself with surprising\nabruptness and walked obliquely beside Flopit, but upon a parallel\ncourse, his manner agitated and his brow furrowed with perplexity.\nFlopit was about the size of Clematis's head, and although Clematis was\ncertain that Flopit was something alive, he could not decide what.\n\nFlopit paid not the slightest attention to Clematis. The self-importance\nof dogs, like that of the minds of men, is in directly inverse ratio to\ntheir size; and if the self-importance of Flopit could have been taken\nout of him and given to an elephant, that elephant would have been\ninsufferable.\n\nFlopit continued to pay no attention to Clematis.\n\nAll at once, a roguish and irresponsible mood seized upon Clematis; he\nlaid his nose upon the ground, deliberating a bit of gaiety, and then,\nwith a little rush, set a large, rude paw upon the sensitive face\nof Flopit and capsized him. Flopit uttered a bitter complaint in an\nasthmatic voice.\n\n\"Oh, nassy dray bid Horror!\" cried his mistress, turning quickly at this\nsound and waving a pink parasol at Clematis. \"Shoo! DIRTY dog! Go 'way!\"\nAnd she was able somehow to connect him with the wash-tub and boiler,\nfor she added, \"Nassy laundrymans to have bad doggies!\"\n\nMr. Watson rushed upon Clematis with angry bellowings and imaginary\nmissiles. \"You disgusting brute!\" he roared. \"How DARE you?\"\n\nApparently much alarmed, Clematis lowered his ears, tucked his tail\nunderneath him, and fled to the rear, not halting once or looking back\nuntil he disappeared round the corner whence he had come. \"There!\" said\nMr. Watson. \"I guess HE won't bother us again very soon!\"\n\nIt must be admitted that Milady was one of those people who do not mind\nbeing overheard, no matter what they say. \"Lucky for us,\" she said,\n\"we had a nice dray bid MANS to protect us, wasn't it, Flopit?\" And\nshe thought it necessary to repeat something she had already made\nsufficiently emphatic.\n\n\"Nassy laundrymans!\"\n\n\"I expect I gave that big mongrel the fright of his life,\" said Mr.\nWatson, with complacency. \"He'll probably run a mile!\"\n\nThe shoulders of Genesis shook as he was towed along by the convulsive\ntub. He knew from previous evidence that Clematis possessed both a high\nquality and a large quantity of persistence, and it was his hilarious\nopinion that the dog had not gone far. As a matter of fact, the head\nof Clematis was at this moment cautiously extended from behind the\nfence-post at the corner whither he had fled. Viewing with growing\nassurance the scene before him, he permitted himself to emerge wholly,\nand sat down, with his head tilted to one side in thought. Almost at the\nnext corner the clothes-boiler with legs, and the wash-tubs, and\nGenesis were marching on; and just behind them went three figures not\nso familiar to Clematis, and connected in his mind with a vague, mild\napprehension. But all backs were safely toward him, and behind them\npattered that small live thing which had so profoundly interested him.\n\nHe rose and came on apace, silently.\n\nWhen he reached the side of Flopit, some eight or nine seconds later,\nClematis found himself even more fascinated and perplexed than during\ntheir former interview, though again Flopit seemed utterly to disregard\nhim. Clematis was not at all sure that Flopit WAS a dog, but he felt\nthat it was his business to find out. Heaven knows, so far, Clematis had\nnot a particle of animosity in his heart, but he considered it his duty\nto himself--in case Flopit turned out not to be a dog--to learn just\nwhat he was. The thing might be edible.\n\nTherefore, again pacing obliquely beside Flopit (while the human beings\nahead went on, unconscious of the approaching climax behind them)\nClematis sought to detect, by senses keener than sight, some evidence of\nFlopit's standing in the zoological kingdom; and, sniffing at the top\nof Flopit's head--though Clematis was uncertain about its indeed being a\nhead--he found himself baffled and mentally much disturbed.\n\nFlopit did not smell like a dog; he smelled of violets.\n\n\n\n\nVI\n\nTRUCULENCE\n\nClematis frowned and sneezed as the infinitesimal particles of sachet\npowder settled in the lining of his nose. He became serious, and was\nconscious of a growing feeling of dislike; he began to be upset over the\nwhole matter. But his conscience compelled him to persist in his\nattempt to solve the mystery; and also he remembered that one should\nbe courteous, no matter what some other thing chooses to be. Hence he\nsought to place his nose in contact with Flopit's, for he had perceived\non the front of the mysterious stranger a buttony something which might\npossibly be a nose.\n\nFlopit evaded the contact. He felt that he had endured about enough\nfrom this Apache, and that it was nearly time to destroy him. Having no\nexperience of battle, save with bedroom slippers and lace handkerchiefs,\nFlopit had little doubt of his powers as a warrior. Betrayed by his\nmajestic self-importance, he had not the remotest idea that he was\nsmall. Usually he saw the world from a window, or from the seat of an\nautomobile, or over his mistress's arm. He looked down on all dogs,\nthought them ruffianly, despised them; and it is the miraculous truth\nthat not only was he unaware that he was small, but he did not even know\nthat he was a dog, himself. He did not think about himself in that way.\n\nFrom these various ignorances of his sprang his astonishing, his\nincredible, valor. Clematis, with head lowered close to Flopit's,\nperceived something peering at him from beneath the tangled curtain\nof cottony, violet-scented stuff which seemed to be the upper part of\nFlopit's face. It was Flopit's eye, a red-rimmed eye and sore--and so\ndemoniacally malignant that Clematis, indescribably startled, would\nhave withdrawn his own countenance at once--but it was too late. With a\nfearful oath Flopit sprang upward and annexed himself to the under lip\nof the horrified Clematis.\n\nHorror gave place to indignation instantly; and as Miss Parcher and her\nguest turned, screaming, Clematis's self-command went all to pieces.\n\nMiss Parcher became faint and leaned against the hedge along which they\nhad been passing, but her visitor continued to scream, while Mr. Watson\nendeavored to kick Clematis without ruining Flopit--a difficult matter.\n\nFlopit was baresark from the first, and the mystery is where he\nlearned the dog-cursing that he did. In spite of the David-and-Goliath\ndifference in size it would be less than justice to deny that a very\nfair dog-fight took place. It was so animated, in truth, that the one\nexpert in such matters who was present found himself warmly interested.\nGenesis relieved himself of the burden of the wash-tub upon his back,\ndropped the handle of that other in which he had a half-interest,\nand watched the combat; his mouth, like his eyes, wide open in simple\npleasure.\n\nHe was not destined to enjoy the spectacle to the uttermost; a furious\nyoung person struck him a frantic, though harmless, blow with a pink\nparasol.\n\n\"You stop them!\" she screamed. \"You make that horrible dog stop, or I'll\nhave you arrested!\"\n\nGenesis rushed forward.\n\n\"You CLEM!\" he shouted.\n\nAnd instantly Clematis was but a whitish and brownish streak along the\nhedge. He ran like a dog in a moving picture when they speed the film,\nand he shot from sight, once more, round the corner, while Flopit, still\ncursing, was seized and squeezed in his mistress's embrace.\n\nBut she was not satisfied. \"Where's that laundryman with the tin thing\non his head?\" she demanded. \"He ought to be arrested for having such a\ndog. It's HIS dog, isn't it? Where is he?\"\n\nGenesis turned and looked round about the horizon, mystified. William\nSylvanus Baxter and the clothes-boiler had disappeared from sight.\n\n\"If he owns that dog,\" asserted the still furious owner of Flopit, \"I\nWILL have him arrested. Where is he? Where is that laundryman?\"\n\n\"Why, he,\" Genesis began slowly, \"HE ain' no laundrym--\" He came to an\nuncertain pause. If she chose to assume, with quick feminine intuition,\nthat the dog was William's and that William was a laundryman, it was not\nGenesis's place to enlighten her. \"'Tic'larly,\" he reflected, \"since\nshe talk so free about gittin' people 'rested!\" He became aware that\nWilliam had squirmed through the hedge and now lay prostrate on the\nother side of it, but this, likewise, was something within neither his\nduty nor his inclination to reveal.\n\n\"Thishere laundryman,\" said Genesis, resuming--\"thishere laundryman what\nown the dog, I reckon he mus' hopped on 'at street-car what went by.\"\n\n\"Well, he OUGHT to be arrested!\" she said, and, pressing her cheek\nto Flopit's, she changed her tone. \"Izzum's ickle heart a-beatin' so\nfloppity! Um's own mumsy make ums all right, um's p'eshus Flopit!\"\n\nThen with the consoling Miss Parcher's arm about her, and Mr. Watson\neven more dazzled with love than when he had first met her, some three\nhours past, she made her way between the tubs, and passed on down the\nstreet. Not till the three (and Flopit) were out of sight did William\ncome forth from the hedge.\n\n\"Hi yah!\" exclaimed Genesis. \"'At lady go'n a 'rest ev'y man what own a\ndog, 'f she had her way!\"\n\nBut William spoke no word.\n\nIn silence, then, they resumed their burdens and their journey. Clematis\nwas waiting for them at the corner ahead.\n\n\n\n\nVII\n\nMR. BAXTER'S EVENING CLOTHES\n\nThat evening, at about half-past seven o'clock, dinner being over and\nMr. and Mrs. Baxter (parents of William) seated in the library, Mrs.\nBaxter said:\n\n\"I think it's about time for you to go and dress for your Emerson Club\nmeeting, papa, if you intend to go.\"\n\n\"Do I have to dress?\" Mr. Baxter asked, plaintively.\n\n\"I think nearly all the men do, don't they?\" she insisted.\n\n\"But I'm getting old enough not to have to, don't you think, mamma?\" he\nurged, appealingly. \"When a man's my age--\"\n\n\"Nonsense!\" she said. \"Your figure is exactly like William's. It's the\nfigure that really shows age first, and yours hasn't begun to.\" And she\nadded, briskly, \"Go along like a good boy and get it ever!\"\n\nMr. Baxter rose submissively and went upstairs to do as he was bid. But,\nafter fifteen or twenty minutes, during which his footsteps had\nbeen audible in various parts of the house, he called down over the\nbanisters:\n\n\"I can't find 'em.\"\n\n\"Can't find what?\"\n\n\"My evening clothes. They aren't anywhere in the house.\"\n\n\"Where did you put them the last time you wore them?\" she called.\n\n\"I don't know. I haven't had 'em on since last spring.\"\n\n\"All right; I'll come,\" she said, putting her sewing upon the table and\nrising. \"Men never can find anything,\" she observed, additionally, as\nshe ascended the stairs. \"Especially their own things!\"\n\nOn this occasion, however, as she was obliged to admit a little later,\nwomen were not more efficacious than the duller sex. Search high, search\nlow, no trace of Mr. Baxter's evening clothes were to be found. \"Perhaps\nWilliam could find them,\" said Mrs. Baxter, a final confession of\nhelplessness.\n\nBut William was no more to be found than the missing apparel. William,\nin fact, after spending some time in the lower back hall, listening to\nthe quest above, had just gone out through the kitchen door. And after\nsome ensuing futile efforts, Mr. Baxter was forced to proceed to his\nclub in the accoutrements of business.\n\nHe walked slowly, enjoying the full moon, which sailed up a river in the\nsky--the open space between the trees that lined the street--and as\nhe passed the house of Mr. Parcher he noted the fine white shape of a\nmasculine evening bosom gleaming in the moonlight on the porch. A\ndainty figure in white sat beside it, and there was another white figure\npresent, though this one was so small that Mr. Baxter did not see it at\nall. It was the figure of a tiny doglet, and it reposed upon the black\nmasculine knees that belonged to the evening bosom.\n\nMr. Baxter heard a dulcet voice.\n\n\"He IS indifferink, isn't he, sweetest Flopit? Seriously, though,\nMr. Watson was telling me about you to-day. He says you're the most\nindifferent man he knows. He says you don't care two minutes whether a\ngirl lives or dies. Isn't he a mean ole wicked sing, p'eshus Flopit!\"\n\nThe reply was inaudible, and Mr. Baxter passed on, having recognized\nnothing of his own.\n\n\"These YOUNG fellows don't have any trouble finding their dress-suits, I\nguess,\" he murmured. \"Not on a night like this!\"\n\n\n... Thus William, after a hard day, came to the gates of his romance,\nentering those portals of the moon in triumph. At one stroke his dashing\nraiment gave him high superiority over Johnnie Watson and other rivals\nwho might loom. But if he had known to what undoing this great coup\nexposed him, it is probable that Mr. Baxter would have appeared at the\nEmerson Club, that night, in evening clothes.\n\n\n\n\nVIII\n\nJANE\n\nWilliam's period of peculiar sensitiveness dated from that evening, and\nJane, in particular, caused him a great deal of anxiety. In fact, he\nbegan to feel that Jane was a mortification which his parents might have\nspared him, with no loss to themselves or to the world. Not having\nshown that consideration for anybody, they might at least have been less\nspinelessly indulgent of her. William's bitter conviction was that he\nhad never seen a child so starved of discipline or so lost to etiquette\nas Jane.\n\nFor one thing, her passion for bread-and-butter, covered with apple\nsauce and powdered sugar, was getting to be a serious matter. Secretly,\nWilliam was not yet so changed by love as to be wholly indifferent to\nthis refection himself, but his consumption of it was private, whereas\nJane had formed the habit of eating it in exposed places--such as the\nfront yard or the sidewalk. At no hour of the day was it advisable for\na relative to approach the neighborhood in fastidious company, unless\nprepared to acknowledge kinship with a spindly young person either\neating bread-and-butter and apple sauce and powdered sugar, or all too\nvisibly just having eaten bread-and-butter and apple sauce and powdered\nsugar. Moreover, there were times when Jane had worse things than apple\nsauce to answer for, as William made clear to his mother in an oration\nas hot as the July noon sun which looked down upon it.\n\nMrs. Baxter was pleasantly engaged with a sprinkling-can and some small\nflower-beds in the shady back yard, and Jane, having returned from\nvarious sidewalk excursions, stood close by as a spectator, her hands\nreplenished with the favorite food and her chin rising and falling in\ngentle motions, little prophecies of the slight distensions which passed\ndown her slender throat with slow, rhythmic regularity. Upon this calm\nscene came William, plunging round a corner of the house, furious yet\nplaintive.\n\n\"You've got to do something about that child!\" he began. \"I CAN not\nstand it!\"\n\nJane looked at him dumbly, not ceasing, how ever, to eat; while Mrs.\nBaxter thoughtfully continued her sprinkling.\n\n\"You've been gone all morning, Willie,\" she said. \"I thought your father\nmentioned at breakfast that he expected you to put in at least four\nhours a day on your mathematics and--\"\n\n\"That's neither here nor there,\" William returned, vehemently. \"I just\nwant to say this: if you don't do something about Jane, I will! Just\nlook at her! LOOK at her, I ask you! That's just the way she looked half\nan hour ago, out on the public sidewalk in front of the house, when\nI came by here with Miss PRATT! That was pleasant, wasn't it? To be\nwalking with a lady on the public street and meet a member of my family\nlooking like that! Oh, LOVELY!\"\n\nIn the anguish of this recollection his voice cracked, and though his\neyes were dry his gestures wept for him. Plainly, he was about to reach\nthe most lamentable portion of his narrative. \"And then she HOLLERED at\nme! She hollered, 'Oh, WILL--EE!'\" Here he gave an imitation of Jane's\nvoice, so damnatory that Jane ceased to eat for several moments and drew\nherself up with a kind of dignity. \"She hollered, 'Oh, WILL--EE' at\nme!\" he stormed. \"Anybody would think I was about six years old! She\nhollered, 'Oh, Will--ee,' and she rubbed her stomach and slushed apple\nsauce all over her face, and she kept hollering, 'Will--ee!' with her\nmouth full. 'Will--ee, look! Good! Bread-and-butter and apple sauce and\nsugar! I bet you wish YOU had some, Will--ee!'\"\n\n\"You did eat some, the other day,\" said Jane. \"You ate a whole lot. You\neat it every chance you get!\"\n\n\"You hush up!\" he shouted, and returned to his description of the\noutrage. \"She kept FOLLOWING us! She followed us, hollering, 'WILL--EE!'\ntill it's a wonder we didn't go deaf! And just look at her! I don't\nsee how you can stand it to have her going around like that and people\nknowing it's your child! Why, she hasn't got enough ON!\"\n\nMrs. Baxter laughed. \"Oh, for this very hot weather, I really don't\nthink people notice or care much about--\"\n\n\"'Notice'!\" he wailed. \"I guess Miss PRATT noticed! Hot weather's no\nexcuse for--for outright obesity!\" (As Jane was thin, it is probable\nthat William had mistaken the meaning of this word.) \"Why, half o' what\nshe HAS got on has come unfastened--especially that frightful thing\nhanging around her leg--and look at her back, I just beg you! I ask you\nto look at her back. You can see her spinal cord!\"\n\n\"Column,\" Mrs. Baxter corrected. \"Spinal column, Willie.\"\n\n\"What do _I_ care which it is?\" he fumed. \"People aren't supposed to go\naround with it EXPOSED, whichever it is! And with apple sauce on their\nears!\"\n\n\"There is not!\" Jane protested, and at the moment when she spoke she was\nright. Naturally, however, she lifted her hands to the accused ears, and\nthe unfortunate result was to justify William's statement.\n\n\"LOOK!\" he cried. \"I just ask you to look! Think of it: that's the sight\nI have to meet when I'm out walking with Miss PRATT! She asked me who\nit was, and I wish you'd seen her face. She wanted to know who 'that\ncurious child' was, and I'm glad you didn't hear the way she said it.\n'Who IS that curious child?' she said, and I had to tell her it was my\nsister. I had to tell Miss PRATT it was my only SISTER!\"\n\n\"Willie, who is Miss Pratt?\" asked Mrs. Baxter, mildly. \"I don't think\nI've ever heard of--\"\n\nJane had returned to an admirable imperturbability, but she chose\nthis moment to interrupt her mother, and her own eating, with remarks\ndelivered in a tone void of emphasis or expression.\n\n\"Willie's mashed on her,\" she said, casually. \"And she wears false\nside-curls. One almost came off.\"\n\nAt this unspeakable desecration William's face was that of a high priest\nstricken at the altar.\n\n\"She's visitin' Miss May Parcher,\" added the deadly Jane. \"But the\nParchers are awful tired of her. They wish she'd go home, but they don't\nlike to tell her so.\"\n\nOne after another these insults from the canaille fell upon the ears of\nWilliam. That slanders so atrocious could soil the universal air seemed\nunthinkable.\n\nHe became icily calm.\n\n\"NOW if you don't punish her,\" he said, deliberately, \"it's because you\nhave lost your sense of duty!\"\n\nHaving uttered these terrible words, he turned upon his heel and marched\ntoward the house. His mother called after him:\n\n\"Wait, Willie. Jane doesn't mean to hurt your feelings--\"\n\n\"My feelings!\" he cried, the iciness of his demeanor giving way under\nthe strain of emotion. \"You stand there and allow her to speak as she\ndid of one of the--one of the--\" For a moment William appeared to be at\na loss, and the fact is that it always has been a difficult matter to\ndescribe THE bright, ineffable divinity of the world to one's mother,\nespecially in the presence of an inimical third party of tender years.\n\"One of the--\" he said; \"one of the--the noblest--one of the noblest--\"\n\nAgain he paused.\n\n\"Oh, Jane didn't mean anything,\" said Mrs. Baxter. \"And if you think\nMiss Pratt is so nice, I'll ask May Parcher to bring her to tea with us\nsome day. If it's too hot, we'll have iced tea, and you can ask Johnnie\nWatson, if you like. Don't get so upset about things, Willie!\"\n\n\"'Upset'!\" he echoed, appealing to heaven against this word. \"'Upset'!\"\nAnd he entered the house in a manner most dramatic.\n\n\"What made you say that?\" Mrs. Baxter asked, turning curiously to Jane\nwhen William had disappeared. \"Where did you hear any such things?\"\n\n\"I was there,\" Jane replied, gently eating on and on. William could come\nand William could go, but Jane's alimentary canal went on forever.\n\n\"You were where, Jane?\"\n\n\"At the Parchers'.\"\n\n\"Oh, I see.\"\n\n\"Yesterday afternoon,\" said Jane, \"when Miss Parcher had the\nSunday-school class for lemonade and cookies.\"\n\n\"Did you hear Miss Parcher say--\"\n\n\"No'm,\" said Jane. \"I ate too many cookies, I guess, maybe. Anyways,\nMiss Parcher said I better lay down--\"\n\n\"LIE down, Jane.\"\n\n\"Yes'm. On the sofa in the liberry, an' Mrs. Parcher an' Mr. Parcher\ncame in there an' sat down, after while, an' it was kind of dark, an'\nthey didn't hardly notice me, or I guess they thought I was asleep,\nmaybe. Anyways, they didn't talk loud, but Mr. Parcher would sort of\ngrunt an' ack cross. He said he just wished he knew when he was goin'\nto have a home again. Then Mrs. Parcher said May HAD to ask her\nSunday-school class, but he said he never meant the Sunday-school class.\nHe said since Miss Pratt came to visit, there wasn't anywhere he could\ngo, because Willie Baxter an' Johnnie Watson an' Joe Bullitt an' all the\nother ones like that were there all the time, an' it made him just sick\nat the stummick, an' he did wish there was some way to find out when she\nwas goin' home, because he couldn't stand much more talk about love.\nHe said Willie an' Johnnie Watson an' Joe Bullitt an' Miss Pratt were\nalways arguin' somep'm about love, an' he said Willie was the worst.\nMamma, he said he didn't like the rest of it, but he said he guessed he\ncould stand it if it wasn't for Willie. An' he said the reason they were\nall so in love of Miss Pratt was because she talks baby-talk, an' he\nsaid he couldn't stand much more baby-talk. Mamma, she has the loveliest\nlittle white dog, an' Mr. Parcher doesn't like it. He said he couldn't\ngo anywhere around the place without steppin' on the dog or Willie\nBaxter. An' he said he couldn't sit on his own porch any more; he said\nhe couldn't sit even in the liberry but he had to hear baby-talk goin'\non SOMEwheres an' then either Willie Baxter or Joe Bullitt or\nsomebody or another arguin' about love. Mamma, he said\"--Jane became\nimpressive--\"he said, mamma, he said he didn't mind the Sunday-school\nclass, but he couldn't stand those dam boys!\"\n\n\"Jane!\" Mrs. Baxter cried, \"you MUSTN'T say such things!\"\n\n\"I didn't, mamma. Mr. Parcher said it. He said he couldn't stand those\nda--\"\n\n\"JANE! No matter what he said, you mustn't repeat--\"\n\n\"But I'm not. I only said Mr. PARCHER said he couldn't stand those d--\"\n\nMrs. Baxter cut the argument short by imprisoning Jane's mouth with a\nfirm hand. Jane continued to swallow quietly until released. Then she\nsaid:\n\n\"But, mamma, how can I tell you what he said unless I say--\"\n\n\"Hush!\" Mrs. Baxter commanded. \"You must never, never again use such a\nterrible and wicked word.\"\n\n\"I won't, mamma,\" Jane said, meekly. Then she brightened. \"Oh, _I_ know!\nI'll say 'word' instead. Won't that be all right?\"\n\n\"I--I suppose so.\"\n\n\"Well, Mr. Parcher said he couldn't stand those word boys. That sounds\nall right, doesn't it, mamma?\"\n\nMrs. Baxter hesitated, but she was inclined to hear as complete as\npossible a report of Mr. and Mrs. Parcher's conversation, since it\nseemed to concern William so nearly; and she well knew that Jane had her\nown way of telling things--or else they remained untold.\n\n\"I--I suppose so,\" Mrs. Baxter said, again.\n\n\"Well, they kind of talked along,\" Jane continued, much pleased;--\"an'\nMr. Parcher said when he was young he wasn't any such a--such a word\nfool as these young word fools were. He said in all his born days Willie\nBaxter was the wordest fool he ever saw!\"\n\nWillie Baxter's mother flushed a little. \"That was very unjust and very\nwrong of Mr. Parcher,\" she said, primly.\n\n\"Oh no, mamma!\" Jane protested. \"Mrs. Parcher thought so, too.\"\n\n\"Did she, indeed!\"\n\n\"Only she didn't say word or wordest or anything like that,\" Jane\nexplained. \"She said it was because Miss Pratt had coaxed him to be so\nin love of her, an' Mr. Parcher said he didn't care whose fault it was,\nWillie was a--a word calf an' so were all the rest of 'em, Mr. Parcher\nsaid. An' he said he couldn't stand it any more. Mr. Parcher said that a\nwhole lot of times, mamma. He said he guess' pretty soon he'd haf to be\nin the lunatic asylum if Miss Pratt stayed a few more days with her word\nlittle dog an' her word Willie Baxter an' all the other word calfs. Mrs.\nParcher said he oughtn't to say 'word,' mamma. She said, 'Hush, hush!'\nto him, mamma. He talked like this, mamma: he said, 'I'll be word if I\nstand it!' An' he kept gettin' crosser, an' he said, 'Word! Word! WORD!\nWOR--'\"\n\n\"There!\" Mrs. Baxter interrupted, sharply. \"That will do, Jane! We'll\ntalk about something else now, I think.\"\n\nJane looked hurt; she was taking great pleasure in this confidential\ninterview, and gladly would have continued to quote the harried Mr.\nParcher at great length. Still, she was not entirely uncontent: she must\nhave had some perception that her performance merely as a notable bit of\nreportorial art--did not wholly lack style, even if her attire did. Yet,\nbrilliant as Jane's work was, Mrs. Baxter felt no astonishment; several\ntimes ere this Jane had demonstrated a remarkable faculty for the\nretention of details concerning William. And running hand in hand with\na really superb curiosity, this powerful memory was making Jane an even\ngreater factor in William's life than he suspected.\n\nDuring the glamors of early love, if there be a creature more deadly\nthan the little brother of a budding woman, that creature is the little\nsister of a budding man. The little brother at least tells in the open\nall he knows, often at full power of his lungs, and even that may be\navoided, since he is wax in the hands of bribery; but the little sister\nis more apt to save her knowledge for use upon a terrible occasion; and,\nno matter what bribes she may accept, she is certain to tell her mother\neverything. All in all, a young lover should arrange, if possible, to be\nthe only child of elderly parents; otherwise his mother and sister are\nsure to know a great deal more about him than he knows that they know.\n\nThis was what made Jane's eyes so disturbing to William during lunch\nthat day. She ate quietly and competently, but all the while he was\nconscious of her solemn and inscrutable gaze fixed upon him; and she\nspoke not once. She could not have rendered herself more annoying,\nespecially as William was trying to treat her with silent scorn, for\nnothing is more irksome to the muscles of the face than silent scorn,\nwhen there is no means of showing it except by the expression. On the\nother hand, Jane's inscrutability gave her no discomfort whatever. In\nfact, inscrutability is about the most comfortable expression that a\nperson can wear, though the truth is that just now Jane was not really\ninscrutable at all.\n\nShe was merely looking at William and thinking of Mr. Parcher.\n\n\n\n\nIX\n\nLITTLE SISTERS HAVE BIG EARS\n\nThe confidential talk between mother and daughter at noon was not\nthe last to take place that day. At nightfall--eight o'clock in this\npleasant season--Jane was saying her prayers beside her bed, while her\nmother stood close by, waiting to put out the light.\n\n\"An' bless mamma and papa an'--\" Jane murmured, coming to a pause.\n\"An'--an' bless Willie,\" she added, with a little reluctance.\n\n\"Go on, dear,\" said her mother. \"You haven't finished.\"\n\n\"I know it, mamma,\" Jane looked up to say. \"I was just thinkin' a\nminute. I want to tell you about somep'm.\"\n\n\"Finish your prayers first, Jane.\"\n\nJane obeyed with a swiftness in which there was no intentional\nirreverence. Then she jumped into bed and began a fresh revelation.\n\n\"It's about papa's clo'es, mamma.\"\n\n\"What clothes of papa's? What do you mean, Jane?\" asked Mrs. Baxter,\npuzzled.\n\n\"The ones you couldn't find. The ones you been lookin' for 'most every\nday.\"\n\n\"You mean papa's evening clothes?\"\n\n\"Yes'm,\" said Jane. \"Willie's got 'em on.\"\n\n\"What!\"\n\n\"Yes, he has!\" Jane assured her with emphasis. \"I bet you he's had 'em\non every single evening since Miss Pratt came to visit the Parchers!\nAnyway, he's got 'em on now, 'cause I saw 'em.\"\n\nMrs. Baxter bit her lip and frowned. \"Are you sure, Jane?\"\n\n\"Yes'm. I saw him in 'em.\"\n\n\"How?\"\n\n\"Well, I was in my bare feet after I got undressed--before you came\nup-stairs--mamma, an' I was kind of walkin' around in the hall--\"\n\n\"You shouldn't do that, Jane.\"\n\n\"No'm. An' I heard Willie say somep'm kind of to himself, or like\ndeckamation. He was inside his room, but the door wasn't quite shut. He\nstarted out once, but he went back for somep'm an' forgot to, I guess.\nAnyway, I thought I better look an' see what was goin' on, mamma. So I\njust kind of peeked in--\"\n\n\"But you shouldn't do that, dear,\" Mrs. Baxter said, musingly. \"It isn't\nreally quite honorable.\"\n\n\"No'm. Well, what you think he was doin'?\" (Here Jane's voice betrayed\nexcitement and so did her eyes.) \"He was standin' up there in papa's\nclo'es before the lookin'-glass, an' first he'd lean his head over on\none side, an' then he'd lean it over on the other side, an' then he'd\nbark, mamma.\"\n\n\"He'd what?\"\n\n\"Yes'm!\" said Jane. \"He'd give a little, teeny BARK, mamma--kind of like\na puppy, mamma.\"\n\n\"What?\" cried Mrs. Baxter.\n\n\"Yes'm, he did!\" Jane asserted. \"He did it four or five times. First\nhe'd lean his head way over on his shoulder like this--look, mamma!--an'\nthen he'd lean it way over the other shoulder, an' every time he'd do it\nhe'd bark. 'Berp-werp!' he'd say, mamma, just like that, only not loud\nat all. He said, 'Berp-werp! BERP-WERP-WERP!' You could tell he meant\nit for barkin', but it wasn't very good, mamma. What you think he meant,\nmamma?\"\n\n\"Heaven knows!\" murmured the astonished mother.\n\n\"An' then,\" Jane continued, \"he quit barkin' all of a sudden, an' didn't\nlean his head over any more, an' commenced actin' kind of solemn, an'\nkind of whispered to himself. I think he was kind of pretendin' he was\ntalkin' to Miss Pratt, or at a party, maybe. Anyways, he spoke out loud\nafter while not just exactly LOUD, I mean, but anyway so's 't I could\nhear what he said. Mamma--he said, 'Oh, my baby-talk lady!' just like\nthat, mamma. Listen, mamma, here's the way he said it: 'Oh, my baby-talk\nlady!'\"\n\nJane's voice, in this impersonation, became sufficiently soft and\ntremulous to give Mrs. Baxter a fair idea of the tender yearning of the\noriginal. \"'OH, MY BABY-TALK LADY!'\" cooed the terrible Jane.\n\n\"Mercy!\" Mrs. Baxter exclaimed. \"Perhaps it's no wonder Mr. Parcher--\"\nShe broke off abruptly, then inquired, \"What did he do next, Jane?\"\n\n\"Next,\" said Jane, \"he put the light out, an' I had to--well, I just\nwaited kind of squeeged up against the wall, an' he never saw me. He\nwent on out to the back stairs, an' went down the stairs tiptoe, mamma.\nYou know what I think, mamma? I think he goes out that way an' through\nthe kitchen on account of papa's clo'es.\"\n\nMrs. Baxter paused, with her hand upon the key of the shaded electric\nlamp. \"I suppose so,\" she said. \"I think perhaps--\" For a moment or\ntwo she wrapped herself in thought. \"Perhaps\"--she repeated,\nmusingly--\"perhaps we'll keep this just a secret between you and me for\na little while, Jane, and not say anything to papa about the clothes. I\ndon't think it will hurt them, and I suppose Willie feels they give\nhim a great advantage over the other boys--and papa uses them so very\nlittle, especially since he's grown a wee bit stouter. Yes, it will be\nour secret, Jane. We'll think it over till to-morrow.\"\n\n\"Yes'm.\"\n\nMrs. Baxter turned out the light, then came and kissed Jane in the dark.\n\"Good night, dear.\"\n\n\"G' night, mamma.\" But as Mrs. Baxter reached the door Jane's voice was\nheard again.\n\n\"Mamma?\"\n\n\"Yes?\" Mrs. Baxter paused.\n\n\"Mamma,\" Jane said, slowly, \"I think--I think Mr. Parcher is a very nice\nman. Mamma?\"\n\n\"Yes, dear?\"\n\n\"Mamma, what do you s'pose Willie barked at the lookin'-glass for?\"\n\n\"That,\" said Mrs. Baxter, \"is beyond me. Young people and children do\nthe strangest things, Jane! And then, when they get to be middle-aged,\nthey forget all those strange things they did, and they can't understand\nwhat the new young people--like you and Willie mean by the strange\nthings THEY do.\"\n\n\"Yes'm. I bet _I_ know what he was barkin' for, mamma.\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"You know what I think? I think he was kind of practisin'. I think he\nwas practisin' how to bark at Mr. Parcher.\"\n\n\"No, no!\" Mrs. Baxter laughed. \"Who ever could think of such a thing but\nyou, Jane! You go to sleep and forget your nonsense!\"\n\nNevertheless, Jane might almost have been gifted with clairvoyance, her\npreposterous idea came so close to the actual fact, for at that very\nmoment William was barking. He was not barking directly at Mr. Parcher,\nit is true, but within a short distance of him and all too well within\nhis hearing.\n\n\n\n\nX\n\nMR. PARCHER AND LOVE\n\nMr. Parcher, that unhappy gentleman, having been driven indoors from his\nown porch, had attempted to read Plutarch's Lives in the library, but,\nowing to the adjacency of the porch and the summer necessity for open\nwindows, his escape spared only his eyes and not his suffering ears. The\nhouse was small, being but half of a double one, with small rooms, and\nthe \"parlor,\" library, and dining-room all about equally exposed to the\nporch which ran along the side of the house. Mr. Parcher had no refuge\nexcept bed or the kitchen, and as he was troubled with chronic insomnia,\nand the cook had callers in the kitchen, his case was desperate. Most\nunfortunately, too, his reading-lamp, the only one in the house, was a\nfixture near a window, and just beyond that window sat Miss Pratt and\nWilliam in sweet unconsciousness, while Miss Parcher entertained the\noverflow (consisting of Mr. Johnnie Watson) at the other end of the\nporch. Listening perforce to the conversation of the former couple\nthough \"conversation\" is far from the expression later used by Mr.\nParcher to describe what he heard--he found it impossible to sit\nstill in his chair. He jerked and twitched with continually increasing\nrestlessness; sometimes he gasped, and other times he moaned a little,\nand there were times when he muttered huskily.\n\n\"Oh, cute-ums!\" came the silvery voice of Miss Pratt from the likewise\nsilvery porch outside, underneath the summer moon. \"Darlin' Flopit,\nlook! Ickle boy Baxter goin' make imitations of darlin' Flopit again.\nSee! Ickle boy Baxter puts head one side, then other side, just\nlike darlin' Flopit. Then barks just like darlin' Flopit! Ladies and\n'entlemen, imitations of darlin' Flopit by ickle boy Baxter.\"\n\n\"Berp-werp! Berp-werp!\" came the voice of William Sylvanus Baxter.\n\nAnd in the library Plutarch's Lives moved convulsively, while with\nwrithing lips Mr. Parcher muttered to himself.\n\n\"More, more!\" cried Miss Pratt, clapping her hands. \"Do it again, ickle\nboy Baxter!\"\n\n\"Berp-werp! Berp-werp-werp!\"\n\n\"WORD!\" muttered Mr. Parcher.\n\nMiss Pratt's voice became surcharged with honeyed wonder. \"How did he\nlearn such marv'lous, MARV'LOUS imitations of darlin' Flopit? He ought\nto go on the big, big stage and be a really actor, oughtn't he, darlin'\nFlopit? He could make milyums and milyums of dollardies, couldn't he,\ndarlin' Flopit?\"\n\nWilliam's modest laugh disclaimed any great ambition for himself in this\nline. \"Oh, I always could think up imitations of animals; things like\nthat--but I hardly would care to--to adop' the stage for a career.\nWould--you?\" (There was a thrill in his voice when he pronounced the\nineffably significant word \"you.\")\n\nMiss Pratt became intensely serious.\n\n\"It's my DREAM!\" she said.\n\nWilliam, seated upon a stool at her feet, gazed up at the amber head,\ndivinely splashed by the rain of moonlight. The fire with which she\nspoke stirred him as few things had ever stirred him. He knew she had\njust revealed a side of herself which she reserved for only the chosen\nfew who were capable of understanding her, and he fell into a hushed\nrapture. It seemed to him that there was a sacredness about this moment,\nand he sought vaguely for something to say that would live up to it and\nnot be out of keeping. Then, like an inspiration, there came into his\nhead some words he had read that day and thought beautiful. He had found\nthem beneath an illustration in a magazine, and he spoke them almost\ninstinctively.\n\n\"It was wonderful of you to say that to me,\" he said. \"I shall never\nforget it!\"\n\n\"It's my DREAM!\" Miss Pratt exclaimed, again, with the same enthusiasm.\n\"It's my DREAM.\"\n\n\"You would make a glorious actress!\" he said.\n\nAt that her mood changed. She laughed a laugh like a sweet little girl's\nlaugh (not Jane's) and, setting her rocking-chair in motion, cuddled the\nfuzzy white doglet in her arms. \"Ickle boy Baxter t'yin' flatterbox us,\ntunnin' Flopit! No'ty, no'ty flatterbox!\"\n\n\"No, no!\" William insisted, earnestly. \"I mean it. But--but--\"\n\n\"But whatcums?\"\n\n\"What do you think about actors and actresses making love to each other\non the stage? Do you think they have to really feel it, or do they just\npretend?\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Miss Pratt, weightily, \"sometimes one way, sometimes the\nother.\"\n\nWilliam's gravity became more and more profound. \"Yes, but how can they\npretend like that? Don't you think love is a sacred thing, Cousin Lola?\"\n\nFictitious sisterships, brotherships, and cousinships are devices to\npush things along, well known to seventeen and even more advanced ages.\nOn the wonderful evening of their first meeting William and Miss Pratt\nhad cozily arranged to be called, respectively, \"Ickle boy Baxter\" and\n\"Cousin Lola.\" (Thus they had broken down the tedious formalities of\ntheir first twenty minutes together.)\n\n\"Don't you think love is sacred?\" he repeated in the deepest tone of\nwhich his vocal cords were capable.\n\n\"Ess,\" said Miss Pratt.\n\n\"_I_ do!\" William was emphatic. \"I think love is the most sacred thing\nthere is. I don't mean SOME kinds of love. I mean REAL love. You take\nsome people, I don't believe they ever know what real love means. They\nTALK about it, maybe, but they don't understand it. Love is something\nnobody can understand unless they feel it and and if they don't\nunderstand it they don't feel it. Don't YOU think so?\"\n\n\"Ess.\"\n\n\"Love,\" William continued, his voice lifting and thrilling to the great\ntheme--\"love is something nobody can ever have but one time in their\nlives, and if they don't have it then, why prob'ly they never will.\nNow, if a man REALLY loves a girl, why he'd do anything in the world she\nwanted him to. Don't YOU think so?\"\n\n\"Ess, 'deedums!\" said the silvery voice.\n\n\"But if he didn't, then he wouldn't,\" said William vehemently. \"But when\na man really loves a girl he will. Now, you take a man like that and\nhe can generally do just about anything the girl he loves wants him\nto. Say, f'rinstance, she wants him to love her even more than he does\nalready--or almost anything like that--and supposin' she asks him to.\nWell, he would go ahead and do it. If they really loved each other he\nwould!\"\n\nHe paused a moment, then in a lowered tone he said, \"I think REAL love\nis sacred, don't you?\"\n\n\"Ess.\"\n\n\"Don't you think love is the most sacred thing there is--that is, if\nit's REAL love?\"\n\n\"Ess.\"\n\n\"_I_ do,\" said William, warmly. \"I--I'm glad you feel like that, because\nI think real love is the kind nobody could have but just once in their\nlives, but if it isn't REAL love, why--why most people never have it at\nall, because--\" He paused, seeming to seek for the exact phrase which\nwould express his meaning. \"--Because the REAL love a man feels for a\ngirl and a girl for a man, if they REALLY love each other, and, you look\nat a case like that, of course they would BOTH love each other, or it\nwouldn't be real love well, what _I_ say is, if it's REAL love, well,\nit's--it's sacred, because I think that kind of love is always sacred.\nDon't you think love is sacred if it's the real thing?\"\n\n\"Ess,\" said Miss Pratt. \"Do Flopit again. Be Flopit!\"\n\n\"Berp-werp! Berp-werp-werp.\"\n\nAnd within the library an agonized man writhed and muttered:\n\n\"WORD! WORD! WORD--\"\n\nThis hoarse repetition had become almost continuous.\n\n... But out on the porch, that little, jasmine-scented bower in\nArcady where youth cried to youth and golden heads were haloed in the\nmoonshine, there fell a silence. Not utter silence, for out there an\nethereal music sounded constantly, unheard and forgotten by older ears.\nTime was when the sly playwrights used \"incidental music\" in their\ndramas; they knew that an audience would be moved so long as the music\nplayed; credulous while that crafty enchantment lasted. And when the\ngalled Mr. Parcher wondered how those young people out on the porch\ncould listen to each other and not die, it was because he did not\nhear and had forgotten the music that throbs in the veins of youth.\nNevertheless, it may not be denied that despite his poor memory this man\nof fifty was deserving of a little sympathy.\n\nIt was William who broke the silence. \"How--\" he began, and his voice\ntrembled a little. \"How--how do you--how do you think of me when I'm not\nwith you?\"\n\n\"Think nice-cums,\" Miss Pratt responded. \"Flopit an' me think\nnice-cums.\"\n\n\"No,\" said William; \"I mean what name do you have for me when you're\nwhen you're thinking about me?\"\n\nMiss Pratt seemed to be puzzled, perhaps justifiably, and she made a\ncooing sound of interrogation.\n\n\"I mean like this,\" William explained. \"F'rinstance, when you first\ncame, I always thought of you as 'Milady'--when I wrote that poem, you\nknow.\"\n\n\"Ess. Boo'fums.\"\n\n\"But now I don't,\" he said. \"Now I think of you by another name when I'm\nalone. It--it just sort of came to me. I was kind of just sitting around\nthis afternoon, and I didn't know I was thinking about anything at all\nvery much, and then all of a sudden I said it to myself out loud. It was\nabout as strange a thing as I ever knew of. Don't YOU think so?\"\n\n\"Ess. It uz dest WEIRD!\" she answered. \"What ARE dat pitty names?\"\n\n\"I called you,\" said William, huskily and reverently, \"I called you 'My\nBaby-Talk Lady.'\"\n\nBANG!\n\nThey were startled by a crash from within the library; a heavy weight\nseemed to have fallen (or to have been hurled) a considerable distance.\nStepping to the window, William beheld a large volume lying in a\ndistorted attitude at the foot of the wall opposite to that in which the\nreading-lamp was a fixture. But of all human life the room was empty;\nfor Mr. Parcher had given up, and was now hastening to his bed in the\nlast faint hope of saving his reason.\n\nHis symptoms, however, all pointed to its having fled; and his wife,\nlooking up from some computations in laundry charges, had but a vision\nof windmill gestures as he passed the door of her room. Then, not only\nfor her, but for the inoffensive people who lived in the other half of\nthe house, the closing of his own door took place in a really memorable\nmanner.\n\nWilliam, gazing upon the fallen Plutarch, had just offered the\nexplanation, \"Somebody must 'a' thrown it at a bug or something, I\nguess,\" when the second explosion sent its reverberations through the\nhouse.\n\n\"My doodness!\" Miss Pratt exclaimed, jumping up.\n\nWilliam laughed reassuringly, remaining calm. \"It's only a door blew\nshut up-stairs,\" he said \"Let's sit down again--just the way we were?\"\n\nUnfortunately for him, Mr. Joe Bullitt now made his appearance at the\nother end of the porch. Mr. Bullitt, though almost a year younger than\neither William or Johnnie Watson, was of a turbulent and masterful\ndisposition. Moreover, in regard to Miss Pratt, his affections were\nin as ardent a state as those of his rivals, and he lacked Johnnie's\nmeekness. He firmly declined to be shunted by Miss Parcher, who was\ntrying to favor William's cause, according to a promise he had won of\nher by strong pleading. Regardless of her efforts, Mr. Bullitt descended\nupon William and his Baby-Talk-Lady, and received from the latter a\nhoneyed greeting, somewhat to the former's astonishment and not at all\nto his pleasure.\n\n\"Oh, goody-cute!\" cried Miss Pratt. \"Here's big Bruvva Josie-Joe!\" And\nshe lifted her little dog close to Mr. Bullitt's face, guiding one of\nFlopit's paws with her fingers. \"Stroke big Bruvva Josie-Joe's pint\nteeks, darlin' Flopit.\" (Josie-Joe's pink cheeks were indicated by the\nexpression \"pint teeks,\" evidently, for her accompanying action was to\npass Flopit's paw lightly over those glowing surfaces.) \"'At's nice!\"\nshe remarked. \"Stroke him gently, p'eshus Flopit, an' nen we'll coax him\nto make pitty singin' for us, like us did yestiday.\"\n\nShe turned to William.\n\n\"COAX him to make pitty singin'? I LOVE his voice--I'm dest CRAZY over\nit. Isn't oo?\"\n\nWilliam's passion for Mr. Bullitt's voice appeared to be under control.\nHe laughed coldly, almost harshly. \"Him sing?\" he said. \"Has he been\ntryin' to sing around HERE? I wonder the family didn't call for the\npolice!\"\n\nIt was to be seen that Mr. Bullitt did not relish the sally. \"Well, they\nwill,\" he retorted, \"if you ever spring one o' your solos on 'em!\" And\nturning to Miss Pratt, he laughed loudly and bitterly. \"You ought to\nhear Silly Bill sing--some time when you don't mind goin' to bed sick\nfor a couple o' days!\"\n\nSymptoms of truculence at once became alarmingly pronounced on both\nsides. William was naturally incensed, and as for Mr. Bullitt, he had\nendured a great deal from William every evening since Miss Pratt's\narrival. William's evening clothes were hard enough for both Mr. Watson\nand Mr. Bullitt to bear, without any additional insolence on the part\nof the wearer. Big Bruvva Josie-Joe took a step toward his enemy and\nbreathed audibly.\n\n\"Let's ALL sing,\" the tactful Miss Pratt proposed, hastily. \"Come on,\nMay and Cousin Johnnie-Jump-Up,\" she called to Miss Parcher and Mr.\nWatson. \"Singin'-school, dirls an' boys! Singin'-school! Ding, ding!\nSingin'-school bell's a-wingin'!\"\n\nThe diversion was successful. Miss Parcher and Mr. Watson joined the\nother group with alacrity, and the five young people were presently\nseated close together upon the steps of the porch, sending their voices\nout upon the air and up to Mr. Parcher's window in the song they found\nloveliest that summer.\n\nMiss Pratt carried the air. William also carried it part of the time\nand hunted for it the rest of the time, though never in silence. Miss\nParcher \"sang alto,\" Mr. Bullitt \"sang bass,\" and Mr. Watson \"sang\ntenor\"--that is, he sang as high as possible, often making the top sound\nof a chord and always repeating the last phrase of each line before the\nothers finished it. The melody was a little too sweet, possibly; while\nthe singers thought so highly of the words that Mr. Parcher missed not\none, especially as the vocal rivalry between Josie-Joe and Ickle Boy\nBaxter incited each of them to prevent Miss Pratt from hearing the\nother.\n\nWilliam sang loudest of all; Mr. Parcher had at no time any difficulty\nin recognizing his voice.\n\n \"Oh, I love my love in the morning\n And I love my love at night,\n I love my love in the dawning,\n And when the stars are bright.\n Some may love the sunshine,\n Others may love the dew.\n Some may love the raindrops,\n But I love only you-OO-oo!\n By the stars up above\n It is you I luh-HUV!\n Yes, _I_ love own-LAY you!\"\n\nThey sang it four times; then Mr. Bullitt sang his solo, \"Tell her, O\nGolden Moon, how I Adore her,\" William following with \"The violate loves\nthe cowslip, but _I_ love YEW,\" and after that they all sang, \"Oh, I\nlove my love in the morning,\" again.\n\nAll this while that they sang of love, Mr. Parcher was moving to and fro\nupon his bed, not more than eighteen feet in an oblique upward-slanting\nline from the heads of the serenaders. Long, long he tossed, listening\nto the young voices singing of love; long, long he thought of love, and\nmany, many times he spoke of it aloud, though he was alone in the room.\nAnd in thus speaking of it, he would give utterance to phrases and\nwords probably never before used in connection with love since the world\nbegan.\n\nHis thoughts, and, at intervals, his mutterings, continued to be active\nfar into the night, long after the callers had gone, and though his\nhousehold and the neighborhood were at rest, with never a katydid\noutside to rail at the waning moon. And by a coincidence not more\nsingular than most coincidences, it happened that at just about the time\nhe finally fell asleep, a young lady at no great distance from him awoke\nto find her self thinking of him.\n\n\n\n\nXI\n\nBEGINNING A TRUE FRIENDSHIP\n\nThis was Miss Jane Baxter. She opened her eyes upon the new-born day,\nand her first thoughts were of Mr. Parcher. That is, he was already\nin her mind when she awoke, a circumstance to be accounted for on the\nground that his conversation, during her quiet convalescence in his\nlibrary, had so fascinated her that in all likelihood she had been\ndreaming of him. Then, too, Jane and Mr. Parcher had a bond in common,\nthough Mr. Parcher did not know it. Not without result had William\nrepeated Miss Pratt's inquiry in Jane's hearing: \"Who IS that curious\nchild?\" Jane had preserved her sang-froid, but the words remained with\nher, for she was one of those who ponder and retain in silence.\n\nShe thought almost exclusively of Mr. Parcher until breakfast-time, and\nresumed her thinking of him at intervals during the morning. Then, in\nthe afternoon, a series of quiet events not unconnected with William's\npassion caused her to think of Mr. Parcher more poignantly than ever;\nnor was her mind diverted to a different channel by another confidential\nconversation with her mother. Who can say, then, that it was not by\ndesign that she came face to face with Mr. Parcher on the public highway\nat about five o'clock that afternoon? Everything urges the belief that\nshe deliberately set herself in his path.\n\nMr. Parcher was walking home from his office, and he walked slowly,\ngulping from time to time, as he thought of the inevitable evening\nbefore him. His was not a rugged constitution, and for the last\nfortnight or so he had feared that it was giving way altogether. Each\nevening he felt that he was growing weaker, and sometimes he thought\npiteously that he might go away for a while. He did not much care where,\nthough what appealed to him most, curiously enough, was not the thought\nof the country, with the flowers and little birds; no, what allured him\nwas the idea that perhaps he could find lodgment for a time in an Old\nPeople's Home, where the minimum age for inmates was about eighty.\n\nWalking more and more slowly, as he approached the dwelling he had once\nthought of as home, he became aware of a little girl in a checkered\ndress approaching him at a gait varied by the indifferent behavior of\na barrel-hoop which she was disciplining with a stick held in her\nright hand. When the hoop behaved well, she came ahead rapidly; when it\naffected to be intoxicated, which was most often its whim, she zigzagged\nwith it, and gained little ground. But all the while, and without\nreference to what went on concerning the hoop, she slowly and\ncontinuously fed herself (with her left hand) small, solemnly relished\nbites of a slice of bread-and-butter covered with apple sauce and\npowdered sugar.\n\nMr. Parcher looked upon her, and he shivered slightly; for he knew her\nto be Willie Baxter's sister.\n\nUnaware of the emotion she produced in him, Jane checked her hoop and\nhalted.\n\n\"G'd afternoon, Mister Parcher,\" she said, gravely.\n\n\"Good afternoon,\" he returned, without much spirit.\n\nJane looked up at him trustfully and with a strange, unconscious\nfondness. \"You goin' home now, Mr. Parcher?\" she asked, turning to\nwalk at his side. She had suspended the hoop over her left arm and\ntransferred the bread-and-butter and apple sauce and sugar to her right,\nso that she could eat even more conveniently than before.\n\n\"I suppose so,\" he murmured.\n\n\"My brother Willie's been at your house all afternoon,\" she remarked.\n\nHe repeated, \"I suppose so,\" but in a tone which combined the vocal\ntokens of misery and of hopeless animosity.\n\n\"He just went home,\" said Jane. \"I was 'cross the street from your\nhouse, but I guess he didn't see me. He kept lookin' back at your house.\nMiss Pratt was on the porch.\"\n\n\"I suppose so.\" This time it was a moan.\n\nJane proceeded to give him some information. \"My brother Willie isn't\ncomin' back to your house to-night, but he doesn't know it yet.\"\n\n\"What!\" exclaimed Mr. Parcher.\n\n\"Willie isn't goin' to spend any more evenings at your house at all,\"\nsaid Jane, thoughtfully. \"He isn't, but he doesn't know it yet.\"\n\nMr. Parcher gazed fixedly at the wonderful child, and something like\na ray of sunshine flickered over his seamed and harried face. \"Are you\nSURE he isn't?\" he said. \"What makes you think so?\"\n\n\"I know he isn't,\" said demure Jane. \"It's on account of somep'm I told\nmamma.\"\n\nAnd upon this a gentle glow began to radiate throughout Mr. Parcher. A\nnew feeling budded within his bosom; he was warmly attracted to Jane.\nShe was evidently a child to be cherished, and particularly to be\nencouraged in the line of conduct she seemed to have adopted. He wished\nthe Bullitt and Watson families each had a little girl like this. Still,\nif what she said of William proved true, much had been gained and life\nmight be tolerable, after all.\n\n\"He'll come in the afternoons, I guess,\" said Jane. \"But you aren't\nhome then, Mr. Parcher, except late like you were that day of the\nSunday-school class. It was on account of what you said that day. I told\nmamma.\"\n\n\"Told your mamma what?\"\n\n\"What you said.\"\n\nMr. Parcher's perplexity continued. \"What about?\"\n\n\"About Willie. YOU know!\" Jane smiled fraternally.\n\n\"No, I don't.\"\n\n\"It was when I was layin' in the liberry, that day of the Sunday-school\nclass,\" Jane told him. \"You an' Mrs. Parcher was talkin' in there about\nMiss Pratt an' Willie an' everything.\"\n\n\"Good heavens!\" Mr. Parcher, summoning his memory, had placed the\noccasion and Jane together. \"Did you HEAR all that?\"\n\n\"Yes.\" Jane nodded. \"I told mamma all what you said.\"\n\n\"Murder!\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Jane, \"I guess it's good I did, because look--that's the\nvery reason mamma did somep'm so's he can't come any more except in\ndaytime. I guess she thought Willie oughtn't to behave so's't you said\nso many things about him like that; so to-day she did somep'm, an' now\nhe can't come any more to behave that loving way of Miss Pratt that you\nsaid you would be in the lunatic asylum if he didn't quit. But he hasn't\nfound it out yet.\"\n\n\"Found what out, please?\" asked Mr. Parcher, feeling more affection for\nJane every moment.\n\n\"He hasn't found out he can't come back to your house to-night; an' he\ncan't come back to-morrow night, nor day-after-to-morrow night, nor--\"\n\n\"Is it because your mamma is going to tell him he can't?\"\n\n\"No, Mr. Parcher. Mamma says he's too old--an' she said she didn't like\nto, anyway. She just DID somep'm.\"\n\n\"What? What did she do?\"\n\n\"It's a secret,\" said Jane. \"I could tell you the first part of it--up\nto where the secret begins, I expect.\"\n\n\"Do!\" Mr. Parcher urged.\n\n\"Well, it's about somep'm Willie's been WEARIN',\" Jane began, moving\ncloser to him as they slowly walked onward. \"I can't tell you what they\nwere, because that's the secret--but he had 'em on him every evening\nwhen he came to see Miss Pratt, but they belong to papa, an' papa\ndoesn't know a word about it. Well, one evening papa wanted to put 'em\non, because he had a right to, Mr. Parcher, an' Willie didn't have any\nright to at all, but mamma couldn't find 'em; an' she rummidged an'\nrummidged 'most all next day an' pretty near every day since then an'\nnever did find 'em, until don't you believe I saw Willie inside of 'em\nonly last night! He was startin' over to your house to see Miss Pratt in\n'em! So I told mamma, an' she said it 'd haf to be a secret, so that's\nwhy I can't tell you what they were. Well, an' then this afternoon,\nearly, I was with her, an' she said, long as I had told her the secret\nin the first place, I could come in Willie's room with her, an' we both\nwere already in there anyway, 'cause I was kind of thinkin' maybe she'd\ngo in there to look for 'em, Mr. Parcher--\"\n\n\"I see,\" he said, admiringly. \"I see.\"\n\n\"Well, they were under Willie's window-seat, all folded up; an' mamma\nsaid she wondered what she better do, an' she was worried because she\ndidn't like to have Willie behave so's you an' Mrs. Parcher thought that\nway about him. So she said the--the secret--what Willie wears, you\nknow, but they're really papa's an' aren't Willie's any more'n they're\nMINE--well, she said the secret was gettin' a little teeny bit too tight\nfor papa, but she guessed they--I mean the secret--she said she guessed\nit was already pretty loose for Willie; so she wrapped it up, an' I\nwent with her, an' we took 'em to a tailor, an' she told him to make 'em\nbigger, for a surprise for papa, 'cause then they'll fit him again, Mr.\nParcher. She said he must make 'em a whole lot bigger. She said he must\nlet 'em way, WAY out! So I guess Willie would look too funny in 'em\nafter they're fixed; an' anyway, Mr. Parcher, the secret won't be home\nfrom the tailor's for two weeks, an' maybe by that time Miss Pratt'll be\ngone.\"\n\nThey had reached Mr. Parcher's gate; he halted and looked down fondly\nupon this child who seemed to have read his soul. \"Do you honestly think\nso?\" he asked.\n\n\"Well, anyway, Mr. Parcher,\" said Jane, \"mamma said--well, she said\nshe's sure Willie wouldn't come here in the evening any more when YOU're\nat home, Mr. Parcher--'cause after he'd been wearin' the secret every\nnight this way he wouldn't like to come and not have the secret on.\nMamma said the reason he would feel like that was because he was\nseventeen years old. An' she isn't goin' to tell him anything about it,\nMr. Parcher. She said that's the best way.\"\n\nHer new friend nodded and seemed to agree. \"I suppose that's what you\nmeant when you said he wasn't coming back but didn't know it yet?\"\n\n\"Yes, Mr. Parcher.\"\n\nHe rested an elbow upon the gate-post, gazing down with ever-increasing\nesteem. \"Of course I know your last name,\" he said, \"but I'm afraid I've\nforgotten your other one.\"\n\n\"It's Jane.\"\n\n\"Jane,\" said Mr. Parcher, \"I should like to do something for you.\"\n\nJane looked down, and with eyes modestly lowered she swallowed the last\nfragment of the bread-and-butter and apple sauce and sugar which had\nbeen the constantly evanescent companion of their little walk together.\nShe was not mercenary; she had sought no reward.\n\n\"Well, I guess I must run home,\" she said. And with one lift of her\neyes to his and a shy laugh--laughter being a rare thing for Jane--she\nscampered quickly to the corner and was gone.\n\nBut though she cared for no reward, the extraordinary restlessness of\nWilliam, that evening, after dinner, must at least have been of great\ninterest to her. He ascended to his own room directly from the table,\nbut about twenty minutes later came down to the library, where Jane\nwas sitting (her privilege until half after seven) with her father and\nmother. William looked from one to the other of his parents and seemed\nabout to speak, but did not do so. Instead, he departed for the upper\nfloor again and presently could be heard moving about energetically in\nvarious parts of the house, a remote thump finally indicating that he\nwas doing something with a trunk in the attic.\n\nAfter that he came down to the library again and once more seemed about\nto speak, but did not. Then he went up-stairs again, and came down\nagain, and he was still repeating this process when Jane's time-limit\nwas reached and she repaired conscientiously to her little bed. Her\nmother came to hear her prayers and to turn out the light; and--when\nMrs. Baxter had passed out into the hall, after that, Jane heard\nher speaking to William, who was now conducting what seemed to be\nexcavations on a serious scale in his own room.\n\n\"Oh, Willie, perhaps I didn't tell you, but--you remember I'd been\nmissing papa's evening clothes and looking everywhere for days and\ndays?\"\n\n\"Ye--es,\" huskily from William.\n\n\"Well, I found them! And where do you suppose I'd put them? I found\nthem under your window-seat. Can you think of anything more absurd than\nputting them there and then forgetting it? I took them to the tailor's\nto have them let out. They were getting too tight for papa, but they'll\nbe all right for him when the tailor sends them back.\"\n\nWhat the stricken William gathered from this it is impossible to state\nwith accuracy; probably he mixed some perplexity with his emotions.\nCertainly he was perplexed the following evening at dinner.\n\nJane did not appear at the table. \"Poor child! she's sick in bed,\" Mrs.\nBaxter explained to her husband. \"I was out, this afternoon, and she ate\nnearly ALL of a five-pound box of candy.\"\n\nBoth the sad-eyed William and his father were dumfounded. \"Where on\nearth did she get a five-pound box of candy?\" Mr. Baxter demanded.\n\n\"I'm afraid Jane has begun her first affair,\" said Mrs. Baxter. \"A\ngentleman sent it to her.\"\n\n\"What gentleman?\" gasped William.\n\nAnd in his mother's eyes, as they slowly came to rest on his in reply,\nhe was aware of an inscrutability strongly remindful of that inscrutable\nlook of Jane's.\n\n\"Mr. Parcher,\" she said, gently.\n\n\n\n\nXII\n\nPROGRESS OF THE SYMPTOMS\n\nMrs. BAXTER'S little stroke of diplomacy had gone straight to the mark,\nshe was a woman of insight. For every reason she was well content to\nhave her son spend his evenings at home, though it cannot be claimed\nthat his presence enlivened the household, his condition being one of\nstrange, trancelike irascibility. Evening after evening passed, while\nhe sat dreaming painfully of Mr. Parcher's porch; but in the daytime,\nthough William did not literally make hay while the sun shone, he at\nleast gathered a harvest somewhat resembling hay in general character.\n\nThus:\n\nOne afternoon, having locked his door to secure himself against\nintrusion on the part of his mother or Jane, William seated himself at\nhis writing-table, and from a drawer therein took a small cardboard box,\nwhich he uncovered, placing the contents in view before him upon the\ntable. (How meager, how chilling a word is \"contents\"!) In the box were:\n\nA faded rose.\n\nSeveral other faded roses, disintegrated into leaves.\n\nThree withered \"four-leaf clovers.\"\n\nA white ribbon still faintly smelling of violets.\n\nA small silver shoe-buckle.\n\nA large pearl button.\n\nA small pearl button.\n\nA tortoise-shell hair-pin.\n\nA cross-section from the heel of a small slipper.\n\nA stringy remnant, probably once an improvised wreath of daisies.\n\nFour or five withered dandelions.\n\nOther dried vegetation, of a nature now indistinguishable.\n\nWilliam gazed reverently upon this junk of precious souvenirs; then\nfrom the inner pocket of his coat he brought forth, warm and crumpled,\na lumpish cluster of red geranium blossoms, still aromatic and not quite\ndead, though naturally, after three hours of such intimate confinement,\nthey wore an unmistakable look of suffering. With a tenderness which\nhis family had never observed in him since that piteous day in his fifth\nyear when he tried to mend his broken doll, William laid the geranium\nblossoms in the cardboard box among the botanical and other relics.\n\nHis gentle eyes showed what the treasures meant to him, and yet it\nwas strange that they should have meant so much, because the source of\nsupply was not more than a quarter of a mile distant, and practically\ninexhaustible. Miss Pratt had now been a visitor at the Parchers'\nfor something less than five weeks, but she had made no mention of\nprospective departure, and there was every reason to suppose that she\nmeant to remain all summer. And as any foliage or anything whatever that\nshe touched, or that touched her, was thenceforth suitable for William's\nmuseum, there appeared to be some probability that autumn might see it\nso enlarged as to lack that rarity in the component items which is the\nunderlying value of most collections.\n\nWilliam's writing-table was beside an open window, through which came an\ninsistent whirring, unagreeable to his mood; and, looking down upon the\nsunny lawn, he beheld three lowly creatures. One was Genesis; he was\ncutting the grass. Another was Clematis; he had assumed a transient\nattitude, curiously triangular, in order to scratch his ear, the while\nhis anxious eyes never wavered from the third creature.\n\nThis was Jane. In one hand she held a little stack of sugar-sprinkled\nwafers, which she slowly but steadily depleted, unconscious of the\nincreasingly earnest protest, at last nearing agony, in the eyes of\nClematis. Wearing unaccustomed garments of fashion and festivity,\nJane stood, in speckless, starchy white and a blue sash, watching\nthe lawn-mower spout showers of grass as the powerful Genesis easily\npropelled it along over lapping lanes, back and forth, across the yard.\n\nFrom a height of illimitable loftiness the owner of the cardboard\ntreasury looked down upon the squat commonplaceness of those three\nlives. The condition of Jane and Genesis and Clematis seemed almost\nlaughably pitiable to him, the more so because they were unaware of it.\nThey breathed not the starry air that William breathed, but what did it\nmatter to them? The wretched things did not even know that they meant\nnothing to Miss Pratt!\n\nClematis found his ear too pliable for any great solace from his foot,\nbut he was not disappointed; he had expected little, and his thoughts\nwere elsewhere. Rising, he permitted his nose to follow his troubled\neyes, with the result that it touched the rim of the last wafer in\nJane's external possession.\n\nThis incident annoyed William. \"Look there!\" he called from the window.\n\"You mean to eat that cake after the dog's had his face on it?\"\n\nJane remained placid. \"It wasn't his face.\"\n\n\"Well, if it wasn't his face, I'd like to know what--\"\n\n\"It wasn't his face,\" Jane repeated. \"It was his nose. It wasn't all of\nhis nose touched it, either. It was only a little outside piece of his\nnose.\"\n\n\"Well, are you going to eat that cake, I ask you?\"\n\nJane broke off a small bit of the wafer. She gave the bit to Clematis\nand slowly ate what remained, continuing to watch Genesis and apparently\nunconscious of the scorching gaze from the window.\n\n\"I never saw anything as disgusting as long as I've lived!\" William\nannounced. \"I wouldn't 'a' believed it if anybody'd told me a sister of\nmine would eat after--\"\n\n\"I didn't,\" said Jane. \"I like Clematis, anyway.\"\n\n\"Ye gods!\" her brother cried. \"Do you think that makes it any better?\nAnd, BY the WAY,\" he continued, in a tone of even greater severity, \"I'd\na like to know where you got those cakes. Where'd you get 'em, I'd just\nlike to inquire?\"\n\n\"In the pantry.\" Jane turned and moved toward the house. \"I'm goin' in\nfor some more, now.\"\n\nWilliam uttered a cry; these little cakes were sacred. His mother,\ngrowing curious to meet a visiting lady of whom (so to speak) she had\nheard much and thought more, had asked May Parcher to bring her guest\nfor iced tea, that afternoon. A few others of congenial age had been\ninvited: there was to be a small matinee, in fact, for the honor and\npleasure of the son of the house, and the cakes of Jane's onslaught\nwere part of Mrs. Baxter's preparations. There was no telling where\nJane would stop; it was conceivable that Miss Pratt herself might go\nwaferless.\n\nWilliam returned the cardboard box to its drawer with reverent haste;\nthen, increasing the haste, but dropping the reverence, he hied himself\nto the pantry with such advantage of longer legs that within the minute\nhe and the wafers appeared in conjunction before his mother, who was\narranging fruit and flowers upon a table in the \"living-room.\"\n\nWilliam entered in the stained-glass attitude of one bearing gifts.\nOverhead, both hands supported a tin pan, well laden with small\ncakes and wafers, for which Jane was silently but repeatedly and\nsystematically jumping. Even under the stress of these efforts her\nexpression was cool and collected; she maintained the self-possession\nthat was characteristic of her.\n\nNot so with William; his cheeks were flushed, his eyes indignant. \"You\nsee what this child is doing?\" he demanded. \"Are you going to let her\nruin everything?\"\n\n\"Ruin?\" Mrs. Baxter repeated, absently, refreshing with fair water a\nbowl of flowers upon the table. \"Ruin?\"\n\n\"Yes, ruin!\" William was hotly emphatic, \"If you don't do something with\nher it 'll all be ruined before Miss Pr-- before they even get here!\"\n\nMrs. Baxter laughed. \"Set the pan down, Willie.\"\n\n\"Set it DOWN?\" he echoed, incredulously \"With that child in the room and\ngrabbing like--\"\n\n\"There!\" Mrs. Baxter took the pan from him, placed it upon a chair, and\nwith the utmost coolness selected five wafers and gave them to Jane.\n\"I'd already promised her she could have five more. You know the doctor\nsaid Jane's digestion was the finest he'd ever misunderstood. They won't\nhurt her at all, Willie.\"\n\nThis deliberate misinterpretation of his motives made it difficult for\nWilliam to speak. \"Do YOU think,\" he began, hoarsely, \"do you THINK--\"\n\n\"They're so small, too,\" Mrs. Baxter went on. \"SHE probably wouldn't be\nsick if she ate them all.\"\n\n\"My heavens!\" he burst forth. \"Do you think I was worrying about--\" He\nbroke off, unable to express himself save by a few gestures of despair.\nAgain finding his voice, and a great deal of it, he demanded: \"Do you\nrealize that Miss PRATT will be here within less than half an hour? What\ndo you suppose she'd think of the people of this town if she was invited\nout, expecting decent treatment, and found two-thirds of the cakes eaten\nup before she got there, and what was left of 'em all mauled and pawed\nover and crummy and chewed-up lookin' from some wretched CHILD?\" Here\nWilliam became oratorical, but not with marked effect, since Jane\nregarded him with unmoved eyes, while Mrs. Baxter continued to be mildly\npreoccupied in arranging the table. In fact, throughout this episode\nin controversy the ladies' party had not only the numerical but the\nemotional advantage. Obviously, the approach of Miss Pratt was not to\nthem what it was to William. \"I tell you,\" he declaimed;--\"yes, I tell\nyou that it wouldn't take much of this kind of thing to make Miss Pratt\nthink the people of this town were--well, it wouldn't take much to make\nher think the people of this town hadn't learned much of how to\nbehave in society and were pretty uncilivized!\" He corrected himself.\n\"Uncivilized! And to think Miss Pratt has to find that out in MY house!\nTo think--\"\n\n\"Now, Willie,\" said Mrs. Baxter, gently, \"you'd better go up and brush\nyour hair again before your friends come. You mustn't let yourself get\nso excited.\"\n\n\"'Excited!'\" he cried, incredulously. \"Do you think I'm EXCITED?\nYe gods!\" He smote his hands together and, in his despair of her\nintelligence, would have flung himself down upon a chair, but was\narrested half-way by simultaneous loud outcries from his mother and\nJane.\n\n\"Don't sit on the CAKES!\" they both screamed.\n\nSaving himself and the pan of wafers by a supreme contortion at the last\ninstant, William decided to remain upon his feet. \"What do I care for\nthe cakes?\" he demanded, contemptuously, beginning to pace the floor.\n\"It's the question of principle I'm talking about! Do you think it's\nright to give the people of this town a poor name when strangers like\nMiss PRATT come to vis--\"\n\n\"Willie!\" His mother looked at him hopelessly. \"Do go and brush your\nhair. If you could see how you've tousled it you would.\"\n\nHe gave her a dazed glance and strode from the room.\n\nJane looked after him placidly. \"Didn't he talk funny!\" she murmured.\n\n\"Yes, dear,\" said Mrs. Baxter. She shook her head and uttered the\nenigmatic words, \"They do.\"\n\n\"I mean Willie, mamma,\" said Jane. \"If it's anything about Miss Pratt.\nhe always talks awful funny. Don't you think Willie talks awful funny if\nit's anything about Miss Pratt, mamma?\"\n\n\"Yes, but--\"\n\n\"What, mamma?\" Jane asked as her mother paused.\n\n\"Well--it happens. People do get like that at his age, Jane.\"\n\n\"Does everybody?\"\n\n\"No, I suppose not everybody. Just some.\"\n\nJane's interest was roused. \"Well, do those that do, mamma,\" she\ninquired, \"do they all act like Willie?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Mrs. Baxter. \"That's the trouble; you can't tell what's\ncoming.\"\n\nJane nodded. \"I think I know,\" she said. \"You mean Willie--\"\n\nWilliam himself interrupted her. He returned violently to the doorway,\nhis hair still tousled, and, standing upon the threshold, said, sternly:\n\n\"What is that child wearing her best dress for?\"\n\n\"Willie!\" Mrs. Baxter cried. \"Go brush your hair!\"\n\n\"I wish to know what that child is all dressed up for?\" he insisted.\n\n\"To please you! Don't you want her to look her best at your tea?\"\n\n\"I thought that was it!\" he cried, and upon this confirmation of his\nworst fears he did increased violence to his rumpled hair. \"I suspected\nit, but I wouldn't 'a' believed it! You mean to let this child--you\nmean to let--\" Here his agitation affected his throat and his utterance\nbecame clouded. A few detached phrases fell from him: \"--Invite MY\nfriends--children's party--ye gods!--think Miss Pratt plays dolls--\"\n\n\"Jane will be very good,\" his mother said. \"I shouldn't think of not\nhaving her, Willie, and you needn't bother about your friends; they'll\nbe very glad to see her. They all know her, except Miss Pratt, perhaps,\nand--\" Mrs. Baxter paused; then she asked, absently: \"By the way,\nhaven't I heard somewhere that she likes pretending to be a little girl,\nherself?\"\n\n\"WHAT!\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Mrs. Baxter, remaining calm; \"I'm sure I've heard somewhere\nthat she likes to talk 'baby-talk.'\"\n\nUpon this a tremor passed over William, after which he became rigid.\n\"You ask a lady to your house,\" he began, \"and even before she gets\nhere, before you've even seen her, you pass judgment upon one of\nthe--one of the noblest--\"\n\n\"Good gracious! _I_ haven't 'passed judgment.' If she does talk\n'baby-talk,' I imagine she does it very prettily, and I'm sure I've\nno objection. And if she does do it, why should you be insulted by my\nmentioning it?\"\n\n\"It was the way you said it,\" he informed her, icily.\n\n\"Good gracious! I just said it!\" Mrs. Baxter laughed, and then,\nprobably a little out of patience with him, she gave way to that innate\nmischievousness in such affairs which is not unknown to her sex. \"You\nsee, Willie, if she pretends to be a cunning little girl, it will be\nhelpful to Jane to listen and learn how.\"\n\nWilliam uttered a cry; he knew that he was struck, but he was not sure\nhow or where. He was left with a blank mind and no repartee. Again he\ndashed from the room.\n\nIn the hall, near the open front door, he came to a sudden halt,\nand Mrs. Baxter and Jane heard him calling loudly to the industrious\nGenesis:\n\n\"Here! You go cut the grass in the back yard, and for Heaven's sake,\ntake that dog with you!\"\n\n\"Grass awready cut roun' back,\" responded the amiable voice of Genesis,\nwhile the lawnmower ceased not to whir. \"Cut all 'at back yod 's\nmawnin'.\"\n\n\"Well, you can't cut the front yard now. Go around in the back yard and\ntake that dog with you.\"\n\n\"Nemmine 'bout 'at back yod! Ole Clem ain' trouble nobody.\"\n\n\"You hear what I tell you?\" William shouted. \"You do what I say and you\ndo it quick!\"\n\nGenesis laughed gaily. \"I got my grass to cut!\"\n\n\"You decline to do what I command you?\" William roared.\n\n\"Yes, indeedy! Who pay me my wages? 'At's MY boss. You' ma say,\n'Genesis, you git all 'at lawn mowed b'fo' sundown.' No, suh! Nee'n'\nwas'e you' bref on me, 'cause I'm got all MY time good an' took up!\"\n\nOnce more William presented himself fatefully to his mother and Jane.\n\"May I just kindly ask you to look out in the front yard?\"\n\n\"I'm familiar with it, Willie,\" Mrs. Baxter returned, a little wearily.\n\n\"I mean I want you to look at Genesis.\"\n\n\"I'm familiar with his appearance, too,\" she said. \"Why in the world do\nyou mind his cutting the grass?\"\n\nWilliam groaned. \"Do you honestly want guests coming to this house\nto see that awful old darky out there and know that HE'S the kind of\nservants we employ? Ye gods!\"\n\n\"Why, Genesis is just a neighborhood outdoors darky, Willie; he works\nfor half a dozen families besides us. Everybody in this part of town\nknows him.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he cried, \"but a lady that didn't live here wouldn't. Ye gods!\nWhat do you suppose she WOULD think? You know what he's got on!\"\n\n\"It's a sort of sleeveless jersey he wears, Willie, I think.\"\n\n\"No, you DON'T think that!\" he cried, with great bitterness. \"You know\nit's not a jersey! You know perfectly well what it is, and yet you\nexpect to keep him out there when--when one of the one of the nobl--when\nmy friends arrive! And they'll think that's our DOG out there, won't\nthey? When intelligent people come to a house and see a dog sitting out\nin front, they think it's the family in the house's dog, don't they?\"\nWilliam's condition becoming more and more disordered, he paced the\nroom, while his agony rose to a climax. \"Ye gods! What do you think Miss\nPratt will think of the people of this town, when she's invited to meet\na few of my friends and the first thing she sees is a nigger in his\nundershirt? What 'll she think when she finds that child's eaten up half\nthe food, and the people have to explain that the dog in the front\nyard belongs to the darky--\" He interrupted himself with a groan: \"And\nprob'ly she wouldn't believe it. Anybody'd SAY they didn't own a dog\nlike that! And that's what you want her to see, before she even gets\ninside the house! Instead of a regular gardener in livery like we ought\nto have, and a bulldog or a good Airedale or a fox-hound, or something,\nthe first things you want intelligent people from out of town to see are\nthat awful old darky and his mongrel scratchin' fleas and like as not\nlettin' 'em get on other people! THAT'd be nice, wouldn't it? Go out to\ntea expecting decent treatment and get fl--\"\n\n\"WILLIE!\"\n\nMrs. Baxter managed to obtain his attention. \"If you'll go and brush\nyour hair I'll send Genesis and Clematis away for the rest of the\nafternoon. And then if you 'll sit down quietly and try to keep cool\nuntil your friends get here, I'll--\"\n\n\"'Quietly'!\" he echoed, shaking his head over this mystery. \"I'm the\nonly one that IS quiet around here. Things 'd be in a fine condition to\nreceive guests if I didn't keep pretty cool, I guess!\"\n\n\"There, there,\" she said, soothingly. \"Go and brush your hair. And\nchange your collar, Willie; it's all wilted. I'll send Genesis away.\"\n\nHis wandering eye failed to meet hers with any intelligence. \"Collar,\"\nhe muttered, as if in soliloquy. \"Collar.\"\n\n\"Change it!\" said Mrs. Baxter, raising her voice. \"It's WILTED.\"\n\nHe departed in a dazed manner.\n\nPassing through the hall, he paused abruptly, his eye having fallen\nwith sudden disapproval upon a large, heavily framed, glass-covered\nengraving, \"The Battle of Gettysburg,\" which hung upon the wall, near\nthe front door. Undeniably, it was a picture feeble in decorative\nquality; no doubt, too, William was right in thinking it as unworthy of\nMiss Pratt, as were Jane and Genesis and Clematis. He felt that she must\nnever see it, especially as the frame had been chipped and had a corner\nbroken, but it was more pleasantly effective where he found it than\nwhere (in his nervousness) he left it. A few hasty jerks snapped the\nelderly green cords by which it was suspended; then he laid the picture\nupon the floor and with his handkerchief made a curious labyrinth\nof avenues in the large oblong area of fine dust which this removal\ndisclosed upon the wall. Pausing to wipe his hot brow with the same\nimplement, he remembered that some one had made allusions to his collar\nand hair, whereupon he sprang to the stairs, mounted two at a time,\nrushed into his own room, and confronted his streaked image in the\nmirror.\n\n\n\n\nXIII\n\nAT HOME TO HIS FRIENDS\n\nAfter ablutions, he found his wet hair plastic, and easily obtained the\nlong, even sweep backward from the brow, lacking which no male person,\nunless bald, fulfilled his definition of a man of the world. But\nthere ensued a period of vehemence and activity caused by a bent\ncollar-button, which went on strike with a desperation that was\ndownright savage. The day was warm and William was warmer; moisture\nbedewed him afresh. Belated victory no sooner arrived than he perceived\na fatal dimpling of the new collar, and was forced to begin the\noperation of exchanging it for a successor. Another exchange, however,\nhe unfortunately forgot to make: the handkerchief with which he had\nwiped the wall remained in his pocket.\n\nVoices from below, making polite laughter, warned him that already some\nof the bidden party had arrived, and, as he completed the fastening of\nhis third consecutive collar, an ecstasy of sound reached him through\nthe open window--and then, Oh then! his breath behaved in an abnormal\nmanner and he began to tremble. It was the voice of Miss Pratt, no less!\n\nHe stopped for one heart-struck look from his casement. All in fluffy\nwhite and heliotrope she was--a blonde rapture floating over the\nsidewalk toward William's front gate. Her little white cottony dog, with\na heliotrope ribbon round his neck, bobbed his head over her cuddling\narm; a heliotrope parasol shielded her infinitesimally from the amorous\nsun. Poor William!\n\nTwo youths entirely in William's condition of heart accompanied the\nglamorous girl and hung upon her rose-leaf lips, while Miss Parcher\nappeared dimly upon the outskirts of the group, the well-known penalty\nfor hostesses who entertain such radiance. Probably it serves them\nright.\n\nTo William's reddening ear Miss Pratt's voice came clearly as the\nchiming of tiny bells, for she spoke whimsically to her little dog in\nthat tinkling childlike fashion which was part of the spell she cast.\n\n\"Darlin' Flopit,\" she said, \"wake up! Oo tummin' to tea-potty wiz all de\ndrowed-ups. P'eshus Flopit, wake up!\"\n\nDizzy with enchantment, half suffocated, his heart melting within him,\nWilliam turned from the angelic sounds and fairy vision of the window.\nHe ran out of the room, and plunged down the front stairs. And the next\nmoment the crash of breaking glass and the loud thump-bump of a heavily\nfalling human body resounded through the house.\n\nMrs. Baxter, alarmed, quickly excused herself from the tea-table, round\nwhich were gathered four or five young people, and hastened to the front\nhall, followed by Jane. Through the open door were seen Miss Pratt, Miss\nParcher, Mr. Johnnie Watson and Mr. Joe Bullitt coming leisurely up the\nsunny front walk, laughing and unaware of the catastrophe which had just\noccurred within the shadows of the portal. And at a little distance from\nthe foot of the stairs William was seated upon the prostrate \"Battle of\nGettysburg.\"\n\n\"It slid,\" he said, hoarsely. \"I carried it upstairs with me\"--he\nbelieved this--\"and somebody brought it down and left it lying flat on\nthe floor by the bottom step on purpose to trip me! I stepped on it and\nit slid.\" He was in a state of shock: it seemed important to impress\nupon his mother the fact that the picture had not remained firmly in\nplace when he stepped upon it. \"It SLID, I tell you!\"\n\n\"Get up, Willie!\" she urged, under her breath, and as he summoned\nenough presence of mind to obey, she beheld ruins other than the wrecked\nengraving. She stifled a cry. \"WILLIE! Did the glass cut you?\"\n\nHe felt himself. \"No'm.\"\n\n\"It did your trousers! You'll have to change them. Hurry!\"\n\nSome of William's normal faculties were restored to him by one hasty\nglance at the back of his left leg, which had a dismantled appearance. A\nlong blue strip of cloth hung there, with white showing underneath.\n\n\"HURRY!\" said Mrs. Baxter. And hastily gathering some fragments of\nglass, she dropped them upon the engraving, pushed it out of the way,\nand went forward to greet Miss Pratt and her attendants.\n\nAs for William, he did not even pause to close his mouth, but fled with\nit open. Upward he sped, unseen, and came to a breathless halt upon the\nlanding at the top of the stairs.\n\nAs it were in a dream he heard his mother's hospitable greetings at the\ndoor, and then the little party lingered in the hall, detained by Miss\nPratt's discovery of Jane.\n\n\"Oh, tweetums tootums ickle dirl!\" he heard the ravishing voice exclaim.\n\"Oh, tootums ickle blue sash!\"\n\n\"It cost a dollar and eighty-nine cents,\" said Jane. \"Willie sat on the\ncakes.\"\n\n\"Oh no, he didn't,\" Mrs. Baxter laughed. \"He didn't QUITE!\"\n\n\"He had to go up-stairs,\" said Jane. And as the stricken listener above\nsmote his forehead, she added placidly, \"He tore a hole in his clo'es.\"\n\nShe seemed about to furnish details, her mood being communicative, but\nMrs. Baxter led the way into the \"living-room\"; the hall was vacated,\nand only the murmur of voices and laughter reached William. What\ndescriptive information Jane may have added was spared his hearing,\nwhich was a mercy.\n\nAnd yet it may be that he could not have felt worse than he did; for\nthere IS nothing worse than to be seventeen and to hear one of the\nNoblest girls in the world told by a little child that you sat on the\ncakes and tore a hole in your clo'es.\n\nWilliam leaned upon the banister railing and thought thoughts about\nJane. For several long, seething moments he thought of her exclusively.\nThen, spurred by the loud laughter of rivals and the agony of knowing\nthat even in his own house they were monopolizing the attention of one\nof the Noblest, he hastened into his own, room and took account of his\nreverses.\n\nStanding with his back to the mirror, he obtained over his shoulder\na view of his trousers which caused him to break out in a fresh\nperspiration. Again he wiped his forehead with the handkerchief, and the\nresult was instantly visible in the mirror.\n\nThe air thickened with sounds of frenzy, followed by a torrential roar\nand great sputterings in a bath-room, which tumult subsiding, William\nreturned at a tragic gallop to his room and, having removed his\ntrousers, began a feverish examination of the garments hanging in a\nclothes-closet. There were two pairs of flannel trousers which would\nprobably again be white and possible, when cleaned and pressed, but a\nglance showed that until then they were not to be considered as even\nthe last resort of desperation. Beside them hung his \"last year's summer\nsuit\" of light gray.\n\nFeverishly he brought it forth, threw off his coat, and then--deflected\nby another glance at the mirror--began to change his collar again.\nThis was obviously necessary, and to quicken the process he decided\nto straighten the bent collar-button. Using a shoe-horn as a lever,\nhe succeeded in bringing the little cap or head of the button into its\nproper plane, but, unfortunately, his final effort dislodged the cap\nfrom the rod between it and the base, and it flew off malignantly\ninto space. Here was a calamity; few things are more useless than a\ndecapitated collar-button, and William had no other. He had made\nsure that it was his last before he put it on, that day; also he\nhad ascertained that there was none in, on, or about his father's\ndressing-table. Finally, in the possession of neither William nor his\nfather was there a shirt with an indigenous collar.\n\nFor decades, collar-buttons have been on the hand-me-down shelves of\nhumor; it is a mistake in the catalogue. They belong to pathos. They\nhave done harm in the world, and there have been collar-buttons that\nfailed when the destinies of families hung upon them. There have\nbeen collar-buttons that thwarted proper matings. There have been\ncollar-buttons that bore last hopes, and, falling to the floor,\nNEVER were found! William's broken collar-button was really the only\ncollar-button in the house, except such as were engaged in serving his\nmale guests below.\n\nAt first he did not realize the extent of his misfortune. How could he?\nFate is always expected to deal its great blows in the grand manner.\nBut our expectations are fustian spangled with pinchbeck; we look for\ntragedy to be theatrical. Meanwhile, every day before our eyes, fate\nworks on, employing for its instruments the infinitesimal, the ignoble\nand the petty--in a word, collar-buttons.\n\nOf course William searched his dressing-table and his father's, although\nhe had been thoroughly over both once before that day. Next he went\nthrough most of his mother's and Jane's accessories to the\ntoilette; through trinket-boxes, glove-boxes, hairpin-boxes,\nhandkerchief-cases--even through sewing-baskets. Utterly he convinced\nhimself that ladies not only use no collar-buttons, but also never pick\nthem up and put them away among their own belongings. How much time he\nconsumed in this search is difficult to reckon;--it is almost impossible\nto believe that there is absolutely no collar-button in a house.\n\nAnd what William's state of mind had become is matter for exorbitant\nconjecture. Jane, arriving at his locked door upon an errand, was bidden\nby a thick, unnatural voice to depart.\n\n\"Mamma says, 'What in mercy's name is the matter?'\" Jane called. \"She\nwhispered to me, 'Go an' see what in mercy's name is the matter with\nWillie; an' if the glass cut him, after all; an' why don't he come\ndown'; an' why don't you, Willie? We're all havin' the nicest time!\"\n\n\"You g'way!\" said the strange voice within the room. \"G'way!\"\n\n\"Well, did the glass cut you?\"\n\n\"No! Keep quiet! G'way!\"\n\n\"Well, are you EVER comin' down to your party?\"\n\n\"Yes, I am! G'way!\"\n\nJane obeyed, and William somehow completed the task upon which he was\nengaged. Genius had burst forth from his despair; necessity had become\na mother again, and William's collar was in place. It was tied there.\nUnder his necktie was a piece of string.\n\nHe had lost count of time, but he was frantically aware of its passage;\nagony was in the thought of so many rich moments frittered away;\nup-stairs, while Joe Bullitt and Johnnie Watson made hay below. And\nthere was another spur to haste in his fear that the behavior of Mrs.\nBaxter might not be all that the guest of honor would naturally expect\nof William's mother. As for Jane, his mind filled with dread; shivers\npassed over him at intervals.\n\nIt was a dismal thing to appear at a \"party\" (and that his own) in \"last\nsummer's suit,\" but when he had hastily put it on and faced the mirror,\nhe felt a little better--for three or four seconds. Then he turned to\nsee how the back of it looked.\n\nAnd collapsed in a chair, moaning.\n\n\n\n\nXIV\n\nTIME DOES FLY\n\nHe remembered now what he had been too hurried to remember earlier. He\nhad worn these clothes on the previous Saturday, and, returning from a\nglorified walk with Miss Pratt, he had demonstrated a fact to which his\nnear-demolition of the wafers, this afternoon, was additional testimony.\nThis fact, roughly stated, is that a person of seventeen, in love, is\nliable to sit down anywhere. William had dreamily seated himself upon\na tabouret in the library, without noticing that Jane had left her open\npaint-box there. Jane had just been painting sunsets; naturally all the\nlittle blocks of color were wet, and the effect upon William's pale-gray\ntrousers was marvelous--far beyond the capacity of his coat to conceal.\nCollar-buttons and children's paint-boxes--those are the trolls that lie\nin wait!\n\nThe gray clothes and the flannel trousers had been destined for the\nprofessional cleaner, and William, rousing himself from a brief stupor,\nmade a piteous effort to substitute himself for that expert so far\nas the gray trousers were concerned. He divested himself of them and\nbrought water, towels, bath-soap, and a rubber bath-sponge to the bright\nlight of his window; and; there, with touching courage and persistence,\nhe tried to scrub the paint out of the cloth. He obtained cloud studies\nand marines which would have interested a Post-Impressionist, but upon\ntrousers they seemed out of place.\n\nThere came one seeking and calling him again; raps sounded upon the\ndoor, which he had not forgotten to lock.\n\n\"Willie,\" said a serious voice, \"mamma wants to know what in mercy's\nname is the matter! She wants to know if you know for mercy's name what\ntime it is! She wants to know what in mercy's name you think they're all\ngoin' to think! She says--\"\n\n\"G'WAY!\"\n\n\"Well, she said I had to find out what in mercy's name you're doin',\nWillie.\"\n\n\"You tell her,\" he shouted, hoarsely--\"tell her I'm playin' dominoes!\nWhat's she THINK I'm doin'?\"\n\n\"I guess\"--Jane paused, evidently to complete the swallowing of\nsomething--\"I guess she thinks you're goin' crazy. I don't like Miss\nPratt, but she lets me play with that little dog. It's name's Flopit!\"\n\n\"You go 'way from that door and stop bothering me,\" said William. \"I got\nenough on my mind!\"\n\n\"Mamma looks at Miss Pratt,\" Jane remarked. \"Miss Pratt puts cakes in\nthat Mr. Bullitt's mouth and Johnnie Watson's mouth, too. She's awful.\"\n\nWilliam made it plain that these bulletins from the party found no favor\nwith him. He bellowed, \"If you don't get away from that DOOR--\"\n\nJane was interested in the conversation, but felt that it would be\nbetter to return to the refreshment-table. There she made use of her own\nconception of a whisper to place before her mother a report which was\nconsidered interesting and even curious by every one present; though,\nsuch was the courtesy of the little assembly, there was a general\npretense of not hearing.\n\n\"I told him,\" thus whispered Jane, \"an' he said, 'You g'way from that\ndoor or I'll do somep'm'--he didn't say what, mamma. He said, 'What you\nthink I'm doin'? I'm playin' dominoes.' He didn't mean he WAS playin'\ndominoes, mamma. He just said he was. I think maybe he was just lookin'\nin the lookin'-glass some more.\"\n\nMrs. Baxter was becoming embarrassed. She resolved to go to William's\nroom herself at the first opportunity; but for some time her\nconscientiousness as a hostess continued to occupy her at the table,\nand then, when she would have gone, Miss Pratt detained her by a roguish\nappeal to make Mr. Bullitt and Mr. Watson behave. Both refused all\nnourishment except such as was placed in their mouths by the delicate\nhand of one of the Noblest, and the latter said that really she wanted\nto eat a little tweetie now and then herself, and not to spend her whole\ntime feeding the Men. For Miss Pratt had the same playfulness with older\npeople that she had with those of her own age; and she elaborated her\npretended quarrel with the two young gentlemen, taking others of the\ndazzled company into her confidence about it, and insisting upon \"Mamma\nBatster's\" acting formally as judge to settle the difficulty. However,\nhaving thus arranged matters, Miss Pratt did not resign the center of\ninterest, but herself proposed a compromise: she would continue to feed\nMr. Bullitt and Mr. Watson \"every other tweetie\"--that is, each must\nagree to eat a cake \"all by him own self,\" after every cake fed to him.\nSo the comedietta went on, to the running accompaniment of laughter,\nwith Mr. Bullitt and Mr. Watson swept by such gusts of adoration they\nwere like to perish where they sat. But Mrs. Baxter's smiling approval\nwas beginning to be painful to the muscles of her face, for it was\nhypocritical. And if William had known her thoughts about one of the\nNoblest, he could only have attributed them to that demon of groundless\nprejudice which besets all females, but most particularly and\noutrageously the mothers and sisters of Men.\n\nA colored serving-maid entered with a laden tray, and, having disposed\nof its freight of bon-bons among the guests, spoke to Mrs. Baxter in a\nlow voice.\n\n\"Could you manage step in the back hall a minute, please, ma'am?\"\n\nMrs. Baxter managed and, having closed the door upon the laughing\nvoices, asked, quickly--\"What is it, Adelia? Have you seen Mr. William?\nDo you know why he doesn't come down?\"\n\n\"Yes'm,\" said Adelia. \"He gone mighty near out his head, Miz Baxter.\"\n\n\"What!\"\n\n\"Yes'm. He come floppin' down the back stairs in his baf-robe li'l'\nwhile ago. He jes' gone up again. He 'ain't got no britches, Miz\nBaxter.\"\n\n\"No WHAT?\"\n\n\"No'm,\" said Adelia. \"He 'ain't got no britches at all.\"\n\nA statement of this kind is startling under Almost any circumstances,\nand it is unusually so when made in reference to a person for whom a\nparty is being given. Therefore it was not unreasonable of Mrs. Baxter\nto lose her breath.\n\n\"But--it can't BE!\" she gasped. \"He has! He has plenty!\"\n\n\"No'm, he 'ain't,\" Adelia assured her. \"An' he's carryin' on so I don't\nscarcely think he knows much what he's doin', Miz Baxter. He brung down\nsome gray britches to the kitchen to see if I couldn' press an' clean\n'em right quick: they was the ones Miss Jane, when she's paintin' all\nthem sunsets, lef' her paint-box open, an' one them sunsets got on these\nhere gray britches, Miz Baxter; an' hones'ly, Miz Baxter, he's fixed 'em\nin a condishum, tryin' to git that paint out, I don't believe it 'll be\nno use sendin' 'em to the cleaner. 'Clean 'em an' press 'em QUICK?' I\nsays. 'I couldn' clean 'em by Resurreckshum, let alone pressin' 'em!'\nNo'm! Well, he had his blue britches, too, but they's so ripped an' tore\nan' kind o' shredded away in one place, the cook she jes' hollered when\nhe spread 'em out, an' he didn' even ast me could I mend 'em. An' he had\ntwo pairs o' them white flannen britches, but hones'ly, Miz Baxter,\nI don't scarcely think Genesis would wear 'em, the way they is now!\n'Well,' I says, 'ain't but one thing lef' to do _I_ can see,' I says.\n'Why don't you go put on that nice black suit you had las' winter?'\"\n\n\"Of course!\" Mrs. Baxter cried. \"I'll go and--\"\n\n\"No'm,\" said Adelia. \"You don' need to. He's up in the attic now,\nr'arin' roun' 'mongs' them trunks, but seem to me like I remember you\nput that suit away under the heavy blankets in that big cedar ches' with\nthe padlock. If you jes' tell me where is the key, I take it up to him.\"\n\n\"Under the bureau in the spare room,\" said Mrs. Baxter. \"HURRY!\"\n\nAdelia hurried; and, fifteen minutes later, William, for the last time\nthat afternoon, surveyed himself in his mirror. His face showed the\nstrain that had been upon him and under which he still labored; the\nblack suit was a map of creases, and William was perspiring more freely\nthan ever under the heavy garments. But at least he was clothed.\n\nHe emptied his pockets, disgorging upon the floor a multitude of small\nwhite spheres, like marbles. Then, as he stepped out into the hall, he\ndiscovered that their odor still remained about him; so he stopped\nand carefully turned his pockets inside out, one after the other, but\nfinding that he still smelled vehemently of the \"moth-balls,\" though not\none remained upon him, he went to his mother's room and sprinkled violet\ntoilet-water upon his chest and shoulders. He disliked such odors, but\nthat left by the moth-balls was intolerable, and, laying hands upon a\ncanister labeled \"Hyacinth,\" he contrived to pour a quantity of scented\npowder inside his collar, thence to be distributed by the force of\ngravity so far as his dampness permitted.\n\nLo, William was now ready to go to his party! Moist, wilted, smelling\nindeed strangely, he was ready.\n\nBut when he reached the foot of the stairs he discovered that there was\none thing more to be done. Indignation seized him, and also a creeping\nfear chilled his spine, as he beheld a lurking shape upon the porch,\nstealthily moving toward the open door. It was the lowly Clematis, dog\nunto Genesis.\n\nWilliam instantly divined the purpose of Clematis. It was debatable\nwhether Clematis had remained upon the premises after the departure of\nGenesis, or had lately returned thither upon some errand of his own,\nbut one thing was certain, and the manner of Clematis--his attitude,\nhis every look, his every gesture--made it as clear as day. Clematis\nhad discovered, by one means or another, the presence of Flopit in the\nhouse, and had determined to see him personally.\n\nClematis wore his most misleading expression; a stranger would have\nthought him shy and easily turned from his purpose--but William was not\ndeceived. He knew that if Clematis meant to see Flopit, a strong will,\na ready brain, and stern action were needed to thwart him; but at all\ncosts that meeting must be prevented. Things had been awful enough,\nwithout that!\n\nHe was well aware that Clematis could not be driven away, except\ntemporarily, for nothing was further fixed upon Clematis than his habit\nof retiring under pressure, only to return and return again. True, the\ndoor could have been shut in the intruder's face, but he would have\nsought other entrance with possible success, or, failing that, would\nhave awaited in the front yard the dispersal of the guests and Flopit's\nconsequent emerging. This was a contretemps not to be endured.\n\nThe door of the living-room was closed, muffling festal noises and\npermitting safe passage through the hall. William cast a hunted look\nover his shoulder; then he approached Clematis.\n\n\"Good ole doggie,\" he said, huskily. \"Hyuh, Clem! Hyuh, Clem!\"\n\nClematis moved sidelong, retreating with his head low and his tail\ndenoting anxious thoughts.\n\n\"Hyuh, Clem!\" said William, trying, with only fair success, to keep his\nvoice from sounding venomous. \"Hyuh, Clem!\"\n\nClematis continued his deprecatory retreat.\n\nThereupon William essayed a ruse--he pretended to nibble at something,\nand then extended his hand as if it held forth a gift of food. \"Look,\nClem,\" he said. \"Yum-yum! Meat, Clem! Good meat!\"\n\nFor once Clematis was half credulous. He did not advance, but he\nelongated himself to investigate the extended hand, and the next instant\nfound himself seized viciously by the scruff of the neck. He submitted\nto capture in absolute silence. Only the slightest change of countenance\nbetrayed his mortification at having been found so easy a gull; this\npassed, and a look of resolute stoicism took its place.\n\nHe refused to walk, but offered merely nominal resistance, as a formal\nprotest which he wished to be of record, though perfectly understanding\nthat it availed nothing at present. William dragged him through the long\nhall and down a short passageway to the cellar door. This he opened,\nthrust Clematis upon the other side of it, closed and bolted it.\n\nImmediately a stentorian howl raised blood-curdling echoes and resounded\nhorribly through the house. It was obvious that Clematis intended to\nmake a scene, whether he was present at it or not. He lifted his voice\nin sonorous dolor, stating that he did not like the cellar and would\ncontinue thus to protest as long as he was left in it alone. He added\nthat he was anxious to see Flopit and considered it an unexampled\noutrage that he was withheld from the opportunity.\n\nSmitten with horror, William reopened the door and charged down the\ncellar stairs after Clematis, who closed his caitiff mouth and gave way\nprecipitately. He fled from one end of the cellar to the other and back,\nwhile William pursued; choking, and calling in low, ferocious tones:\n\"Good doggie! Good ole doggie! Hyuh, Clem! Meat, Clem, meat--\"\n\nThere was dodging through coal-bins; there was squirming between\nbarrels; there was high jumping and broad jumping, and there was a final\naspiring but baffled dash for the top of the cellar stairs, where the\ndoor, forgotten by William, stood open. But it was here that Clematis,\nafter a long and admirable exhibition of ingenuity, no less than\nagility, submitted to capture. That is to say, finding himself\nhopelessly pinioned, he resumed the stoic.\n\nGrimly the panting and dripping William dragged him through the kitchen,\nwhere the cook cried out unintelligibly, seeming to summon Adelia, who\nwas not present. Through the back yard went captor and prisoner, the\nlatter now maintaining a seated posture--his pathetic conception of\ndignity under duress. Finally, into a small shed or tool-house, behind\nMrs. Baxter's flower-beds, went Clematis in a hurried and spasmodic\nmanner. The instant the door slammed he lifted his voice--and was bidden\nto use it now as much as he liked.\n\nAdelia, with a tray of used plates, encountered the son of the house as\nhe passed through the kitchen on his return, and her eyes were those of\none who looks upon miracles.\n\nWilliam halted fiercely.\n\n\"What's the matter?\" he demanded. \"Is my face dirty?\"\n\n\"You mean, are it too dirty to go in yonduh to the party?\" Adelia asked,\nslowly. \"No, suh; you look all right to go in there. You lookin' jes'\nfine to go in there now, Mist' Willie!\"\n\nSomething in her tone struck him as peculiar, even as ominous, but his\nblood was up--he would not turn back now. He strode into the hall and\nopened the door of the \"living-room.\"\n\nJane was sitting on the floor, busily painting sunsets in a large\nblank-book which she had obtained for that exclusive purpose.\n\nShe looked up brightly as William appeared in the doorway, and in answer\nto his wild gaze she said:\n\n\"I got a little bit sick, so mamma told me to keep quiet a while. She's\nlookin' for you all over the house. She told papa she don't know what in\nmercy's name people are goin' to think about you, Willie.\"\n\nThe distraught youth strode to her. \"The party--\" he choked. \"WHERE--\"\n\n\"They all stayed pretty long,\" said Jane, \"but the last ones said they\nhad to go home to their dinners when papa came, a little while ago.\nJohnnie Watson was carryin' Flopit for that Miss Pratt.\"\n\nWilliam dropped into the chair beside which Jane had established herself\nupon the floor. Then he uttered a terrible cry and rose.\n\nAgain Jane had painted a sunset she had not intended.\n\n\n\n\nXV\n\nROMANCE OF STATISTICS\n\nOn a warm morning, ten days later, William stood pensively among his\nmother's flowerbeds behind the house, his attitude denoting a low state\nof vitality. Not far away, an aged negro sat upon a wheelbarrow in the\nhot sun, tremulously yet skilfully whittling a piece of wood into the\nshape of a boat, labor more to his taste, evidently, than that which he\nhad abandoned at the request of Jane. Allusion to this preference for\na lighter task was made by Genesis, who was erecting a trellis on the\nborder of the little garden.\n\n\"Pappy whittle all day,\" he chuckled. \"Whittle all night, too! Pappy, I\nthought you 'uz goin' to git 'at long bed all spade' up fer me by noon.\nAin't 'at what you tole me?\"\n\n\"You let him alone, Genesis,\" said Jane, who sat by the old man's side,\ndeeply fascinated. \"There's goin' to be a great deal of rain in the next\nfew days maybe, an' I haf to have this boat ready.\"\n\nThe aged darky lifted his streaky and diminished eyes to the burnished\nsky, and laughed. \"Rain come some day, anyways,\" he said. \"We git de\nboat ready 'fo' she fall, dat sho.\" His glance wandered to William and\nrested upon him with feeble curiosity. \"Dat ain' yo' pappy, is it?\" he\nasked Jane.\n\n\"I should say it isn't!\" she exclaimed. \"It's Willie. He was only\nseventeen about two or three months ago, Mr. Genesis.\" This was not the\nold man's name, but Jane had evolved it, inspired by respect for one so\naged and so kind about whittling. He was the father of Genesis, and the\nlatter, neither to her knowledge nor to her imagination, possessed a\nsurname.\n\n\"I got cat'rack in my lef' eye,\" said Mr. Genesis, \"an' de right one,\nshe kine o' tricksy, too. Tell black man f'um white man, little f'um\nbig.\"\n\n\"I'd hate it if he was papa,\" said Jane, confidentially. \"He's always\ncross about somep'm, because he's in love.\" She approached her mouth to\nher whittling friend's ear and continued in a whisper: \"He's in love of\nMiss Pratt. She's out walkin' with Joe Bullitt. I was in the front yard\nwith Willie, an' we saw 'em go by. He's mad.\"\n\nWilliam did not hear her. Moodily, he had discovered that there was\nsomething amiss with the buckle of his belt, and, having ungirded\nhimself, he was biting the metal tongue of the buckle in order\nto straighten it. This fell under the observation of Genesis, who\nremonstrated.\n\n\"You break you' teef on 'at buckle,\" he said.\n\n\"No, I won't, either,\" William returned, crossly.\n\n\"Ain' my teef,\" said Genesis. \"Break 'em, you want to!\"\n\nThe attention of Mr. Genesis did not seem to be attracted to the\nspeakers; he continued his whittling in a craftsman-like manner, which\nbrought praise from Jane.\n\n\"You can see to whittle, Mr. Genesis,\" she said. \"You whittle better\nthan anybody in the world.\"\n\n\"I speck so, mebbe,\" Mr. Genesis returned, with a little complacency.\n\"How ole yo' pappy?\"\n\n\"Oh, he's OLD!\" Jane explained.\n\nWilliam deigned to correct her. \"He's not old, he's middle-aged.\"\n\n\"Well, suh,\" said Mr. Genesis, \"I had three chillum 'fo' I 'uz twenty. I\nhad two when I 'uz eighteem.\"\n\nWilliam showed sudden interest. \"You did!\" he exclaimed. \"How old were\nyou when you had the first one?\"\n\n\"I 'uz jes' yo' age,\" said the old man. \"I 'uz seventeem.\"\n\n\"By George!\" cried William.\n\nJane seemed much less impressed than William, seventeen being a long way\nfrom ten, though, of course, to seventeen itself hardly any information\ncould be imagined as more interesting than that conveyed by the words\nof the aged Mr. Genesis. The impression made upon William was obviously\nprofound and favorable.\n\n\"By George!\" he cried again.\n\n\"Genesis he de youngis' one,\" said the old man. \"Genesis he 'uz bawn\nwhen I 'uz sixty-one.\"\n\nWilliam moved closer. \"What became of the one that was born when you\nwere seventeen?\" he asked.\n\n\"Well, suh,\" said Mr. Genesis, \"I nev' did know.\"\n\nAt this, Jane's interest equaled William's. Her eyes consented to leave\nthe busy hands of the aged darky, and, much enlarged, rose to his face.\nAfter a little pause of awe and sympathy she inquired:\n\n\"Was it a boy or a girl?\"\n\nThe old man deliberated within himself. \"Seem like it mus' been a boy.\"\n\n\"Did it die?\" Jane asked, softly.\n\n\"I reckon it mus' be dead by now,\" he returned, musingly. \"Good many of\n'em dead: what I KNOWS is dead. Yes'm, I reckon so.\"\n\n\"How old were you when you were married?\" William asked, with a manner\nof peculiar earnestness;--it was the manner of one who addresses a\ncolleague.\n\n\"Me? Well, suh, dat 'pen's.\" He seemed to search his memory. \"I\nrickalect I 'uz ma'ied once in Looavle,\" he said.\n\nJane's interest still followed the first child. \"Was that where it was\nborn, Mr. Genesis?\" she asked.\n\nHe looked puzzled, and paused in his whittling to rub his deeply\ncorrugated forehead. \"Well, suh, mus' been some bawn in Looavle.\nGenesis,\" he called to his industrious son, \"whaih 'uz YOU bawn?\"\n\n\"Right 'n 'is town,\" laughed Genesis. \"You fergit a good deal, pappy,\nbut I notice you don' fergit come to meals!\"\n\nThe old man grunted, resuming his whittling busily. \"Hain' much use,\"\nhe complained. \"Cain' eat nuff'm 'lessen it all gruelly. Man cain' eat\nnuff'm 'lessen he got teef. Genesis, di'n' I hyuh you tellin' dis white\ngemmun take caih his teef--not bite on no i'on?\"\n\nWilliam smiled in pity. \"I don't need to bother about that, I guess,\" he\nsaid. \"I can crack nuts with my teeth.\"\n\n\"Yes, suh,\" said the old man. \"You kin now. Ev'y nut you crac' now goin'\ncos' you a yell when you git 'long 'bout fawty an' fifty. You crack nuts\nnow an' you'll holler den!\"\n\n\"Well, I guess I won't worry myself much now about what won't happen\ntill I'm forty or fifty,\" said William. \"My teeth 'll last MY time, I\nguess.\"\n\nThat brought a chuckle from Mr. Genesis. \"Jes' listen!\" he exclaimed.\n\"Young man think he ain' nev' goin' be ole man. Else he think, 'Dat\nole man what I'm goin' to be, dat ain' goin' be me 'tall--dat goin' be\nsomebody else! What I caih 'bout dat ole man? I ain't a-goin' take caih\no' no teef fer HIM!' Yes, suh, an' den when he GIT to be ole man, he\nsay, 'What become o' dat young man I yoosta be? Where is dat young man\nagone to? He 'uz a fool, dat's what--an' _I_ ain' no fool, so he mus'\nbeen somebody else, not me; but I do jes' wish I had him hyuh 'bout two\nminutes--long enough to lam him fer not takin' caih o' my teef fer me!'\nYes, suh!\"\n\nWilliam laughed; his good humor was restored and he found the\nconversation of Mr. Genesis attractive. He seated himself upon an\nupturned bucket near the wheelbarrow, and reverted to a former theme.\n\"Well, I HAVE heard of people getting married even younger 'n you were,\"\nhe said. \"You take India, for instance. Why, they get married in India\nwhen they're twelve, and even seven and eight years old.\"\n\n\"They do not!\" said Jane, promptly. \"Their mothers and fathers wouldn't\nlet 'em, an' they wouldn't want to, anyway.\"\n\n\"I suppose you been to India and know all about it!\" William retorted.\n\"For the matter o' that, there was a young couple got married in\nPennsylvania the other day; the girl was only fifteen, and the man was\nsixteen. It was in the papers, and their parents consented, and said it\nwas a good thing. Then there was a case in Fall River, Massachusetts,\nwhere a young man eighteen years old married a woman forty-one years\nold; it was in the papers, too. And I heard of another case somewhere in\nIowa--a boy began shaving when he was thirteen, and shaved every day for\nfour years, and now he's got a full beard, and he's goin' to get married\nthis year--before he's eighteen years old. Joe Bullitt's got a cousin in\nIowa that knows about this case--he knows the girl this fellow with the\nbeard is goin' to marry, and he says he expects it 'll turn out the\nbest thing could have happened. They're goin' to live on a farm. There's\nhunderds of cases like that, only you don't hear of more'n just a few\nof 'em. People used to get married at sixteen, seventeen,\neighteen--anywhere in there--and never think anything of it at all.\nRight up to about a hunderd years ago there were more people married at\nthose ages than there were along about twenty-four and twenty-five, the\nway they are now. For instance, you take Shakespeare--\"\n\nWilliam paused.\n\nMr. Genesis was scraping the hull of the miniature boat with a piece of\nbroken glass, in lieu of sandpaper, but he seemed to be following his\nyoung friend's remarks with attention. William had mentioned Shakespeare\nimpulsively, in the ardor of demonstrating his point; however, upon\nsecond thought he decided to withdraw the name.\n\n\"I mean, you take the olden times,\" he went on; \"hardly anybody got\nmarried after they were nineteen or twenty years old, unless they were\nwidowers, because they were all married by that time. And right here in\nour own county, there were eleven couples married in the last six months\nunder twenty-one years of age. I've got a friend named Johnnie Watson;\nhis uncle works down at the court-house and told him about it, so it\ncan't be denied. Then there was a case I heard of over in--\"\n\nMr. Genesis uttered a loud chuckle. \"My goo'ness!\" he exclaimed. \"How\nyou c'leck all' dem fac's? Lan' name! What puzzlin' ME is how you\n'member 'em after you done c'leck 'em. Ef it uz me I couldn't c'leck 'em\nin de firs' place, an' ef I could, dey wouldn' be no use to me, 'cause I\ncouldn't rickalect 'em!\"\n\n\"Well, it isn't so hard,\" said William, \"if you kind of get the hang\nof it.\" Obviously pleased, he plucked a spear of grass and placed it\nbetween his teeth, adding, \"I always did have a pretty good memory.\"\n\n\"Mamma says you're the most forgetful boy she ever heard of,\" said Jane,\ncalmly. \"She says you can't remember anything two minutes.\"\n\nWilliam's brow darkened. \"Now look here--\" he began, with severity.\n\nBut the old darky intervened. \"Some folks got good rickaleckshum\nan' some folks got bad,\" he said, pacifically. \"Young white germmun\nrickalect mo' in two minute dan what I kin in two years!\"\n\nJane appeared to accept this as settlement of the point at issue, while\nWilliam bestowed upon Mr. Genesis a glance of increased favor. William's\nexpression was pleasant to see; in fact, it was the pleasantest\nexpression Jane had seen him wearing for several days. Almost always,\nlately, he was profoundly preoccupied, and so easily annoyed that\nthere was no need to be careful of his feelings, because--as his mother\nobserved--he was \"certain to break out about every so often, no matter\nwhat happened!\"\n\n\"I remember pretty much everything,\" he said, as if in modest\nexplanation of the performance which had excited the aged man's\nadmiration. \"I can remember things that happened when I was four years\nold.\"\n\n\"So can I,\" said Jane. \"I can remember when I was two. I had a kitten\nfell down the cistern and papa said it hurt the water.\"\n\n\"My goo'ness!\" Mr. Genesis exclaimed. \"An' you 'uz on'y two year ole,\nhoney! Bes' _I_ kin do is rickalect when I 'uz 'bout fifty.\"\n\n\"Oh no!\" Jane protested. \"You said you remembered havin' a baby when you\nwere seventeen, Mr. Genesis.\"\n\n\"Yes'm,\" he admitted. \"I mean rickalect good like you do 'bout yo' li'l'\ncat an' all how yo' pappy tuck on 'bout it. I kin rickalect SOME, but I\ncain' rickalect GOOD.\"\n\nWilliam coughed with a certain importance. \"Do you remember,\" he asked,\n\"when you were married, how did you feel about it? Were you kind of\nnervous, or anything like that, beforehand?\"\n\nMr. Genesis again passed a wavering hand across his troubled brow.\n\n\"I mean,\" said William, observing his perplexity, \"were you sort of\nshaky--f'rinstance, as if you were taking an important step in life?\"\n\n\"Lemme see.\" The old man pondered for a moment. \"I felt mighty shaky\nonce, I rickalect; dat time yalla m'latta man shootin' at me f 'um\nbehime a snake-fence.\"\n\n\"Shootin' at you!\" Jane cried, stirred from her accustomed placidity.\n\"Mr. Genesis! What DID he do that for?\"\n\n\"Nuff'm!\" replied Mr. Genesis, with feeling. \"Nuff'm in de wide worl'!\nHe boun' to shoot SOMEbody, an' pick on me 'cause I 'uz de handies'.\"\n\nHe closed his knife, gave the little boat a final scrape with the broken\nglass, and then a soothing rub with the palm of his hand. \"Dah, honey,\"\nhe said--and simultaneously factory whistles began to blow. \"Dah\nyo' li'l' steamboat good as I kin git her widout no b'iler ner no\nsmokestack. I reckon yo' pappy 'll buy 'em fer you.\"\n\nJane was grateful. \"It's a beautiful boat, Mr. Genesis. I do thank you!\"\n\nGenesis, the son, laid aside his tools and approached. \"Pappy finish\nwhittlin' spang on 'em noon whistles,\" he chuckled. \"Come 'long, pappy.\nI bet you walk fas' 'nuff goin' todes dinnuh. I hear fry-cakes ploppin'\nin skillet!\"\n\nMr. Genesis laughed loudly, his son's words evidently painting a merry\nand alluring picture; and the two, followed by Clematis, moved away\nin the direction of the alley gate. William and Jane watched the brisk\ndeparture of the antique with sincere esteem and liking.\n\n\"He must have been sixteen,\" said William, musingly.\n\n\"When?\" Jane asked.\n\nWilliam, in deep thought, was still looking after Mr. Genesis; he\nwas almost unconscious that he had spoken aloud and he replied,\nautomatically:\n\n\"When he was married.\"\n\nThen, with a start, he realized into how great a condescension he had\nbeen betrayed, and hastily added, with pronounced hauteur, \"Things you\ndon't understand. You run in the house.\"\n\nJane went into the house, but she did not carry her obedience to the\npoint of running. She walked slowly, and in that state of profound\nreverie which was characteristic of her when she was immersed in the\nserious study of William's affairs.\n\n\n\n\nXVI\n\nTHE SHOWER\n\nShe continued to be thoughtful until after lunch, when, upon the\nsun's disappearance behind a fat cloud, Jane and the heavens exchanged\ndispositions for the time--the heavens darkened and Jane brightened. She\nwas in the front hall, when the sunshine departed rather abruptly, and\nshe jumped for joy, pointing to the open door. \"Look! Looky there!\" she\ncalled to her brother. Richly ornamented, he was descending the front\nstairs, his embellishments including freshly pressed white trousers, a\nnew straw hat, unusual shoes, and a blasphemous tie. \"I'm goin' to get\nto sail my boat,\" Jane shouted. \"It's goin' to rain.\"\n\n\"It is not,\" said William, irritated. \"It's not going to anything like\nrain. I s'pose you think it ought to rain just to let you sail that\nchunk of wood!\"\n\n\"It's goin' to rain--it's goin' to rain!\" (Jane made a little singsong\nchant of it.) \"It's goin' to rain--it gives Willie a pain--it's goin' to\nrain--it gives Willie a pain--it's goin' to--\"\n\nHe interrupted her sternly. \"Look here! You're old enough to know\nbetter. I s'pose you think there isn't anything as important in the\nworld as your gettin' the chance to sail that little boat! I s'pose\nyou think business and everything else has got to stop and get ruined,\nmaybe, just to please you!\" As he spoke he walked to an umbrella-stand\nin the hall and deliberately took therefrom a bamboo walking-stick of\nhis father's. Indeed, his denunciation of Jane's selfishness about\nthe weather was made partly to reassure himself and settle his nerves,\nstrained by the unusual procedure he contemplated, and partly to divert\nJane's attention. In the latter effort he was unsuccessful; her eyes\nbecame strange and unbearable.\n\nShe uttered a shriek:\n\n\"Willie's goin' to carry a CANE!\"\n\n\"You hush up!\" he said, fiercely, and hurried out through the front\ndoor. She followed him to the edge of the porch; she stood there while\nhe made his way to the gate, and she continued to stand there as he\nwent down the street, trying to swing the cane in an accustomed and\nunembarrassed manner.\n\nJane made this difficult.\n\n\"Willie's got a CANE!\" she screamed. \"He's got papa's CANE!\"\nThen, resuming her little chant, she began to sing: \"It's goin' to\nrain--Willie's got papa's cane--it's goin' to rain--Willie's got papa's\ncane!\" She put all of her voice into a final effort. \"MISS PRATT'LL GET\nWET IF YOU DON'T TAKE AN UMBERELLER-R-R!\"\n\nThe attention of several chance pedestrians had been attracted, and the\nburning William, breaking into an agonized half-trot, disappeared round\nthe corner. Then Jane retired within the house, feeling that she had\ndone her duty. It would be his own fault if he got wet.\n\nRain was coming. Rain was in the feel of the air--and in Jane's hope.\n\nShe was not disappointed. Mr. Genesis, so secure of fair weather in the\nmorning, was proved by the afternoon to be a bad prophet. The fat cloud\nwas succeeded by others, fatter; a corpulent army assailed the vault\nof heaven, heavy outriders before a giant of evil complexion and\ndevastating temper.\n\nAn hour after William had left the house, the dust in the streets and\nall loose paper and rubbish outdoors rose suddenly to a considerable\nheight and started for somewhere else. The trees had colic; everything\nbecame as dark as winter twilight; streaks of wildfire ran miles in a\nsecond, and somebody seemed to be ripping up sheets of copper and tin\nthe size of farms. The rain came with a swish, then with a rattle, and\nthen with a roar, while people listened at their garret doorways and\nmarveled. Window-panes turned to running water;--it poured.\n\nThen it relented, dribbled, shook down a few last drops; and passed on\nto the countryside. Windows went up; eaves and full gutters plashed and\ngurgled; clearer light fell; then, in a moment, sunshine rushed upon\nshining green trees and green grass; doors opened--and out came the\nchildren!\n\nShouting, they ran to the flooded gutters. Here were rivers, lakes, and\noceans for navigation; easy pilotage, for the steersman had but to wade\nbeside his craft and guide it with a twig. Jane's timely boat was one of\nthe first to reach the water.\n\nHer mother had been kind, and Jane, with shoes and stockings left behind\nher on the porch, was a happy sailor as she waded knee-deep along the\nbrimming curbstones. At the corner below the house of the Baxters, the\nstreet was flooded clear across, and Jane's boat, following the current,\nproceeded gallantly onward here, sailed down the next block, and was\nthoughtlessly entering a sewer when she snatched it out of the water.\nLooking about her, she perceived a gutter which seemed even lovelier\nthan the one she had followed. It was deeper and broader and perhaps a\nlittle browner, wherefore she launched her ship upon its dimpled bosom\nand explored it as far as the next sewer-hole or portage. Thus the\nvoyage continued for several blocks with only one accident--which might\nhave happened to anybody. It was an accident in the nature of a fall,\ncaused by the sliding of Jane's left foot on some slippery mud.\nThis treacherous substance, covered with water, could not have been\nanticipated; consequently Jane's emotions were those of indignation\nrather than of culpability. Upon rising, she debated whether or not\nshe should return to her dwelling, inclining to the opinion that the\nauthorities there would have taken the affirmative; but as she was\nwet not much above the waist, and the guilt lay all upon the mud,\nshe decided that such an interruption of her journey would be a gross\ninjustice to herself. Navigation was reopened.\n\nPresently the boat wandered into a miniature whirlpool, grooved in a\nspiral and pleasant to see. Slowly the water went round and round, and\nso did the boat without any assistance from Jane. Watching this movement\nthoughtfully, she brought forth from her drenched pocket some sodden\nwhitish disks, recognizable as having been crackers, and began to eat\nthem. Thus absorbed, she failed at first to notice the approach of two\nyoung people along the sidewalk.\n\nThey were the entranced William and Miss Pratt; and their appearance\noffered a suggestive contrast in relative humidity. In charming and\ntender-colored fabrics, fluffy and cool and summery, she was specklessly\ndry; not a drop had touched even the little pink parasol over her\nshoulder, not one had fallen upon the tiny white doglet drowsing upon\nher arm. But William was wet--he was still more than merely damp, though\nthey had evidently walked some distance since the rain had ceased to\nfall. His new hat was a mucilaginous ruin; his dank coat sagged; his\nshapeless trousers flopped heavily, and his shoes gave forth marshy\nsounds as he walked.\n\nNo brilliant analyst was needed to diagnose this case. Surely any\nobserver must have said: \"Here is a dry young lady, and at her side\nwalks a wet young gentleman who carries an umbrella in one hand and a\nwalking-stick in the other. Obviously the young lady and gentleman\nwere out for a stroll for which the stick was sufficient, and they were\ncaught by the rain. Before any fell, however, he found her a place of\nshelter--such as a corner drug-store and then himself gallantly went\nforth into the storm for an umbrella. He went to the young lady's house,\nor to the house where she may be visiting, for, if he had gone to his\nown he would have left his stick. It may be, too, that at his own, his\nmother would have detained him, since he is still at the age when it\nis just possible sometimes for mothers to get their sons into the house\nwhen it rains. He returned with the umbrella to the corner drug-store\nat probably about the time when the rain ceased to fall, because his\nextreme moistness makes necessary the deduction that he was out in all\nthe rain that rained. But he does not seem to care.\"\n\nThe fact was that William did not even know that he was wet. With his\nhead sidewise and his entranced eyes continuously upon the pretty face\nso near, his state was almost somnambulistic. Not conscious of his\nsoggy garments or of the deluged streets, he floated upon a rosy cloud,\nincense about him, far-away music enchanting his ears.\n\nIf Jane had not recognized the modeling of his features she might not\nhave known them to be William's, for they had altered their grouping\nto produce an expression with which she was totally unfamiliar. To be\nexplicit, she was unfamiliar with this expression in that place--that is\nto say, upon William, though she had seen something like it upon other\npeople, once or twice, in church.\n\nWilliam's thoughts might have seemed to her as queer as his expression,\ncould she have known them. They were not very definite, however, taking\nthe form of sweet, vague pictures of the future. These pictures were of\nmarried life; that is, married life as William conceived it for himself\nand Miss Pratt--something strikingly different from that he had observed\nas led by his mother and father, or their friends and relatives. In his\nrapt mind he beheld Miss Pratt walking beside him \"through life,\" with\nher little parasol and her little dog--her exquisite face always lifted\nplayfully toward his own (with admiration underneath the playfulness),\nand he heard her voice of silver always rippling \"baby-talk\" throughout\nall the years to come. He saw her applauding his triumphs--though these\nremained indefinite in his mind, and he was unable to foreshadow the\nbusiness or profession which was to provide the amazing mansion (mainly\nconservatory) which he pictured as their home. Surrounded by flowers,\nand maintaining a private orchestra, he saw Miss Pratt and himself\ngrowing old together, attaining to such ages as thirty and even\nthirty-five, still in perfect harmony, and always either dancing in\nthe evenings or strolling hand in hand in the moonlight. Sometimes they\nwould visit the nursery, where curly-headed, rosy cherubs played upon a\nwhite-bear rug in the firelight. These were all boys and ready-made, the\nyoungest being three years old and without a past.\n\nThey would be beautiful children, happy with their luxurious toys on the\nbear rug, and they would NEVER be seen in any part of the house except\nthe nursery. Their deportment would be flawless, and--\n\n\"WILL-EE!\"\n\nThe aviator struck a hole in the air; his heart misgave him. Then he\ncame to earth--a sickening drop, and instantaneous.\n\n\"WILL-EE!\"\n\nThere was Jane, a figurine in a plastic state and altogether\ndisgraceful;--she came up out of the waters and stood before them with\nfeet of clay, indeed; pedestaled upon the curbstone.\n\n\"Who IS that CURIOUS child?\" said Miss Pratt, stopping.\n\nWilliam shuddered.\n\n\"Was she calling YOU?\" Miss Pratt asked, incredulously.\n\n\"Willie, I told you you better take an umbereller,\" said Jane, \"instead\nof papa's cane.\" And she added, triumphantly, \"Now you see!\"\n\nMoving forward, she seemed to have in mind a dreadful purpose; there\nwas something about her that made William think she intended casually to\naccompany him and Miss Pratt.\n\n\"You go home!\" he commanded, hoarsely.\n\nMiss Pratt uttered a little scream of surprise and recognition. \"It's\nyour little sister!\" she exclaimed, and then, reverting to her favorite\nplayfulness of enunciation, \"'Oor ickle sissa!\" she added, gaily, as\na translation. Jane misunderstood it; she thought Miss Pratt meant \"OUR\nlittle sister.\"\n\n\"Go home!\" said William.\n\n\"No'ty, no'ty!\" said Miss Pratt, shaking her head. \"Me 'fraid oo's a\nno'ty, no'ty ickle dirl! All datie!\"\n\nJane advanced. \"I wish you'd let me carry Flopit for you,\" she said.\n\nGiving forth another gentle scream, Miss Pratt hopped prettily backward\nfrom Jane's extended hands. \"Oo-oo!\" she cried, chidingly. \"Mustn't\ntouch! P'eshus Flopit all soap-water-wash clean. Ickle dirly all\nmuddy-nassy! Ickle dirly must doe home, det all soap-water-wash clean\nlike NICE ickle sissa. Evabody will love 'oor ickle sissa den,\" she\nconcluded, turning to William. \"Tell 'oor ickle sissa MUS' doe home det\nsoap-water-wash!\"\n\nJane stared at Miss Pratt with fixed solemnity during the delivery of\nthese admonitions, and it was to be seen that they made an impression\nupon her. Her mouth slowly opened, but she spake not. An extraordinary\nidea had just begun to make itself at home in her mind. It was an idea\nwhich had been hovering in the neighborhood of that domain ever since\nWilliam's comments upon the conversation of Mr. Genesis, in the morning.\n\n\"Go home!\" repeated William, and then, as Jane stood motionless and\ninarticulate, transfixed by her idea, he said, almost brokenly, to his\ndainty companion, \"I DON'T know what you'll think of my mother! To let\nthis child--\"\n\nMiss Pratt laughed comfortingly as they started on again. \"Isn't mamma's\nfault, foolish boy Baxter. Ickle dirlies will det datie!\"\n\nThe profoundly mortified William glanced back over his shoulder,\nbestowing upon Jane a look in which bitterness was mingled with\napprehension. But she remained where she was, and did not follow.\nThat was a little to be thankful for, and he found some additional\nconsolation in believing that Miss Pratt had not caught the frightful\nwords, \"papa's cane,\" at the beginning of the interview. He was\nencouraged to this belief by her presently taking from his hand the\ndecoration in question and examining it with tokens of pleasure. \"'Oor\npitty walk'-'tick,\" she called it, with a tact he failed to suspect. And\nso he began to float upward again; glamors enveloped him and the earth\nfell away.\n\nHe was alone in space with Miss Pratt once more.\n\n\n\n\nXVII\n\nJANE'S THEORY\n\nThe pale end of sunset was framed in the dining-room windows, and Mr.\nand Mrs. Baxter and the rehabilitated Jane were at the table, when\nWilliam made his belated return from the afternoon's excursion. Seating\nhimself, he waived his mother's references to the rain, his clothes, and\nprobable colds, and after one laden glance at Jane denoting a grievance\nso elaborate that he despaired of setting it forth in a formal complaint\nto the Powers--he fell into a state of trance. He took nourishment\nautomatically, and roused himself but once during the meal, a pathetic\nencounter with his father resulting from this awakening.\n\n\"Everybody in town seemed to be on the streets, this evening, as I\nwalked home,\" Mr. Baxter remarked, addressing his wife. \"I suppose\nthere's something in the clean air after a rain that brings 'em out. I\nnoticed one thing, though; maybe it's the way they dress nowadays, but\nyou certainly don't see as many pretty girls on the streets as there\nused to be.\"\n\nWilliam looked up absently. \"I used to think that, too,\" he said, with\ndreamy condescension, \"when I was younger.\"\n\nMr. Baxter stared.\n\n\"Well, I'll be darned!\" he said.\n\n\"Papa, papa!\" his wife called, reprovingly.\n\n\"When you were younger!\" Mr. Baxter repeated, with considerable\nirritation. \"How old d' you think you are?\"\n\n\"I'm going on eighteen,\" said William, firmly. \"I know plenty of\ncases--cases where--\" He paused, relapsing into lethargy.\n\n\"What's the matter with him?\" Mr. Baxter inquired, heatedly, of his\nwife.\n\nWilliam again came to life. \"I was saying that a person's age is\ndifferent according to circumstances,\" he explained, with dignity, if\nnot lucidity. \"You take Genesis's father. Well, he was married when he\nwas sixteen. Then there was a case over in Iowa that lots of people\nknow about and nobody thinks anything of. A young man over there in Iowa\nthat's seventeen years old began shaving when he was thirteen and shaved\nevery day for four years, and now--\"\n\nHe was interrupted by his father, who was no longer able to contain\nhimself. \"And now I suppose he's got WHISKERS!\" he burst forth. \"There's\nan ambition for you! My soul!\"\n\nIt was Jane who took up the tale. She had been listening with growing\nexcitement, her eyes fixed piercingly upon William. \"He's got a beard!\"\nshe cried, alluding not to her brother, but to the fabled Iowan. \"I\nheard Willie tell ole Mr. Genesis about it.\"\n\n\"It seems to lie heavily on your mind,\" Mr. Baxter said to William. \"I\nsuppose you feel that in the face of such an example, your life between\nthe ages of thirteen and seventeen has been virtually thrown away?\"\n\nWilliam had again relapsed, but he roused himself feebly. \"Sir?\" he\nsaid.\n\n\"What IS the matter with him?\" Mr. Baxter demanded. \"Half the time\nlately he seems to be hibernating, and only responds by a slight\ntwitching when poked with a stick. The other half of the time he either\nbehaves like I-don't-know-what or talks about children growing whiskers\nin Iowa! Hasn't that girl left town yet?\"\n\nWilliam was not so deep in trance that this failed to stir him. He left\nthe table.\n\nMrs. Baxter looked distressed, though, as the meal was about concluded,\nand William had partaken of his share in spite of his dreaminess, she\nhad no anxieties connected with his sustenance. As for Mr. Baxter, he\nfelt a little remorse, undoubtedly, but he was also puzzled. So plain\na man was he that he had no perception of the callous brutality of\nthe words \"THAT GIRL\" when applied to some girls. He referred to his\nmystification a little later, as he sat with his evening paper in the\nlibrary.\n\n\"I don't know what I said to that tetchy boy to hurt him,\" he began in\nan apologetic tone. \"I don't see that there was anything too rough for\nhim to stand in a little sarcasm. He needn't be so sensitive on the\nsubject of whiskers, it seems to me.\"\n\nMrs. Baxter smiled faintly and shook her head.\n\nIt was Jane who responded. She was seated upon the floor, disporting\nherself mildly with her paint-box. \"Papa, I know what's the matter with\nWillie,\" she said.\n\n\"Do you?\" Mr. Baxter returned. \"Well, if you make it pretty short,\nyou've got just about long enough to tell us before your bedtime.\"\n\n\"I think he's married,\" said Jane.\n\n\"What!\" And her parents united their hilarity.\n\n\"I do think he's married,\" Jane insisted, unmoved. \"I think he's married\nwith that Miss Pratt.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said her father, \"he does seem upset, and it may be that her\nvisit and the idea of whiskers, coming so close together, is more than\nmere coincidence, but I hardly think Willie is married, Jane!\"\n\n\"Well, then,\" she returned, thoughtfully, \"he's almost married. I know\nthat much, anyway.\"\n\n\"What makes you think so?\"\n\n\"Well, because! I KIND of thought he must be married, or anyways\nsomep'm, when he talked to Mr. Genesis this mornin'. He said he knew how\nsome people got married in Pennsylvania an' India, an' he said they were\nonly seven or eight years old. He said so, an' I heard him; an' he said\nthere were eleven people married that were only seventeen, an' this boy\nin Iowa got a full beard an' got married, too. An' he said Mr. Genesis\nwas only sixteen when HE was married. He talked all about gettin'\nmarried when you're seventeen years old, an' he said how people thought\nit was the best thing could happen. So I just KNOW he's almost married!\"\n\nMr. Baxter chuckled, and Mrs. Baxter smiled, but a shade of\nthoughtfulness, a remote anxiety, tell upon the face of the latter.\n\n\"You haven't any other reason, have you, Jane?\" she asked.\n\n\"Yes'm,\" said Jane, promptly. \"An' it's a more reason than any! Miss\nPratt calls you 'mamma' as if you were HER mamma. She does it when she\ntalks to Willie.\"\n\n\"Jane!\"\n\n\"Yes m, I HEARD her. An' Willie said, 'I don't know what you'll think\nabout mother.' He said, 'I don't know what you'll think about mother,'\nto Miss Pratt.\"\n\nMrs. Baxter looked a little startled, and her husband frowned. Jane\nmistook their expressions for incredulity. \"They DID, mamma,\" she\nprotested. \"That's just the way they talked to each other. I heard 'em\nthis afternoon, when Willie had papa's cane.\"\n\n\"Maybe they were doing it to tease you, if you were with them,\" Mr.\nBaxter suggested.\n\n\"I wasn't with 'em. I was sailin' my boat, an' they came along, an'\nfirst they never saw me, an' Willie looked--oh, papa, I wish you'd seen\nhim!\" Jane rose to her feet in her excitement. \"His face was so funny,\nyou never saw anything like it! He was walkin' along with it turned\nsideways, an' all the time he kept walkin' frontways, he kept his face\nsideways--like this, papa. Look, papa!\" And she gave what she considered\na faithful imitation of William walking with Miss Pratt. \"Look, papa!\nThis is the way Willie went. He had it sideways so's he could see Miss.\nPratt, papa. An' his face was just like this. Look, papa!\" She contorted\nher features in a terrifying manner. \"Look, papa!\"\n\n\"Don't, Jane!\" her mother exclaimed.\n\n\"Well, I haf to show papa how Willie looked, don't I?\" said Jane,\nrelaxing. \"That's just the way he looked. Well, an' then they stopped\nan' talked to me, an' Miss Pratt said, 'It's our little sister.'\"\n\n\"Did she really?\" Mrs. Baxter asked, gravely.\n\n\"Yes'm, she did. Soon as she saw who I was, she said, 'Why, it's our\nlittle sister!' Only she said it that way she talks--sort of foolish.\n'It's our ittle sissy'--somep'm like that, mamma. She said it twice an'\ntold me to go home an' get washed up. An' Miss Pratt told Willie--Miss\nPratt said, 'It isn't mamma's fault Jane's so dirty,' just like that.\nShe--\"\n\n\"Are you sure she said 'our little sister'?\" said Mrs. Baxter.\n\n\"Why, you can ask Willie! She said it that funny way. 'Our 'ittle\nsissy'; that's what she said. An' Miss Pratt said, 'Ev'rybody would love\nour little sister if mamma washed her in soap an' water!' You can ask\nWillie; that's exackly what Miss Pratt said, an' if you don't believe it\nyou can ask HER. If you don't want to believe it, why, you can ask--\"\n\n\"Hush, dear,\" said Mrs. Baxter. \"All this doesn't mean anything at all,\nespecially such nonsense as Willie's thinking of being married. It's\nyour bedtime.\"\n\n\"Well, but MAMMA--\"\n\n\"Was that all they said?\" Mr. Baxter inquired.\n\nJane turned to him eagerly. \"They said all lots of things like that,\npapa. They--\"\n\n\"Nonsense!\" Mrs. Baxter in interrupted. \"Come, it's bedtime. I'll go up\nwith you. You mustn't think such nonsense.\"\n\n\"But, mamma--\"\n\n\"Come along, Jane!\"\n\nJane was obedient in the flesh, but her spirit was free; her opinions\nwere her own. Disappointed in the sensation she had expected to produce,\nshe followed her mother out of the room wearing the expression of a\nperson who says, \"You'll SEE--some day when everything's ruined!\"\n\nMr. Baxter, left alone, laughed quietly, lifted his neglected newspaper\nto obtain the light at the right angle, and then allowed it to languish\nupon his lap again. Frowning, he began to tap the floor with his shoe.\n\nHe was trying to remember what things were in his head when he was\nseventeen, and it was difficult. It seemed to him that he had been a\nsteady, sensible young fellow--really quite a man--at that age. Looking\nbackward at the blur of youthful years, the period from sixteen to\ntwenty-five appeared to him as \"pretty much all of a piece.\" He could\nnot recall just when he stopped being a boy; it must have been at about\nfifteen, he thought.\n\nAll at once he sat up stiffly in his chair, and the paper slid from his\nknee. He remembered an autumn, long ago, when he had decided to abandon\nthe educational plans of his parents and become an actor. He had located\nthis project exactly, for it dated from the night of his seventeenth\nbirthday, when he saw John McCullough play \"Virginius.\"\n\nEven now Mr. Baxter grew a little red as he remembered the remarkable\nletter he had written, a few weeks later, to the manager of a passing\ntheatrical company. He had confidently expected an answer, and had made\nhis plans to leave town quietly with the company and afterward reassure\nhis parents by telegraph. In fact, he might have been on the stage at\nthis moment, if that manager had taken him. Mr. Baxter began to look\nnervous.\n\nStill, there is a difference between going on the stage and getting\nmarried. \"I don't know, though!\" Mr. Baxter thought. \"And Willie's\ncertainly not so well balanced in a GENERAL way as I was.\" He wished\nhis wife would come down and reassure him, though of course it was all\nnonsense.\n\nBut when Mrs. Baxter came down-stairs she did not reassure him. \"Of\ncourse Jane's too absurd!\" she said. \"I don't mean that she 'made it\nup'; she never does that, and no doubt this little Miss Pratt did say\nabout what Jane thought she said. But it all amounts to nothing.\"\n\n\"Of course!\"\n\n\"Willie's just going through what several of the other boys about his\nage are going through--like Johnnie Watson and Joe Bullitt and Wallace\nBanks. They all seem to be frantic over her.\"\n\n\"I caught a glimpse of her the day you had her to tea. She's rather\npretty.\"\n\n\"Adorably! And perhaps Willie has been just a LITTLE bit more frantic\nthan the others.\"\n\n\"He certainly seems in a queer state!\"\n\nAt this his wife's tone became serious. \"Do you think he WOULD do as\ncrazy a thing as that?\"\n\nMr. Baxter laughed. \"Well, I don't know what he'd do it ON! I don't\nsuppose he has more than a dollar in his possession.\"\n\n\"Yes, he has,\" she returned, quickly. \"Day before yesterday there was\na second-hand furniture man here, and I was too busy to see him, but\nI wanted the storeroom in the cellar cleared out, and I told Willie he\ncould have whatever the man would pay him for the junk in there, if he'd\nwatch to see that they didn't TAKE anything. They found some old pieces\nthat I'd forgotten, underneath things, and altogether the man paid\nWillie nine dollars and eighty-five cents.\"\n\n\"But, mercy-me!\" exclaimed Mr. Baxter, \"the girl may be an idiot, but\nshe wouldn't run away and marry a boy just barely seventeen on nine\ndollars and eighty-five cents!\"\n\n\"Oh no!\" said Mrs. Baxter. \"At least, I don't THINK so. Of course girls\ndo as crazy things as boys sometimes--in their way. I was thinking--\"\nShe paused. \"Of COURSE there couldn't be anything in it, but it did seem\na little strange.\"\n\n\"What did?\"\n\n\"Why, just before I came down-stairs, Adelia came for the laundry; and\nI asked her if she'd seen Willie; and she said he'd put on his dark\nsuit after dinner, and he went out through the kitchen, carrying his\nsuit-case.\"\n\n\"He did?\"\n\n\"Of course,\" Mrs. Baxter went on, slowly, \"I COULDN'T believe he'd do\nsuch a thing, but he really is in a PREPOSTEROUS way over this little\nMiss Pratt, and he DID have that money--\"\n\n\"By George!\" Mr. Baxter got upon his feet. \"The way he talked at dinner,\nI could come pretty near believing he hasn't any more brains LEFT than\nto get married on nine dollars and eighty-five cents! I wouldn't put it\npast him! By George, I wouldn't!\"\n\n\"Oh, I don't think he would,\" she remonstrated, feebly. \"Besides, the\nlaw wouldn't permit it.\"\n\nMr. Baxter paced the floor. \"Oh, I suppose they COULD manage it. They\ncould go to some little town and give false ages and--\" He broke off.\n\"Adelia was sure he had his suit-case?\"\n\nShe nodded. \"Do you think we'd better go down to the Parchers'? We'd\njust say we came to call, of course, and if--\"\n\n\"Get your hat on,\" he said. \"I don't think there's anything in it at\nall, but we'd just as well drop down there. It can't HURT anything.\"\n\n\"Of course, I don't think--\" she began.\n\n\"Neither do I,\" he interrupted, irascibly. \"But with a boy of his age\ncrazy enough to think he's in love, how do WE know what 'll happen?\nWe're only his parents! Get your hat on.\"\n\nBut when the uneasy couple found themselves upon the pavement before\nthe house of the Parchers, they paused under the shade-trees in the\ndarkness, and presently decided that it was not necessary to go in.\nSuddenly their uneasiness had fallen from them. From the porch came\nthe laughter of several young voices, and then one silvery voice, which\npretended to be that of a tiny child.\n\n\"Oh, s'ame! S'ame on 'oo, big Bruvva Josie-Joe! Mus' be polite to Johnny\nJump-up, or tant play wiv May and Lola!\"\n\n\"That's Miss Pratt,\" whispered Mrs. Baxter. \"She's talking to Johnnie\nWatson and Joe Bullitt and May Parcher. Let's go home; it's all right.\nOf course I knew it would be.\"\n\n\"Why, certainly,\" said Mr. Baxter, as they turned. \"Even if Willie were\nas crazy as that, the little girl would have more sense. I wouldn't have\nthought anything of it, if you hadn't told me about the suit-case. That\nlooked sort of queer.\"\n\nShe agreed that it did, but immediately added that she had thought\nnothing of it. What had seemed more significant to her was William's\ninterest in the early marriage of Genesis's father, and in the Iowa\nbeard story, she said. Then she said that it WAS curious about the\nsuit-case.\n\nAnd when they came to their own house again, there was William sitting\nalone and silent upon the steps of the porch.\n\n\"I thought you'd gone out, Willie,\" said his mother, as they paused\nbeside him.\n\n\"Ma'am?\"\n\n\"Adelia said you went out, carrying your suit-case.\"\n\n\"Oh yes,\" he said, languidly. \"If you leave clothes at Schwartz's in the\nevening they have 'em pressed in the morning. You said I looked damp at\ndinner, so I took 'em over and left 'em there.\"\n\n\"I see.\" Mrs. Baxter followed her husband to the door, but she stopped\non the threshold and called back:\n\n\"Don't sit there too long, Willie.\"\n\n\"Ma'am?\"\n\n\"The dew is falling and it rained so hard to-day--I'm afraid it might be\ndamp.\"\n\n\"Ma'am?\"\n\n\"Come on,\" Mr. Baxter said to his wife. \"He's down on the Parchers'\nporch, not out in front here. Of course he can't hear you. It's three\nblocks and a half.\"\n\nBut William's father was mistaken. Little he knew! William was not upon\nthe porch of the Parchers, with May Parcher and Joe Bullitt and Johnnie\nWatson to interfere. He was far from there, in a land where time was\nnot. Upon a planet floating in pink mist, and uninhabited--unless old\nMr. Genesis and some Hindoo princes and the diligent Iowan may have\nestablished themselves in its remoter regions--William was alone with\nMiss Pratt, in the conservatory. And, after a time, they went together,\nand looked into the door of a room where an indefinite number of little\nboys--all over three years of age--were playing in the firelight upon a\nwhite-bear rug. For, in the roseate gossamer that boys' dreams are made\nof, William had indeed entered the married state.\n\nHis condition was growing worse, every day.\n\n\n\n\nXVIII\n\nTHE BIG, FAT LUMMOX\n\nIn the morning sunshine, Mrs. Baxter stood at the top of the steps of\nthe front porch, addressing her son, who listened impatiently and edged\nhimself a little nearer the gate every time he shifted his weight from\none foot to the other.\n\n\"Willie,\" she said, \"you must really pay some attention to the laws of\nhealth, or you'll never live to be an old man.\"\n\n\"I don't want to live to be an old man,\" said William, earnestly. \"I'd\nrather do what I please now and die a little sooner.\"\n\n\"You talk very foolishly,\" his mother returned. \"Either come back and\nput on some heavier THINGS or take your overcoat.\"\n\n\"My overcoat!\" William groaned. \"They'd think I was a lunatic, carrying\nan overcoat in August!\"\n\n\"Not to a picnic,\" she said.\n\n\"Mother, it isn't a picnic, I've told you a hunderd times! You think\nit's one those ole-fashion things YOU used to go to--sit on the damp\nground and eat sardines with ants all over 'em? This isn't anything like\nthat; we just go out on the trolley to this farm-house and have noon\ndinner, and dance all afternoon, and have supper, and then come home on\nthe trolley. I guess we'd hardly of got up anything as out o' date as a\npicnic in honor of Miss PRATT!\"\n\nMrs. Baxter seemed unimpressed.\n\n\"It doesn't matter whether you call it a picnic or not, Willie. It will\nbe cool on the open trolleycar coming home, especially with only those\nwhite trousers on--\"\n\n\"Ye gods!\" he cried. \"I've got other things on besides my trousers! I\nwish you wouldn't always act as if I was a perfect child! Good heavens!\nisn't a person my age supposed to know how much clothes to wear?\"\n\n\"Well, if he is,\" she returned, \"it's a mere supposition and not founded\non fact. Don't get so excited, Willie, please; but you'll either have to\ngive up the picnic or come in and ch--\"\n\n\"Change my 'things'!\" he wailed. \"I can't change my 'things'! I've got\njust twenty minutes to get to May Parcher's--the crowd meets there, and\nthey're goin' to take the trolley in front the Parchers' at exactly a\nquarter after 'leven. PLEASE don't keep me any longer, mother--I GOT to\ngo!\"\n\nShe stepped into the hall and returned immediately. \"Here's your\novercoat, Willie.\"\n\nHis expression was of despair. \"They'll think I'm a lunatic and they'll\nsay so before everybody--and I don't blame 'em! Overcoat on a hot day\nlike this! Except me, I don't suppose there was ever anybody lived in\nthe world and got to be going on eighteen years old and had to carry his\nsilly old overcoat around with him in August--because his mother made\nhim!\"\n\n\"Willie,\" said Mrs. Baxter, \"you don't know how many thousands and\nthousands of mothers for thousands and thousands of years have kept\ntheir sons from taking thousands and thousands of colds--just this way!\"\n\nHe moaned. \"Well, and I got to be called a lunatic just because you're\nnervous, I s'pose. All right!\"\n\nShe hung it upon his arm, kissed him; and he departed in a desperate\nmanner.\n\nHowever, having worn his tragic face for three blocks, he halted before\na corner drug-store, and permitted his expression to improve as he\ngazed upon the window display of My Little Sweetheart All-Tobacco Cuban\nCigarettes, the Package of Twenty for Ten Cents. William was not a\nsmoker--that is to say, he had made the usual boyhood experiments,\nfinding them discouraging; and though at times he considered it\nhumorously man-about-town to say to a smoking friend, \"Well, _I_'ll\ntackle one o' your ole coffin-nails,\" he had never made a purchase\nof tobacco in his life. But it struck him now that it would be rather\ndebonair to disport himself with a package of Little Sweethearts upon\nthe excursion.\n\nAnd the name! It thrilled him inexpressibly, bringing a tenderness into\nhis eyes and a glow into his bosom. He felt that when he should smoke\na Little Sweetheart it would be a tribute to the ineffable visitor for\nwhom this party was being given--it would bring her closer to him. His\nyoung brow grew almost stern with determination, for he made up his\nmind, on the spot, that he would smoke oftener in the future--he would\nbecome a confirmed smoker, and all his life he would smoke My Little\nSweetheart All-Tobacco Cuban Cigarettes.\n\nHe entered and managed to make his purchase in a matter-of-fact way, as\nif he were doing something quite unemotional; then he said to the clerk:\n\n\"Oh, by the by--ah--\"\n\nThe clerk stared. \"Well, what else?\"\n\n\"I mean,\" said William, hurriedly, \"there's something I wanted to 'tend\nto, now I happen to be here. I was on my way to take this overcoat\nto--to get something altered at the tailor's for next winter. 'Course\nI wouldn't want it till winter, but I thought I might as well get it\nDONE.\" He paused, laughing carelessly, for greater plausibility. \"I\nthought he'd prob'ly want lots of time on the job--he's a slow worker,\nI've noticed--and so I decided I might just as well go ahead and let him\nget at it. Well, so I was on my way there, but I just noticed I only\ngot about six minutes more to get to a mighty important engagement I got\nthis morning, and I'd like to leave it here and come by and get it on my\nway home, this evening.\"\n\n\"Sure,\" said the clerk. \"Hang it on that hook inside the\np'scription-counter. There's one there already, b'longs to your friend,\nthat young Bullitt fella. He was in here awhile ago and said he wanted\nto leave his because he didn't have time to take it to be pressed in\ntime for next winter. Then he went on and joined that crowd in Mr.\nParcher's yard, around the corner, that's goin' on a trolley-party. I\nsays, 'I betcher mother maje carry it,' and he says, 'Oh no. Oh no,' he\nsays. 'Honest, I was goin' to get it pressed!' You can hang yours on the\nsame nail.\"\n\nThe clerk spoke no more, and went to serve another customer, while\nWilliam stared after him a little uneasily. It seemed that here was a\nman of suspicious nature, though, of course, Joe Bullitt's shallow talk\nabout getting an overcoat pressed before winter would not have imposed\nupon anybody. However, William felt strongly that the private life of\nthe customers of a store should not be pried into and speculated about\nby employees, and he was conscious of a distaste for this clerk.\n\nNevertheless, it was with a lighter heart that he left his overcoat\nbehind him and stepped out of the side door of the drug-store. That\nbrought him within sight of the gaily dressed young people, about thirty\nin number, gathered upon the small lawn beside Mr. Parcher's house.\n\nMiss Pratt stood among them, in heliotrope and white, Flopit nestling in\nher arms. She was encircled by girls who were enthusiastically caressing\nthe bored and blinking Flopit; and when William beheld this charming\ngroup, his breath became eccentric, his knee-caps became cold and\nconvulsive, his neck became hot, and he broke into a light perspiration.\n\nShe saw him! The small blonde head and the delirious little fluffy hat\nabove it shimmered a nod to him. Then his mouth fell unconsciously open,\nand his eyes grew glassy with the intensity of meaning he put into\nthe silent response he sent across the picket fence and through the\ninterstices of the intervening group. Pressing with his elbow upon the\npackage of cigarettes in his pocket, he murmured, inaudibly, \"My Little\nSweetheart, always for you!\"--a repetition of his vow that, come what\nmight, he would forever remain a loyal smoker of that symbolic brand. In\nfact, William's mental condition had never shown one moment's turn for\nthe better since the fateful day of the distracting visitor's arrival.\n\nMr. Johnnie Watson and Mr. Joe Bullitt met him at the gate and offered\nhim hearty greeting. All bickering and dissension among these three had\npassed. The lady was so wondrous impartial that, as time went on, the\nsufferers had come to be drawn together, rather than thrust asunder, by\ntheir common feeling. It had grown to be a bond uniting them; they\nwere not so much rivals as ardent novices serving a single altar, each\nworshiping there without visible gain over the other. Each had even come\nto possess, in the eyes of his two fellows, almost a sacredness as a\nsharer in the celestial glamor; they were tender one with another. They\nwere in the last stages.\n\nJohnnie Watson had with him to-day a visitor of his own--a vastly\novergrown person of eighteen, who, at Johnnie's beckoning, abandoned\na fair companion of the moment and came forward as William entered the\ngate.\n\n\"I want to intradooce you to two of my most int'mut friends, George,\"\nsaid Johnnie, with the anxious gravity of a person about to do something\nimportant and unfamiliar. \"Mr. Baxter, let me intradooce my cousin,\nMr. Crooper. Mr. Crooper, this is my friend, Mr. Baxter.\"\n\nThe gentlemen shook hands solemnly, saying,\n\n\"'M very glad to meet you,\" and Johnnie turned to Joe Bullitt. \"Mr.\nCroo--I mean, Mr. Bullitt, let me intradooce my friend, Mr. Crooper--I\nmean my cousin, Mr. Crooper. Mr. Crooper is a cousin of mine.\"\n\n\"Glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Crooper,\" said Joe. \"I suppose\nyou're a cousin of Johnnie's, then?\"\n\n\"Yep,\" said Mr. Crooper, becoming more informal. \"Johnnie wrote me\nto come over for this shindig, so I thought I might as well come.\"\nHe laughed loudly, and the others laughed with the same heartiness.\n\"Yessir,\" he added, \"I thought I might as well come, 'cause I'm pretty\napt to be on hand if there's anything doin'!\"\n\n\"Well, that's right,\" said William, and while they all laughed again,\nMr. Crooper struck his cousin a jovial blow upon the back.\n\n\"Hi, ole sport!\" he cried, \"I want to meet that Miss Pratt before we\nstart. The car'll be along pretty soon, and I got her picked for the\ngirl I'm goin' to sit by.\"\n\nThe laughter of William and Joe Bullitt, designed to express cordiality,\nsuddenly became flaccid and died. If Mr. Crooper had been a sensitive\nperson he might have perceived the chilling disapproval in their\nglances, for they had just begun to be most unfavorably impressed with\nhim. The careless loudness--almost the notoriety--with which he had\nuttered Miss Pratt's name, demanding loosely to be presented to her,\nregardless of the well-known law that a lady must first express some\nwish in such matters--these were indications of a coarse nature sure\nto be more than uncongenial to Miss Pratt. Its presence might make the\nwhole occasion distasteful to her--might spoil her day. Both William and\nJoe Bullitt began to wonder why on earth Johnnie Watson didn't have\nany more sense than to invite such a big, fat lummox of a cousin to the\nparty.\n\nThis severe phrase of theirs, almost simultaneous in the two minds, was\nnot wholly a failure as a thumb-nail sketch of Mr. George Crooper. And\nyet there was the impressiveness of size about him, especially about\nhis legs and chin. At seventeen and eighteen growth is still going on,\nsometimes in a sporadic way, several parts seeming to have sprouted\nfaster than others. Often the features have not quite settled down\ntogether in harmony, a mouth, for instance, appearing to have gained\nsuch a lead over the rest of a face, that even a mother may fear it\ncan never be overtaken. Voices, too, often seem misplaced; one hears,\noutside the door, the bass rumble of a sinister giant, and a mild boy,\nthin as a cricket, walks in. The contrary was George Crooper's case;\nhis voice was an unexpected piping tenor, half falsetto and frequently\ngirlish--as surprising as the absurd voice of an elephant.\n\nHe had the general outwardness of a vast and lumpy child. His chin had\nso distanced his other features that his eyes, nose, and brow seemed\nalmost baby-like in comparison, while his mountainous legs were the\ngreat part of the rest of him. He was one of those huge, bottle-shaped\nboys who are always in motion in spite of their cumbersomeness. His\ngestures were continuous, though difficult to interpret as bearing\nupon the subject of his equally continuous conversation; and under all\ncircumstances he kept his conspicuous legs incessantly moving, whether\nhe was going anywhere or remaining in comparatively one spot.\n\nHis expression was pathetically offensive, the result of his bland\nconfidence in the audible opinions of a small town whereof his father\nwas the richest inhabitant--and the one thing about him, even more\nobvious than his chin, his legs, and his spectacular taste in flannels,\nwas his perfect trust that he was as welcome to every one as he was to\nhis mother. This might some day lead him in the direction of great pain,\nbut on the occasion of the \"subscription party\" for Miss Pratt it gave\nhim an advantage.\n\n\"When do I get to meet that cutie?\" he insisted, as Johnnie Watson moved\nbackward from the cousinly arm, which threatened further flailing. \"You\nintradooced me to about seven I can't do much FOR, but I want to get the\nhowdy business over with this Miss Pratt, so I and she can get things\nstarted. I'm goin' to keep her busy all day!\"\n\n\"Well, don't be in such a hurry,\" said Johnnie, uneasily. \"You can meet\nher when we get out in the country--if I get a chance, George.\"\n\n\"No, sir!\" George protested, jovially. \"I guess you're sad birds over in\nthis town, but look out! When I hit a town it don't take long till they\nall hear there's something doin'! You know how I am when I get\nstarted, Johnnie!\" Here he turned upon William, tucking his fat arm\naffectionately through William's thin one. \"Hi, sport! Ole Johnnie's so\nslow, YOU toddle me over and get me fixed up with this Miss Pratt, and\nI'll tell her you're the real stuff--after we get engaged!\"\n\nHe was evidently a true cloud-compeller, this horrible George.\n\n\n\n\nXIX\n\n\"I DUNNO WHY IT IS\"\n\nWilliam extricated his arm, huskily muttering words which were lost in\nthe general outcry, \"Car's coming!\" The young people poured out through\nthe gate, and, as the car stopped, scrambled aboard. For a moment\neverything was hurried and confused. William struggled anxiously to push\nthrough to Miss Pratt and climb up beside her, but Mr. George Crooper\nmade his way into the crowd in a beaming, though bull-like manner, and a\nfat back in a purple-and-white \"blazer\" flattened William's nose, while\nponderous heels damaged William's toes; he was shoved back, and just\nmanaged to clamber upon the foot-board as the car started. The friendly\nhand of Joe Bullitt pulled him to a seat, and William found himself\nrubbing his nose and sitting between Joe and Johnnie Watson, directly\nbehind the dashing Crooper and Miss Pratt. Mr. Crooper had already taken\nFlopit upon his lap.\n\n\"Dogs are always crazy 'bout me,\" they heard him say, for his high voice\nwas but too audible over all other sounds. \"Dogs and chuldren. I dunno\nwhy it is, but they always take to me. My name's George Crooper, Third,\nJohnnie Watson's cousin. He was tryin' to intradooce me before the car\ncame along, but he never got the chance. I guess as this shindig's\nfor you, and I'm the only other guest from out o' town, we'll have to\nintradooce ourselves--the two guests of honor, as it were.\"\n\nMiss Pratt laughed her silvery laugh, murmured politely, and turned no\nfreezing glance upon her neighbor. Indeed, it seemed that she was far\nfrom regarding him with the distaste anticipated by William and Joe\nBullitt. \"Flopit look so toot an' tunnin',\" she was heard to remark.\n\"Flopit look so 'ittle on dray, big, 'normous man's lap.\"\n\nMr. Crooper laughed deprecatingly. \"He does look kind of small compared\nwith the good ole man that's got charge of him, now! Well, I always was\na good deal bigger than the fellas I went with. I dunno why it is, but\nI was always kind of quicker, too, as it were--and the strongest in any\ncrowd I ever got with. I'm kind of musclebound, I guess, but I don't let\nthat interfere with my quickness any. Take me in an automobile, now--I\ngot a racin'-car at home--and I keep my head better than most people do,\nas it were. I can kind of handle myself better; I dunno why it is. My\nbrains seem to work better than other people's, that's all it is. I\ndon't mean that I got more sense, or anything like that; it's just the\nway my brains work; they kind of put me at an advantage, as it were.\nWell, f'rinstance, if I'd been livin' here in this town and joined in\nwith the crowd to get up this party, well, it would of been done a good\ndeal diff'rent. I won't say better, but diff'rent. That's always the\nway with me if I go into anything, pretty soon I'm running the whole\nshebang; I dunno why it is. The other people might try to run it their\nway for a while, but pretty soon you notice 'em beginning to step out\nof the way for good ole George. I dunno why it is, but that's the way it\ngoes. Well, if I'd been running THIS party I'd of had automobiles to go\nout in, not a trolley-car where you all got to sit together--and I'd\nof sent over home for my little racer and I'd of taken you out in her\nmyself. I wish I'd of sent for it, anyway. We could of let the rest go\nout in the trolley, and you and I could of got off by ourselves: I'd\nlike you to see that little car. Well, anyway, I bet you'd of seen\nsomething pretty different and a whole lot better if I'd of come over to\nthis town in time to get up this party for you!\"\n\n\"For US,\" Miss Pratt corrected him, sunnily.\n\n\"Bofe strangers--party for us two--all bofe!\" And she gave him one of\nher looks.\n\nMr. Crooper flushed with emotion; he was annexed; he became serious.\n\"Say,\" he said, \"that's a mighty smooth hat you got on.\" And he touched\nthe fluffy rim of it with his forefinger. His fat shoulders leaned\ntoward her yearningly.\n\n\"We'd cert'nly of had a lot better time sizzin' along in that little\nracer I got,\" he said. \"I'd like to had you see how I handle that little\ncar. Girls over home, they say they like to go out with me just to watch\nthe way I handle her; they say it ain't so much just the ride, but more\nthe way I handle that little car. I dunno why it is, but that's what\nthey say. That's the way I do anything I make up my mind to tackle,\nthough. I don't try to tackle everything--there's lots o' things I\nwouldn't take enough interest in 'em, as it were--but just lemme make up\nmy mind once, and it's all off; I dunno why it is. There was a brakeman\non the train got kind of fresh: he didn't know who I was. Well, I\njust put my hand on his shoulder and pushed him down in his seat like\nthis\"--he set his hand upon Miss Pratt's shoulder. \"I didn't want to hit\nhim, because there was women and chuldren in the car, so I just shoved\nmy face up close to him, like this. 'I guess you don't know how much\nstock my father's got in this road,' I says. Did he wilt? Well, you\nought of seen that brakeman when I got through tellin' him who I was!\"\n\n\"Nassy ole brateman!\" said Miss Pratt, with unfailing sympathy.\n\nMr. Crooper's fat hand, as if unconsciously, gave Miss Pratt's delicate\nshoulder a little pat in reluctant withdrawal. \"Well, that's the way\nwith me,\" he said. \"Much as I been around this world, nobody ever tried\nto put anything over on me and got away with it. They always come out\nthe little end o' the horn; I dunno why it is. Say, that's a mighty\nsmooth locket you got on the end o' that chain, there.\" And again\nstretching forth his hand, in a proprietor-like way, he began to examine\nthe locket.\n\nThree hot hearts, just behind, pulsated hatred toward him; for Johnnie\nWatson had perceived his error, and his sentiments were now linked\nto those of Joe Bullitt and William. The unhappiness of these three\nhelpless spectators was the more poignant because not only were they\nwitnesses of the impression of greatness which George Crooper was\nobviously producing upon Miss Pratt, but they were unable to prevent\nthemselves from being likewise impressed.\n\nThey were not analytical; they dumbly accepted George at his own rating,\nnot even being able to charge him with lack of modesty. Did he not\nalways accompany his testimonials to himself with his deprecating\nfalsetto laugh and \"I dunno why it is,\" an official disclaimer of merit,\n\"as it were\"? Here was a formidable candidate, indeed--a traveler, a man\nof the world, with brains better and quicker than other people's brains;\nan athlete, yet knightly--he would not destroy even a brakeman in the\npresence of women and children--and, finally, most enviable and deadly,\nthe owner and operator of a \"little racer\"! All this glitter was not far\nshort of overpowering; and yet, though accepting it as fact, the woeful\nthree shared the inconsistent belief that in spite of everything George\nwas nothing but a big, fat lummox. For thus they even rather loudly\nwhispered of him--almost as if hopeful that Miss Pratt, and mayhap\nGeorge himself, might overhear.\n\nImpotent their seething! The overwhelming Crooper pursued his conquering\nway. He leaned more and more toward the magnetic girl, his growing\ntenderness having that effect upon him, and his head inclining so\nfar that his bedewed brow now and then touched the fluffy hat. He was\nconstitutionally restless, but his movements never ended by placing a\ngreater distance between himself and Miss Pratt, though they sometimes\ndiscommoded Miss Parcher, who sat at the other side of him--a side of\nhim which appeared to be without consciousness. He played naively with\nMiss Pratt's locket and with the filmy border of her collar; he flicked\nhis nose for some time with her little handkerchief, loudly sniffing its\nscent; and finally he became interested in a ring she wore, removed it,\nand tried unsuccessfully to place it upon one of his own fingers.\n\n\"I've worn lots o' girls' rings on my watch-fob. I'd let 'em wear mine\non a chain or something. I guess they like to do that with me,\" he said.\n\"I dunno why it is.\"\n\nAt this subtle hint the three unfortunates held their breath, and then\nlost it as the lovely girl acquiesced in the horrible exchange. As for\nWilliam, life was of no more use to him. Out of the blue heaven of that\nbright morning's promise had fallen a pall, draping his soul in black\nand purple. He had been horror-stricken when first the pudgy finger of\nGeorge Crooper had touched the fluffy edge of that sacred little hat;\nthen, during George's subsequent pawings and leanings, William felt that\nhe must either rise and murder or go mad. But when the exchange of rings\nwas accomplished, his spirit broke and even resentment oozed away. For a\ntime there was no room in him for anything except misery.\n\nDully, William's eyes watched the fat shoulders hitching and twitching,\nwhile the heavy arms flourished in gesture and in further pawings.\nAgain and again were William's ears afflicted with, \"I dunno why it is,\"\nfollowing upon tribute after tribute paid by Mr. Crooper to himself, and\nreceived with little cries of admiration and sweet child-words on the\npart of Miss Pratt. It was a long and accursed ride.\n\n\n\n\nXX\n\nSYDNEY CARTON\n\nAt the farm-house where the party were to dine, Miss Pratt with joy\ndiscovered a harmonium in the parlor, and, seating herself, with all the\ngirls, Flopit, and Mr. George Crooper gathered around her, she played\nan accompaniment, while George, in a thin tenor of detestable sweetness,\nsang \"I'm Falling in Love with Some One.\"\n\nHis performance was rapturously greeted, especially by the accompanist.\n\"Oh, wunnerfulest Untle Georgiecums!\" she cried, for that was now the\ngentleman's name. \"If Johnnie McCormack hear Untle Georgiecums he\ngo shoot umself dead--Bang!\" She looked round to where three figures\nhovered morosely in the rear. \"Tum on, sin' chorus, Big Bruvva\nJosie-Joe, Johnny Jump-up, an' Ickle Boy Baxter. All over adain, Untle\nGeorgiecums! Boys an' dirls all sin' chorus. Tummence!\"\n\nAnd so the heartrending performance continued until it was stopped by\nWallace Banks, the altruistic and perspiring youth who had charge of\nthe subscription-list for the party, and the consequent collection of\nassessments. This entitled Wallace to look haggard and to act as master\nof ceremonies. He mounted a chair.\n\n\"Ladies and gentlemen,\" he bellowed, \"I want to say--that is--ah--I am\nrequested to announce t that before dinner we're all supposed to take a\nwalk around the farm and look at things, as this is supposed to be kind\nof a model farm or supposed to be something like that. There's a Swedish\nlady named Anna going to show us around. She's out in the yard waiting,\nso please follow her to inspect the farm.\"\n\nTo inspect a farm was probably the least of William's desires. He wished\nonly to die in some quiet spot and to have Miss Pratt told about it in\nwords that would show her what she had thrown away. But he followed\nwith the others, in the wake of the Swedish lady named Anna, and as they\nstood in the cavernous hollow of the great barn he found his condition\nsuddenly improved.\n\nMiss Pratt turned to him unexpectedly and placed Flopit in his arms.\n\"Keep p'eshus Flopit cozy,\" she whispered. \"Flopit love ole friends\nbest!\"\n\nWilliam's heart leaped, while a joyous warmth spread all over him. And\nthough the execrable lummox immediately propelled Miss Pratt forward--by\nher elbow--to hear the descriptive remarks of the Swedish lady named\nAnna, William's soul remained uplifted and entranced. She had not said\n\"like\"; she had said, \"Flopit LOVE ole friends best\"! William pressed\nforward valiantly, and placed himself as close as possible upon the\nright of Miss Pratt, the lummox being upon her left. A moment later,\nWilliam wished that he had remained in the rear.\n\nThis was due to the unnecessary frankness of the Swedish lady\nnamed Anna, who was briefly pointing out the efficiency of various\nagricultural devices. Her attention being diverted by some effusions of\npride on the part of a passing hen, she thought fit to laugh and say:\n\n\"She yust laid egg.\"\n\nWilliam shuddered. This grossness in the presence of Miss Pratt was\nunthinkable. His mind refused to deal with so impossible a situation; he\ncould not accept it as a fact that such words had actually been uttered\nin such a presence. And yet it was the truth; his incredulous ears\nstill sizzled. \"She yust laid egg!\" His entire skin became flushed; his\naverted eyes glazed themselves with shame.\n\nHe was not the only person shocked by the ribaldry of the Swedish lady\nnamed Anna. Joe Bullitt and Johnnie Watson, on the outskirts of the\ngroup, went to Wallace Banks, drew him aside, and, with feverish\neloquence, set his responsibilities before him. It was his duty, they\nurged, to have an immediate interview with this free-spoken Anna and\ninstruct her in the proprieties. Wallace had been almost as horrified as\nthey by her loose remark, but he declined the office they proposed for\nhim, offering, however, to appoint them as a committee with authority\nin the matter--whereupon they retorted with unreasonable indignation,\ndemanding to know what he took them for.\n\nUnconscious of the embarrassment she had caused in these several\nmasculine minds, the Swedish lady named Anna led the party onward,\ncontinuing her agricultural lecture. William walked mechanically, his\neyes averted and looking at no one. And throughout this agony he was\nburningly conscious of the blasphemed presence of Miss Pratt beside him.\n\nTherefore, it was with no little surprise, when the party came out of\nthe barn, that William beheld Miss Pratt, not walking at his side, but\non the contrary, sitting too cozily with George Crooper upon a fallen\ntree at the edge of a peach-orchard just beyond the barn-yard. It was\nMiss Parcher who had been walking beside him, for the truant couple had\nmade their escape at the beginning of the Swedish lady's discourse.\n\nIn vain William murmured to himself, \"Flopit love ole friends best.\"\nPurple and black again descended upon his soul, for he could not\ndisguise from himself the damnatory fact that George had flitted with\nthe lady, while he, wretched William, had been permitted to take care of\nthe dog!\n\nA spark of dignity still burned within him. He strode to the barn-yard\nfence, and, leaning over it, dropped Flopit rather brusquely at his\nmistress's feet. Then, without a word even without a look--William\nwalked haughtily away, continuing his stern progress straight through\nthe barn-yard gate, and thence onward until he found himself in solitude\nupon the far side of a smoke-house, where his hauteur vanished.\n\nHere, in the shade of a great walnut-tree which sheltered the little\nbuilding, he gave way--not to tears, certainly, but to faint murmurings\nand little heavings under impulses as ancient as young love itself. It\nis to be supposed that William considered his condition a lonely one,\nbut if all the seventeen-year-olds who have known such halfhours could\nhave shown themselves to him then, he would have fled from the mere\nhorror of billions. Alas! he considered his sufferings a new invention\nin the world, and there was now inspired in his breast a monologue so\neloquently bitter that it might deserve some such title as A Passion\nBeside the Smoke-house. During the little time that William spent in\nthis sequestration he passed through phases of emotion which would have\nkept an older man busy for weeks and left him wrecked at the end of\nthem.\n\nWilliam's final mood was one of beautiful resignation with a kick in\nit; that is, he nobly gave her up to George and added irresistibly that\nGeorge was a big, fat lummox! Painting pictures, such as the billions\nof other young sufferers before him have painted, William saw himself\na sad, gentle old bachelor at the family fireside, sometimes making the\nsacrifice of his reputation so that SHE and the children might never\nknow the truth about George; and he gave himself the solace of a fierce\nscene or two with George: \"Remember, it is for them, not you--you\nTHING!\"\n\nAfter this human little reaction he passed to a higher field of romance.\nHe would die for George and then she would bring the little boy she had\nnamed William to the lonely headstone--Suddenly William saw himself in\nhis true and fitting character--Sydney Carton! He had lately read A Tale\nof Two Cities, immediately re-reading until, as he would have said,\nhe \"knew it by heart\"; and even at the time he had seen resemblances\nbetween himself and the appealing figure of Carton. Now that the\nsympathy between them was perfected by Miss Pratt's preference for\nanother, William decided to mount the scaffold in place of George\nCrooper. The scene became actual to him, and, setting one foot upon a\ntin milk-pail which some one had carelessly left beside the smoke-house,\nhe lifted his eyes to the pitiless blue sky and unconsciously assumed\nthe familiar attitude of Carton on the steps of the guillotine. He spoke\naloud those great last words:\n\n\"It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a\nfar, far better rest that I go to--\"\n\nA whiskered head on the end of a long, corrugated red neck protruded\nfrom the smokehouse door.\n\n\"What say?\" it inquired, huskily.\n\n\"Nun-nothing!\" stammered William.\n\nEyes above whiskers became fierce. \"You take your feet off that\nmilk-bucket. Say! This here's a sanitary farm. 'Ain't you got any more\nsense 'n to go an'--\"\n\nBut William had abruptly removed his foot and departed.\n\nHe found the party noisily established in the farm-house at two long\ntables piled with bucolic viands already being violently depleted.\nJohnnie Watson had kept a chair beside himself vacant for William.\nJohnnie was in no frame of mind to sit beside any \"chattering girl,\"\nand he had protected himself by Joe Bullitt upon his right and the empty\nseat upon his left. William took it, and gazed upon the nearer foods\nwith a slight renewal of animation.\n\nHe began to eat; he continued to eat; in fact, he did well. So did his\ntwo comrades. Not that the melancholy of these three was dispersed--far\nfrom it! With ineffaceable gloom they ate chicken, both white meat and\ndark, drumsticks, wishbones, and livers; they ate corn-on-the-cob, many\nears, and fried potatoes and green peas and string-beans; they ate peach\npreserves and apricot preserves and preserved pears; they ate biscuits\nwith grape jelly and biscuits with crabapple jelly; they ate apple sauce\nand apple butter and apple pie. They ate pickles, both cucumber pickles\nand pickles made of watermelon rind; they ate pickled tomatoes, pickled\npeppers, also pickled onions. They ate lemon pie.\n\nAt that, they were no rivals to George Crooper, who was a real eater.\nLove had not made his appetite ethereal to-day, and even the attending\nSwedish lady named Anna felt some apprehension when it came to George\nand the gravy, though she was accustomed to the prodigies performed in\nthis line by the robust hands on the farm. George laid waste his section\nof the table, and from the beginning he allowed himself scarce time\nto say, \"I dunno why it is.\" The pretty companion at his side at first\ngazed dumfounded; then, with growing enthusiasm for what promised to be\na really magnificent performance, she began to utter little ejaculations\nof wonder and admiration. With this music in his ears, George outdid\nhimself. He could not resist the temptation to be more and more\nastonishing as a heroic comedian, for these humors sometimes come upon\nvain people at country dinners.\n\nGeorge ate when he had eaten more than he needed; he ate long after\nevery one understood why he was so vast; he ate on and on sheerly as\na flourish--as a spectacle. He ate even when he himself began to\nunderstand that there was daring in what he did, for his was a toreador\nspirit so long as he could keep bright eyes fastened upon him.\n\nFinally, he ate to decide wagers made upon his gorging, though at times\nduring this last period his joviality deserted him. Anon his damp brow\nwould be troubled, and he knew moments of thoughtfulness.\n\n\n\n\nXXI\n\nMY LITTLE SWEETHEARTS\n\nWhen George did stop, it was abruptly, during one of these intervals of\nsobriety, and he and Miss Pratt came out of the house together rather\nquietly, joining one of the groups of young people chatting with\nafter-dinner languor under the trees. However, Mr. Crooper began to\nrevive presently, in the sweet air of outdoors, and, observing some\nof the more flashing gentlemen lighting cigarettes, he was moved to\nlaughter. He had not smoked since his childhood--having then been bonded\nthrough to twenty-one with a pledge of gold--and he feared that these\nsmoking youths might feel themselves superior. Worse, Miss Pratt might\nbe impressed, therefore he laughed in scorn, saying:\n\n\"Burnin' up ole trash around here, I expect!\" He sniffed searchingly.\n\"Somebody's set some ole rags on fire.\" Then, as in discovery, he cried,\n\"Oh no, only cigarettes!\"\n\nMiss Pratt, that tactful girl, counted four smokers in the group about\nher, and only one abstainer, George. She at once defended the smokers,\nfor it is to be feared that numbers always had weight with her. \"Oh, but\ncigarettes is lubly smell!\" she said. \"Untle Georgiecums maybe be too\n'ittle boy for smokings!\"\n\nThis archness was greeted loudly by the smokers, and Mr. Crooper was\nput upon his mettle. He spoke too quickly to consider whether or no the\nfacts justified his assertion. \"Me? I don't smoke paper and ole carpets.\nI smoke cigars!\"\n\nHe had created the right impression, for Miss Pratt clapped her hands.\n\"Oh, 'plendid! Light one, Untle Georgiecums! Light one ever 'n' ever so\nquick! P'eshus Flopit an' me we want see dray, big, 'normous man smoke\ndray, big, 'normous cigar!\"\n\nWilliam and Johnnie Watson, who had been hovering morbidly, unable to\nresist the lodestone, came nearer, Johnnie being just in time to hear\nhis cousin's reply.\n\n\"I--I forgot my cigar-case.\"\n\nJohnnie's expression became one of biting skepticism. \"What you talkin'\nabout, George? Didn't you promise Uncle George you'd never smoke till\nyou're of age, and Uncle George said he'd give you a thousand dollars on\nyour twenty-first birthday? What 'd you say about your 'cigar-case'?\"\n\nGeorge felt that he was in a tight place, and the lovely eyes of Miss\nPratt turned upon him questioningly. He could not flush, for he was\nalready so pink after his exploits with unnecessary nutriment that more\npinkness was impossible. He saw that the only safety for him lay in\nboisterous prevarication. \"A thousand dollars!\" he laughed loudly. \"I\nthought that was real money when I was ten years old! It didn't stand in\nMY way very long, I guess! Good ole George wanted his smoke, and he went\nafter it! You know how I am, Johnnie, when I go after anything. I been\nsmokin' cigars I dunno how long!\" Glancing about him, his eye became\nreassured; it was obvious that even Johnnie had accepted this airy\nstatement as the truth, and to clinch plausibility he added: \"When I\nsmoke, I smoke! I smoke cigars straight along--light one right on the\nstub of the other. I only wish I had some with me, because I miss 'em\nafter a meal. I'd give a good deal for something to smoke right now! I\ndon't mean cigarettes; I don't want any paper--I want something that's\nall tobacco!\"\n\nWilliam's pale, sad face showed a hint of color. With a pang he\nremembered the package of My Little Sweetheart All-Tobacco Cuban\nCigarettes (the Package of Twenty for Ten Cents) which still reposed,\nuntouched, in the breast pocket of his coat. His eyes smarted a little\nas he recalled the thoughts and hopes that had accompanied the purchase;\nbut he thought, \"What would Sydney Carton do?\"\n\nWilliam brought forth the package of My Little Sweetheart All-Tobacco\nCuban Cigarettes and placed it in the large hand of George Crooper. And\nthis was a noble act, for William believed that George really wished to\nsmoke. \"Here,\" he said, \"take these; they're all tobacco. I'm goin' to\nquit smokin', anyway.\" And, thinking of the name, he added, gently, with\na significance lost upon all his hearers, \"I'm sure you ought to have\n'em instead of me.\"\n\nThen he went away and sat alone upon the fence.\n\n\"Light one, light one!\" cried Miss Pratt. \"Ev'ybody mus' be happy, an'\ndray, big, 'normous man tan't be happy 'less he have his all-tobatto\nsmote. Light it, light it!\"\n\nGeorge drew as deep a breath as his diaphragm, strangely oppressed since\ndinner, would permit, and then bravely lit a Little Sweetheart. There\nmust have been some valiant blood in him, for, as he exhaled the smoke,\nhe covered a slight choking by exclaiming, loudly: \"THAT'S good! That's\nthe ole stuff! That's what I was lookin' for!\"\n\nMiss Pratt was entranced. \"Oh, 'plendid!\" she cried, watching him with\nfascinated eyes. \"Now take dray, big, 'normous puffs! Take dray, big,\n'NORMOUS puffs!\"\n\nGeorge took great, big, enormous puffs.\n\nShe declared that she loved to watch men smoke, and William's heart, as\nhe sat on the distant fence, was wrung and wrung again by the vision of\nher playful ecstasies. But when he saw her holding what was left of the\nfirst Little Sweetheart for George to light a second at its expiring\nspark, he could not bear it. He dropped from the fence and moped away to\nbe out of sight once more. This was his darkest hour.\n\nStudiously avoiding the vicinity of the smokehouse, he sought the little\norchard where he had beheld her sitting with George; and there he sat\nhimself in sorrowful reverie upon the selfsame fallen tree. How long\nhe remained there is uncertain, but he was roused by the sound of music\nwhich came from the lawn before the farmhouse. Bitterly he smiled,\nremembering that Wallace Banks had engaged Italians with harp, violin,\nand flute, promising great things for dancing on a fresh-clipped lawn--a\nturf floor being no impediment to seventeen's dancing. Music! To see her\nwhirling and smiling sunnily in the fat grasp of that dancing bear! He\nwould stay in this lonely orchard; SHE would not miss him.\n\nBut though he hated the throbbing music and the sound of the laughing\nvoices that came to him, he could not keep away--and when he reached the\nlawn where the dancers were, he found Miss Pratt moving rhythmically in\nthe thin grasp of Wallace Banks. Johnnie Watson approached, and spoke in\na low tone, tinged with spiteful triumph.\n\n\"Well, anyway, ole fat George didn't get the first dance with her! She's\nthe guest of honor, and Wallace had a right to it because he did all the\nwork. He came up to 'em and ole fat George couldn't say a thing. Wallace\njust took her right away from him. George didn't say anything at all,\nbut I s'pose after this dance he'll be rushin' around again and nobody\nelse 'll have a chance to get near her the rest of the afternoon. My\nmother told me I ought to invite him over here, out I had no business\nto do it; he don't know the first principles of how to act in a town he\ndon't live in!\"\n\n\"Where'd he go?\" William asked, listlessly, for Mr. Crooper was nowhere\nin sight.\n\n\"I don't know--he just walked off without sayin' anything. But he'll be\nback, time this dance is over, never you fear, and he'll grab her again\nand--What's the matter with Joe?\"\n\nJoseph Bullitt had made his appearance at a corner of the house, some\ndistance from where they stood. His face was alert under the impulse of\nstrong excitement, and he beckoned fiercely. \"Come here!\" And, when they\nhad obeyed, \"He's around back of the house by a kind of shed,\" said Joe.\n\"I think something's wrong. Come on, I'll show him to you.\"\n\nBut behind the house, whither they followed him in vague, strange hope,\nhe checked them. \"LOOK THERE!\" he said.\n\nHis pointing finger was not needed. Sounds of paroxysm drew their\nattention sufficiently--sounds most poignant, soul-rending, and\nlugubrious. William and Johnnie perceived the large person of Mr.\nCrooper; he was seated upon the ground, his back propped obliquely\nagainst the smoke-house, though this attitude was not maintained\nconstantly.\n\nFacing him, at a little distance, a rugged figure in homely garments\nstood leaning upon a hoe and regarding George with a cold interest. The\napex of this figure was a volcanic straw hat, triangular in profile and\nconed with an open crater emitting reddish wisps, while below the\nhat were several features, but more whiskers, at the top of a long,\ncorrugated red neck of sterling worth. A husky voice issued from the\nwhiskers, addressing George.\n\n\"I seen you!\" it said. \"I seen you eatin'! This here farm is supposed to\nbe a sanitary farm, and you'd ought of knew better. Go it, doggone you!\nGo it!\"\n\nGeorge complied. And three spectators, remaining aloof, but watching\nzealously, began to feel their lost faith in Providence returning into\nthem; their faces brightened slowly, and without relapse. It was a\nvisible thing how the world became fairer and better in their eyes\nduring that little while they stood there. And William saw that his\nLittle Sweethearts had been an inspired purchase, after all; they had\ndelivered the final tap upon a tottering edifice. George's deeds at\ndinner had unsettled, but Little Sweethearts had overthrown--and now\nthere was awful work among the ruins, to an ironical accompaniment of\nmusic from the front yard, where people danced in heaven's sunshine!\n\nThis accompaniment came to a stop, and Johnnie Watson jumped. He seized\neach of his companions by a sleeve and spoke eagerly, his eyes glowing\nwith a warm and brotherly light. \"Here!\" he cried. \"We better get around\nthere--this looks like it was goin' to last all afternoon. Joe, you\nget the next dance with her, and just about time the music slows up you\ndance her around so you can stop right near where Bill will be standin',\nso Bill can get her quick for the dance after that. Then, Bill, you do\nthe same for me, and I'll do the same for Joe again, and then, Joe, you\ndo it for Bill again, and then Bill for me--and so on. If we go in right\nnow and work together we can crowd the rest out, and there won't anybody\nelse get to dance with her the whole day! Come on quick!\"\n\nUnited in purpose, the three ran lightly to the dancing-lawn, and Mr.\nBullitt was successful, after a little debate, in obtaining the next\ndance with the lovely guest of the day. \"I did promise big Untle\nGeorgiecums,\" she said, looking about her.\n\n\"Well, I don't think he'll come,\" said Joe. \"That is, I'm pretty sure he\nwon't.\"\n\nA shade fell upon the exquisite face. \"No'ty. Bruvva Josie-Joe! The Men\nALWAYS tum when Lola promises dances. Mustn't be rude!\"\n\n\"Well--\" Joe began, when he was interrupted by the Swedish lady named\nAnna, who spoke to them from the steps of the house. Of the merrymakers\nthey were the nearest.\n\n\"Dot pick fella,\" said Anna, \"dot one dot eats--we make him in a\npetroom. He holler! He tank he neet some halp.\"\n\n\"Does he want a doctor?\" Joe asked.\n\n\"Doctor? No! He want make him in a amyoulance for hospital!\"\n\n\"I'll go look at him,\" Johnnie Watson volunteered, running up. \"He's my\ncousin, and I guess I got to take the responsibility.\"\n\nMiss Pratt paid the invalid the tribute of one faintly commiserating\nglance toward the house. \"Well,\" she said, \"if people would rather eat\ntoo much than dance!\" She meant \"dance with ME!\" though she thought\nit prettier not to say so. \"Come on, Bruvva Josie-Joe!\" she cried,\njoyously.\n\nAnd a little later Johnnie Watson approached her where she stood with\na restored and refulgent William, about to begin the succeeding dance.\nJohnnie dropped into her hand a ring, receiving one in return. \"I\nthought I better GET it,\" he said, offering no further explanation.\n\"I'll take care of his until we get home. He's all right,\" said Johnnie,\nand then perceiving a sudden advent of apprehension upon the sensitive\nbrow of William, he went on reassuringly: \"He's doin' as well as anybody\ncould expect; that is--after the crazy way he DID! He's always been\nconsidered the dumbest one in all our relations--never did know how\nto act. I don't mean he's exactly not got his senses, or ought to be\nwatched, anything like that--and of course he belongs to an awful\ngood family--but he's just kind of the black sheep when it comes to\nintelligence, or anything like that. I got him as comfortable as a\nperson could be, and they're givin' him hot water and mustard and stuff,\nbut what he needs now is just to be kind of quiet. It'll do him a lot o'\ngood,\" Johnnie concluded, with a spark in his voice, \"to lay there the\nrest of the afternoon and get quieted down, kind of.\"\n\n\"You don't think there's any--\" William began, and, after a pause,\ncontinued--\"any hope--of his getting strong enough to come out and dance\nafterwhile?\"\n\nJohnnie shook his head. \"None in the world!\" he said, conclusively. \"The\nbest we can do for him is to let him entirely alone till after supper,\nand then ask nobody to sit on the back seat of the trolley-car goin'\nhome, so we can make him comfortable back there, and let him kind of\nstretch out by himself.\"\n\nThen gaily tinkled harp, gaily sang flute and violin! Over the\ngreensward William lightly bore his lady, while radiant was the cleared\nsky above the happy dancers. William's fingers touched those delicate\nfingers; the exquisite face smiled rosily up to him; undreamable\nsweetness beat rhythmically upon his glowing ears; his feet moved in a\nrhapsody of companionship with hers. They danced and danced and danced!\n\nThen Joe danced with her, while William and Johnnie stood with hands\nupon each other's shoulders and watched, mayhap with longing, but\nwithout spite; then Johnnie danced with her while Joe and William\nwatched--and then William danced with her again.\n\nSo passed the long, ineffable afternoon away--ah, Seventeen!\n\n\"... 'Jav a good time at the trolley-party?\" the clerk in the corner\ndrug-store inquired that evening.\n\n\"Fine!\" said William, taking his overcoat from the hook where he had\nleft it.\n\n\"How j' like them Little Sweethearts I sold you?\"\n\n\"FINE!\" said William.\n\n\n\n\nXXII\n\nFORESHADOWINGS\n\nNow the last rose had blown; the dandelion globes were long since on the\nwind; gladioli and golden-glow and salvia were here; the season moved\ntoward asters and the goldenrod. This haloed summer still idled on\nits way, yet all the while sped quickly; like some languid lady in an\nelevator.\n\nThere came a Sunday--very hot.\n\nMr. and Mrs. Baxter, having walked a scorched half-mile from church,\ndrooped thankfully into wicker chairs upon their front porch, though\nJane, who had accompanied them, immediately darted away, swinging her\nhat by its ribbon and skipping as lithesomely as if she had just come\nforth upon a cool morning.\n\n\"I don't know how she does it!\" her father moaned, glancing after her\nand drying his forehead temporarily upon a handkerchief. \"That would\nmerely kill me dead, after walking in this heat.\"\n\nThen, for a time, the two were content to sit in silence, nodding\nto occasional acquaintances who passed in the desultory after-church\nprocession. Mr. Baxter fanned himself with sporadic little bursts of\nenergy which made his straw hat creak, and Mrs. Baxter sighed with the\nheat, and gently rocked her chair.\n\nBut as a group of five young people passed along the other side of the\nstreet Mr. Baxter abruptly stopped fanning himself, and, following the\ndirection of his gaze, Mrs. Baxter ceased to rock. In half-completed\nattitudes they leaned slightly forward, sharing one of those pauses of\nparents who unexpectedly behold their offspring.\n\n\"My soul!\" said William's father. \"Hasn't that girl gone home YET?\"\n\n\"He looks pale to me,\" Mrs. Baxter murmured, absently. \"I don't think he\nseems at all well, lately.\"\n\nDuring seventeen years Mr. Baxter had gradually learned not to protest\nanxieties of this kind, unless he desired to argue with no prospect\nof ever getting a decision. \"Hasn't she got any HOME?\" he demanded,\ntestily. \"Isn't she ever going to quit visiting the Parchers and let\npeople have a little peace?\"\n\nMrs. Baxter disregarded this outburst as he had disregarded her remark\nabout William's pallor. \"You mean Miss Pratt?\" she inquired, dreamily,\nher eyes following the progress of her son. \"No, he really doesn't look\nwell at all.\"\n\n\"Is she going to visit the Parchers all summer?\" Mr. Baxter insisted.\n\n\"She already has, about,\" said Mrs. Baxter.\n\n\"Look at that boy!\" the father grumbled. \"Mooning along with those other\nmoon-calves--can't even let her go to church alone! I wonder how many\nweeks of time, counting it out in hours, he's wasted that way this\nsummer?\"\n\n\"Oh, I don't know! You see, he never goes there in the evening.\"\n\n\"What of that? He's there all day, isn't he? What do they find to talk\nabout? That's the mystery to me! Day after day; hours and hours--My\nsoul! What do they SAY?\"\n\nMrs. Baxter laughed indulgently. \"People are always wondering that about\nthe other ages. Poor Willie! I think that a great deal of the time their\nconversation would be probably about as inconsequent as it is now. You\nsee Willie and Joe Bullitt are walking one on each side of Miss Pratt,\nand Johnnie Watson has to walk behind with May Parcher. Joe and Johnnie\nare there about as much as Willie is, and, of course, it's often his\nturn to be nice to May Parcher. He hasn't many chances to be tete-a-tete\nwith Miss Pratt.\"\n\n\"Well, she ought to go home. I want that boy to get back into his\nsenses. He's in an awful state.\"\n\n\"I think she is going soon,\" said Mrs. Baxter. \"The Parchers are to have\na dance for her Friday night, and I understand there's to be a floor\nlaid in the yard and great things. It's a farewell party.\"\n\n\"That's one mercy, anyhow!\"\n\n\"And if you wonder what they say,\" she resumed, \"why, probably they're\nall talking about the party. And when Willie IS alone with her--well,\nwhat does anybody say?\" Mrs. Baxter interrupted herself to laugh. \"Jane,\nfor instance--she's always fascinated by that darky, Genesis, when he's\nat work here in the yard, and they have long, long talks; I've seen them\nfrom the window. What on earth do you suppose they talk about? That's\nwhere Jane is now. She knew I told Genesis I'd give him something if\nhe'd come and freeze the ice-cream for us to-day, and when we got here\nshe heard the freezer and hopped right around there. If you went out to\nthe back porch you'd find them talking steadily--but what on earth about\nI couldn't guess to save my life!\"\n\nAnd yet nothing could have been simpler: as a matter of fact, Jane and\nGenesis (attended by Clematis) were talking about society. That is to\nsay, their discourse was not sociologic; rather it was of the frivolous\nand elegant. Watteau prevailed with them over John Stuart Mill--in a\nword, they spoke of the beau monde.\n\nGenesis turned the handle of the freezer with his left hand, allowing\nhis right the freedom of gesture which was an intermittent necessity\nwhen he talked. In the matter of dress, Genesis had always been among\nthe most informal of his race, but to-day there was a change almost\nunnerving to the Caucasian eye. He wore a balloonish suit of purple,\nstrangely scalloped at pocket and cuff, and more strangely decorated\nwith lines of small parasite buttons, in color blue, obviously buttons\nof leisure. His bulbous new shoes flashed back yellow fire at the\nembarrassed sun, and his collar (for he had gone so far) sent forth\nother sparkles, playing upon a polished surface over an inner graining\nof soot. Beneath it hung a simple, white, soiled evening tie, draped in\na manner unintended by its manufacturer, and heavily overburdened by a\ngreen glass medallion of the Emperor Tiberius, set in brass.\n\n\"Yesm,\" said Genesis. \"Now I'm in 'at Swim--flyin' roun' ev'y night wif\nall lem blue-vein people--I say, 'Mus' go buy me some blue-vein clo'es!\nEf I'm go'n' a START, might's well start HIGH!' So firs', I buy me\nthishere gol' necktie pin wi' thishere lady's face carved out o' green\ndi'mon', sittin' in the middle all 'at gol'. 'Nen I buy me pair Royal\nKing shoes. I got a frien' o' mine, thishere Blooie Bowers; he say Royal\nKing shoes same kine o' shoes HE wear, an' I walk straight in 'at sto'\nwhere they keep 'em at. 'Don' was'e my time showin' me no ole-time\nshoes,' I say. 'Run out some them big, yella, lump-toed Royal Kings\nbefo' my eyes, an' firs' pair fit me I pay price, an' wear 'em right off\non me!' 'Nen I got me thishere suit o' clo'es--OH, oh! Sign on 'em in\nwindow: 'Ef you wish to be bes'-dress' man in town take me home fer six\ndolluhs ninety-sevum cents.' ''At's kine o' suit Genesis need,' I say.\n'Ef Genesis go'n' a start dressin' high, might's well start top!'\"\n\nJane nodded gravely, comprehending the reasonableness of this view.\n\"What made you decide to start, Genesis?\" she asked, earnestly. \"I mean,\nhow did it happen you began to get this way?\"\n\n\"Well, suh, 'tall come 'bout right like kine o' slidin' into it 'stid\no' hoppin' an' jumpin'. I'z spen' the even' at 'at lady's house, Fanny,\nwhat cook nex' do', las' year. Well, suh, 'at lady Fanny, she quit\nprivut cookin', she kaytliss--\"\n\n\"She's what?\" Jane asked. \"What's that mean, Genesis--kaytliss?\"\n\n\"She kaytuhs,\" he explained. \"Ef it's a man you call him kaytuh; ef it's\na lady, she's a kaytliss. She does kaytun fer all lem blue-vein fam'lies\nin town. She make ref'eshmuns, bring waituhs--'at's kaytun. You' maw\ngive big dinnuh, she have Fanny kaytuh, an' don't take no trouble 'tall\nherself. Fanny take all 'at trouble.\"\n\n\"I see,\" said Jane. \"But I don't see how her bein' a kaytliss started\nyou to dressin' so high, Genesis.\"\n\n\"Thishere way. Fanny say, 'Look here, Genesis, I got big job t'morra\nnight an' I'm man short, 'count o' havin' to have a 'nouncer.'\"\n\n\"A what?\"\n\n\"Fanny talk jes' that way. Goin' be big dinnuh-potty, an' thishere\nblue-vein fam'ly tell Fanny they want whole lot extry sploogin'; tell\nher put fine-lookin' cullud man stan' by drawin'-room do'--ask ev'ybody\nname an' holler out whatever name they say, jes' as they walk in.\nThishere fam'ly say they goin' show what's what, 'nis town, an' they\nboun' Fanny go git 'em a 'nouncer. 'Well, what's mattuh YOU doin' 'at\n'nouncin'?' Fanny say. 'Who--me?' I tell her. 'Yes, you kin, too!' she\nsay, an' she say she len' me 'at waituh suit yoosta b'long ole Henry\nGimlet what die' when he owin' Fanny sixteen dolluhs--an' Fanny tuck\nan' keep 'at waituh suit. She use 'at suit on extry waituhs when she got\nsome on her hands what 'ain't got no waituh suit. 'You wear 'at suit,'\nFanny say, 'an' you be good 'nouncer, 'cause you' a fine, big man, an'\ngot a big, gran' voice; 'nen you learn befo' long be a waituh, Genesis,\nan' git dolluh an' half ev'y even' you waitin ', 'sides all 'at money\nyou make cuttin' grass daytime.' Well, suh, I'z stan' up doin' 'at\n'nouncin' ve'y nex' night. White lady an' ge'lmun walk todes my do', I\nstep up to 'em--I step up to 'em thisaway.\"\n\nHere Genesis found it pleasant to present the scene with some\nelaboration. He dropped the handle of the freezer, rose, assumed a\nstately, but ingratiating, expression, and \"stepped up\" to the imagined\ncouple, using a pacing and rhythmic gait--a conservative prance, which\nplainly indicated the simultaneous operation of an orchestra. Then\nbending graciously, as though the persons addressed were of dwarfish\nstature, \"'Scuse me,\" he said, \"but kin I please be so p'lite as to\n'quiah you' name?\" For a moment he listened attentively, then nodded,\nand, returning with the same aristocratic undulations to an imaginary\ndoorway near the freezer, \"Misto an' Missuz Orlosko Rinktum!\" he\nproclaimed, sonorously.\n\n\"WHO?\" cried Jane, fascinated. \"Genesis, 'nounce that again, right\naway!\"\n\nGenesis heartily complied.\n\n\"Misto an' Missuz Orlosko Rinktum!\" he bawled.\n\n\"Was that really their names?\" she asked, eagerly.\n\n\"Well, I kine o' fergit,\" Genesis admitted, resuming his work with the\nfreezer. \"Seem like I rickalect SOMEBODY got name good deal like what I\nsay, 'cause some mighty blue-vein names at 'at dinnuh-potty, yessuh! But\nI on'y git to be 'nouncer one time, 'cause Fanny tellin' me nex' fam'ly\nhave dinnuh-potty make heap o' fun. Say I done my 'nouncin' GOOD, but\nsay what's use holler'n' names jes' fer some the neighbors or they own\naunts an' uncles to walk in, when ev'ybody awready knows 'em? So Fanny\npummote me to waituh, an' I roun' right in amongs' big doin's mos' ev'y\nnight. Pass ice-cream, lemonade, lemon-ice, cake, samwitches. 'Lemme\nhan' you li'l' mo' chicken salad, ma'am'--' 'Low me be so kine as to git\nyou f'esh cup coffee, suh'--'S way ole Genesis talkin' ev'y even' 'ese\ndays!\"\n\nJane looked at him thoughtfully. \"Do you like it better than cuttin'\ngrass, Genesis?\" she asked.\n\nHe paused to consider. \"Yes'm--when ban' play all lem TUNES! My\ngoo'ness, do soun' gran'!\"\n\n\"You can't do it to-night, though, Genesis,\" said Jane. \"You haf to be\nquiet on Sunday nights, don't you?\"\n\n\"Yes'm. 'Ain' got no mo' kaytun till nex' Friday even'.\"\n\n\"Oh, I bet that's the party for Miss Pratt at Mr. Parcher's!\" Jane\ncried. \"Didn't I guess right?\"\n\n\"Yes'm. I reckon I'm a-go'n' a see one you' fam'ly 'at night; see him\ndancin'--wait on him at ref'eshmuns.\"\n\nJane's expression became even more serious than usual. \"Willie? I don't\nknow whether he's goin', Genesis.\"\n\n\"Lan' name!\" Genesis exclaimed. \"He die ef he don' git INvite to 'at\nball!\"\n\n\"Oh, he's invited,\" said Jane. \"Only I think maybe he won't go.\"\n\n\"My goo'ness! Why ain' he goin'?\"\n\nJane looked at her friend studiously before replying. \"Well, it's a\nsecret,\" she said, finally, \"but it's a very inter'sting one, an' I'll\ntell you if you never tell.\"\n\n\"Yes'm, I ain' tellin' nobody.\"\n\nJane glanced round, then stepped a little closer and told the secret\nwith the solemnity it deserved. \"Well, when Miss Pratt first came to\nvisit Miss May Parcher, Willie used to keep papa's evening clo'es in\nhis window-seat, an' mamma wondered what HAD become of 'em. Then, after\ndinner, he'd slip up there an' put 'em on him, an' go out through the\nkitchen an' call on Miss Pratt. Then mamma found 'em, an' she thought he\noughtn't to do that, so she didn't tell him or anything, an' she didn't\neven tell papa, but she had the tailor make 'em ever an' ever so much\nbigger, 'cause they were gettin' too tight for papa. An' well, so after\nthat, even if Willie could get 'em out o' mamma's clo'es-closet where\nshe keeps 'em now, he'd look so funny in 'em he couldn't wear 'em. Well,\nan' then he couldn't go to pay calls on Miss Pratt in the evening since\nthen, because mamma says after he started to go there in that suit he\ncouldn't go without it, or maybe Miss Pratt or the other ones that's in\nlove of her would think it was pretty queer, an' maybe kind of expeck it\nwas papa's all the time. Mamma says she thinks Willie must have worried\na good deal over reasons to say why he'd always go in the daytime after\nthat, an' never came in the evening, an' now they're goin' to have this\nparty, an' she says he's been gettin' paler and paler every day since\nhe heard about it. Mamma says he's pale SOME because Miss Pratt's goin'\naway, but she thinks it's a good deal more because, well, if he would\nwear those evening clo'es just to go CALLIN', how would it be to go to\nthat PARTY an' not have any! That's what mamma thinks--an', Genesis, you\npromised you'd never tell as long as you live!\"\n\n\"Yes'm. _I_ ain' tellin',\" Genesis chuckled. \"I'm a-go'n' agit me one\nnem waituh suits befo' long, myse'f, so's I kin quit wearin' 'at ole\nHenry Gimlet suit what b'long to Fanny, an' have me a privut suit o'\nmy own. They's a secon'-han' sto' ovuh on the avynoo, where they got\nswallertail suits all way f'um sevum dolluhs to nineteem dolluhs an'\nninety-eight cents. I'm a--\"\n\nJane started, interrupting him. \"'SH!\" she whispered, laying a finger\nwarningly upon her lips.\n\nWilliam had entered the yard at the back gate, and, approaching over the\nlawn, had arrived at the steps of the porch before Jane perceived\nhim. She gave him an apprehensive look, but he passed into the house\nabsent-mindedly, not even flinching at sight of Clematis--and Mrs.\nBaxter was right, William did look pale.\n\n\"I guess he didn't hear us,\" said Jane, when he had disappeared into the\ninterior. \"He acks awful funny!\" she added, thoughtfully. \"First when he\nwas in love of Miss Pratt, he'd be mad about somep'm almost every minute\nhe was home. Couldn't anybody say ANYthing to him but he'd just behave\nas if it was frightful, an' then if you'd see him out walkin' with Miss\nPratt, well, he'd look like--like--\" Jane paused; her eye fell upon\nClematis and by a happy inspiration she was able to complete her simile\nwith remarkable accuracy. \"He'd look like the way Clematis looks at\npeople! That's just EXACTLY the way he'd look, Genesis, when he was\nwalkin' with Miss Pratt; an' then when he was home he got so quiet he\ncouldn't answer questions an' wouldn't hear what anybody said to him\nat table or anywhere, an' papa 'd nearly almost bust. Mamma 'n' papa 'd\ntalk an' talk about it, an'\"--she lowered her voice--\"an' I knew what\nthey were talkin' about. Well, an' then he'd hardly ever get mad any\nmore; he'd just sit in his room, an' sometimes he'd sit in there without\nany light, or he'd sit out in the yard all by himself all evening,\nmaybe; an' th'other evening after I was in bed I heard 'em, an' papa\nsaid--well, this is what papa told mamma.\" And again lowering her\nvoice, she proffered the quotation from her father in atone somewhat\nawe-struck: \"Papa said, by Gosh! if he ever 'a' thought a son of his\ncould make such a Word idiot of himself he almost wished we'd both been\ngirls!\"\n\nHaving completed this report in a violent whisper, Jane nodded\nrepeatedly, for emphasis, and Genesis shook his head to show that he was\nas deeply impressed as she wished him to be. \"I guess,\" she added, after\na pause \"I guess Willie didn't hear anything you an' I talked about him,\nor clo'es, or anything.\"\n\nShe was mistaken in part. William had caught no reference to himself,\nbut he had overheard something and he was now alone in his room,\nthinking about it almost feverishly. \"A secon'-han' sto' ovuh on the\navynoo, where they got swaller-tail suits all way f'um sevum dolluhs to\nnineteem dolluhs an' ninety-eight cents.\"\n\n... Civilization is responsible for certain longings in the breast\nof man--artificial longings, but sometimes as poignant as hunger and\nthirst. Of these the strongest are those of the maid for the bridal\nveil, of the lad for long trousers, and of the youth for a tailed coat\nof state. To the gratification of this last, only a few of the early\njoys in life are comparable. Indulged youths, too rich, can know, to the\nunctuous full, neither the longing nor the gratification; but one such\nas William, in \"moderate circumstances,\" is privileged to pant for his\nfirst evening clothes as the hart panteth after the water-brook--and\nsometimes, to pant in vain. Also, this was a crisis in William's\nlife: in addition to his yearning for such apparel, he was racked by a\npassionate urgency.\n\nAs Jane had so precociously understood, unless he should somehow manage\nto obtain the proper draperies he could not go to the farewell dance\nfor Miss Pratt. Other unequipped boys could go in their ordinary \"best\nclothes,\" but William could not; for, alack! he had dressed too well too\nsoon!\n\nHe was in desperate case.\n\nThe sorrow of the approaching great departure was but the heavier\nbecause it had been so long deferred. To William it had seemed that this\nflower-strewn summer could actually end no more than he could actually\ndie, but Time had begun its awful lecture, and even Seventeen was\nlistening.\n\nMiss Pratt, that magic girl, was going home.\n\n\n\n\nXXIII\n\nFATHERS FORGET\n\nTo the competent twenties, hundreds of miles suggesting no\nimpossibilities, such departures may be rending, but not tragic.\nImplacable, the difference to Seventeen! Miss Pratt was going home, and\nSeventeen could not follow; it could only mourn upon the lonely shore,\ntracing little angelic footprints left in the sand.\n\nTo Seventeen such a departure is final; it is a vanishing.\n\nAnd now it seemed possible that William might be deprived even of the\nlast romantic consolations: of the \"last waltz together,\" of the last,\nlast \"listening to music in the moonlight together\"; of all those sacred\nlasts of the \"last evening together.\"\n\nHe had pleaded strongly for a \"dress-suit\" as a fitting recognition\nof his seventeenth birthday anniversary, but he had been denied by\nhis father with a jocularity more crushing than rigor. Since then--in\nparticular since the arrival of Miss Pratt--Mr. Baxter's temper had been\ngrowing steadily more and more even. That is, as affected by William's\nsocial activities, it was uniformly bad. Nevertheless, after heavy\nbrooding, William decided to make one final appeal before he resorted to\nmeasures which the necessities of despair had caused him to contemplate.\n\nHe wished to give himself every chance for a good effect; therefore, he\ndid not act hastily, but went over what he intended to say, rehearsing\nit with a few appropriate gestures, and even taking some pleasure in the\npathetic dignity of this performance, as revealed by occasional\nglances at the mirror of his dressing-table. In spite of these little\nalleviations, his trouble was great and all too real, for, unhappily,\nthe previous rehearsal of an emotional scene does not prove the emotion\ninsincere.\n\nDescending, he found his father and mother still sitting upon the front\nporch. Then, standing before them, solemn-eyed, he uttered a preluding\ncough, and began:\n\n\"Father,\" he said in a loud voice, \"I have come to--\"\n\n\"Dear me!\" Mrs. Baxter exclaimed, not perceiving that she was\ninterrupting an intended oration. \"Willie, you DO look pale! Sit down,\npoor child; you oughtn't to walk so much in this heat.\"\n\n\"Father,\" William repeated. \"Fath--\"\n\n\"I suppose you got her safely home from church,\" Mr. Baxter said. \"She\nmight have been carried off by footpads if you three boys hadn't been\nalong to take care of her!\"\n\nBut William persisted heroically. \"Father--\" he said. \"Father, I have\ncome to--\"\n\n\"What on earth's the matter with you?\" Mr. Baxter ceased to fan himself;\nMrs. Baxter stopped rocking, and both stared, for it had dawned upon\nthem that something unusual was beginning to take place.\n\nWilliam backed to the start and tried it again. \"Father, I have come\nto--\" He paused and gulped, evidently expecting to be interrupted,\nbut both of his parents remained silent, regarding him with puzzled\nsurprise. \"Father,\" he began once more, \"I have come--I have come\nto--to place before you something I think it's your duty as my father\nto undertake, and I have thought over this step before laying it before\nyou.\"\n\n\"My soul!\" said Mr. Baxter, under his breath. \"My soul!\"\n\n\"At my age,\" William continued, swallowing, and fixing his earnest eyes\nupon the roof of the porch, to avoid the disconcerting stare of his\nfather--\"at my age there's some things that ought to be done and some\nthings that ought not to be done. If you asked me what I thought OUGHT\nto be done, there is only one answer: When anybody as old as I am has\nto go out among other young men his own age that already got one, like\nanyway half of them HAVE, who I go with, and their fathers have already\ntaken such a step, because they felt it was the only right thing to\ndo, because at my age and the young men I go with's age, it IS the only\nright thing to do, because that is something nobody could deny, at my\nage--\" Here William drew a long breath, and, deciding to abandon that\nsentence as irrevocably tangled, began another: \"I have thought over\nthis step, because there comes a time to every young man when they must\nlay a step before their father before something happens that they would\nbe sorry for. I have thought this undertaking over, and I am certain it\nwould be your honest duty--\"\n\n\"My soul!\" gasped Mr. Baxter. \"I thought I knew you pretty well, but you\ntalk like a stranger to ME! What is all this? What you WANT?\"\n\n\"A dress-suit!\" said William.\n\nHe had intended to say a great deal more before coming to the point,\nbut, although through nervousness he had lost some threads of his\nrehearsed plea, it seemed to him that he was getting along well and\nputting his case with some distinction and power. He was surprised and\nhurt, therefore, to hear his father utter a wordless shout in a tone of\nwondering derision.\n\n\"I have more to say--\" William began.\n\nBut Mr. Baxter cut him off. \"A dress-suit!\" he cried. \"Well, I'm glad\nyou were talking about SOMETHING, because I honestly thought it must be\ntoo much sun!\"\n\nAt this, the troubled William brought his eyes down from the porch roof\nand forgot his rehearsal. He lifted his hand appealingly. \"Father,\" he\nsaid, \"I GOT to have one!\"\n\n\"'Got to'!\" Mr. Baxter laughed a laugh that chilled the supplicant\nthrough and through. \"At your age I thought I was lucky if I had ANY\nsuit that was fit to be seen in. You're too young, Willie. I don't want\nyou to get your mind on such stuff, and if I have my way, you won't have\na dress-suit for four years more, anyhow.\"\n\n\"Father, I GOT to have one. I got to have one right away!\" The urgency\nin William's voice was almost tearful. \"I don't ask you to have it made,\nor to go to expensive tailors, but there's plenty of good ready-made\nones that only cost about forty dollars; they're advertised in the\npaper. Father, wouldn't you spend just forty dollars? I'll pay it back\nwhen I'm in business; I'll work--\"\n\nMr. Baxter waved all this aside. \"It's not the money. It's the principle\nthat I'm standing for, and I don't intend--\"\n\n\"Father, WON'T you do it?\"\n\n\"No, I will not!\"\n\nWilliam saw that sentence had been passed and all appeals for a new\ntrial denied. He choked, and rushed into the house without more ado.\n\n\"Poor boy!\" his mother said.\n\n\"Poor boy nothing!\" fumed Mr. Baxter. \"He's about lost his mind over\nthat Miss Pratt. Think of his coming out here and starting a regular\ndebating society declamation before his mother and father! Why, I never\nheard anything like it in my life! I don't like to hurt his feelings,\nand I'd give him anything I could afford that would do him any good,\nbut all he wants it for now is to splurge around in at this party before\nthat little yellow-haired girl! I guess he can wear the kind of clothes\nmost of the other boys wear--the kind _I_ wore at parties--and never\nthought of wearing anything else. What's the world getting to be\nlike? Seventeen years old and throws a fit because he can't have a\ndress-suit!\"\n\nMrs. Baxter looked thoughtful. \"But--but suppose he felt he couldn't go\nto the dance unless he wore one, poor boy--\"\n\n\"All the better,\" said Mr. Baxter, firmly. \"Do him good to keep away and\nget his mind on something else.\"\n\n\"Of course,\" she suggested, with some timidity, \"forty dollars isn't a\ngreat deal of money, and a ready-made suit, just to begin with--\"\n\nNaturally, Mr. Baxter perceived whither she was drifting. \"Forty dollars\nisn't a thousand,\" he interrupted, \"but what you want to throw it away\nfor? One reason a boy of seventeen oughtn't to have evening clothes\nis the way he behaves with ANY clothes. Forty dollars! Why, only this\nsummer he sat down on Jane's open paint-box, twice in one week!\"\n\n\"Well--Miss Pratt IS going away, and the dance will be her last night.\nI'm afraid it would really hurt him to miss it. I remember once, before\nwe were engaged--that evening before papa took me abroad, and you--\"\n\n\"It's no use, mamma,\" he said. \"We were both in the twenties--why, _I_\nwas six years older than Willie, even then. There's no comparison at\nall. I'll let him order a dress-suit on his twenty-first birthday and\nnot a minute before. I don't believe in it, and I intend to see that\nhe gets all this stuff out of his system. He's got to learn some hard\nsense!\"\n\nMrs. Baxter shook her head doubtfully, but she said no more. Perhaps she\nregretted a little that she had caused Mr. Baxter's evening clothes to\nbe so expansively enlarged--for she looked rather regretful. She also\nlooked rather incomprehensible, not to say cryptic, during the long\nsilence which followed, and Mr. Baxter resumed his rocking, unaware of\nthe fixity of gaze which his wife maintained upon him--a thing the most\nloyal will do sometimes.\n\nThe incomprehensible look disappeared before long; but the regretful\none was renewed in the mother's eyes whenever she caught glimpses of her\nson, that day, and at the table, where William's manner was gentle--even\ntoward his heartless father.\n\nUnderneath that gentleness, the harried self of William was no longer\ndebating a desperate resolve, but had fixed upon it, and on the\nfollowing afternoon Jane chanced to be a witness of some resultant\nactions. She came to her mother with an account of them.\n\n\"Mamma, what you s'pose Willie wants of those two ole market-baskets\nthat were down cellar?\"\n\n\"Why, Jane?\"\n\n\"Well, he carried 'em in his room, an' then he saw me lookin'; an' he\nsaid, 'G'way from here!' an' shut the door. He looks so funny! What's he\nwant of those ole baskets, mamma?\"\n\n\"I don't know. Perhaps he doesn't even know, himself, Jane.\"\n\nBut William did know, definitely. He had set the baskets upon chairs,\nand now, with pale determination, he was proceeding to fill them. When\nhis task was completed the two baskets contained:\n\nOne \"heavy-weight winter suit of clothes.\"\n\nOne \"light-weight summer suit of clothes.\"\n\nOne cap.\n\nOne straw hat.\n\nTwo pairs of white flannel trousers.\n\nTwo Madras shirts.\n\nTwo flannel shirts.\n\nTwo silk shirts.\n\nSeven soft collars.\n\nThree silk neckties.\n\nOne crocheted tie.\n\nEight pairs of socks.\n\nOne pair of patent-leather shoes.\n\nOne pair of tennis-shoes.\n\nOne overcoat.\n\nSome underwear.\n\nOne two-foot shelf of books, consisting of several sterling works\nupon mathematics, in a damaged condition; five of Shakespeare's plays,\nexpurgated for schools and colleges, and also damaged; a work upon\npolitical economy, and another upon the science of physics; Webster's\nCollegiate Dictionary; How to Enter a Drawing-Room and Five Hundred\nOther Hints; Witty Sayings from Here and There; Lorna Doone; Quentin\nDurward; The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, a very old copy of Moths,\nand a small Bible.\n\nWilliam spread handkerchiefs upon the two over-bulging cargoes, that\ntheir nature might not be disclosed to the curious, and, after listening\na moment at his door, took the baskets, one upon each arm, then went\nquickly down the stairs and out of the house, out of the yard, and into\nthe alley--by which route he had modestly chosen to travel.\n\n... After an absence of about two hours he returned empty-handed\nand anxious. \"Mother, I want to speak to you,\" he said, addressing Mrs\nBaxter in a voice which clearly proved the strain of these racking days.\n\"I want to speak to you about something important.\"\n\n\"Yes, Willie?\"\n\n\"Please send Jane away. I can't talk about important things with a child\nin the room.\"\n\nJane naturally wished to stay, since he was going to say something\nimportant. \"Mamma, do I HAF to go?\"\n\n\"Just a few minutes, dear.\"\n\nJane walked submissively out of the door, leaving it open behind her.\nThen, having gone about six feet farther, she halted and, preserving a\nbreathless silence, consoled herself for her banishment by listening to\nwhat was said, hearing it all as satisfactorily as if she had remained\nin the room. Quiet, thoughtful children, like Jane, avail themselves of\nthese little pleasures oftener than is suspected.\n\n\"Mother,\" said William, with great intensity, \"I want to ask you please\nto lend me three dollars and sixty cents.\"\n\n\"What for, Willie?\"\n\n\"Mother, I just ask you to lend me three dollars and sixty cents.\"\n\n\"But what FOR?\"\n\n\"Mother, I don't feel I can discuss it any; I simply ask you: Will you\nlend me three dollars and sixty cents?\"\n\nMrs. Baxter laughed gently. \"I don't think I could, Willie, but\ncertainly I should want to know what for.\"\n\n\"Mother, I am going on eighteen years of age, and when I ask for a\nsmall sum of money like three dollars and sixty cents I think I might be\ntrusted to know how to use it for my own good without having to answer\nquestions like a ch--\"\n\n\"Why, Willie,\" she exclaimed, \"you ought to have plenty of money of your\nown!\"\n\n\"Of course I ought,\" he agreed, warmly. \"If you'd ask father to give me\na regular allow--\"\n\n\"No, no; I mean you ought to have plenty left out of that old junk and\nfurniture I let you sell last month. You had over nine dollars!'\n\n\"That was five weeks ago,\" William explained, wearily.\n\n\"But you certainly must have some of it left. Why, it was MORE than nine\ndollars, I believe! I think it was nearer ten. Surely you haven't--\"\n\n\"Ye gods!\" cried the goaded William. \"A person going on eighteen\nyears old ought to be able to spend nine dollars in five weeks without\neverybody's acting like it was a crime! Mother, I ask you the simple\nquestion: Will you PLEASE lend me three dollars and sixty cents?\"\n\n\"I don't think I ought to, dear. I'm sure your father wouldn't wish\nme to, unless you'll tell me what you want it for. In fact, I won't\nconsider it at all unless you do tell me.\"\n\n\"You won't do it?\" he quavered.\n\nShe shook her head gently. \"You see, dear, I'm afraid the reason you\ndon't tell me is because you know that I wouldn't give it to you if I\nknew what you wanted it for.\"\n\nThis perfect diagnosis of the case so disheartened him that after a few\nmonosyllabic efforts to continue the conversation with dignity he gave\nit up, and left in such a preoccupation with despondency that he passed\nthe surprised Jane in the hall without suspecting what she had been\ndoing.\n\nThat evening, after dinner, he addressed to his father an impassioned\nappeal for three dollars and sixty cents, laying such stress of pathos\non his principal argument that if he couldn't have a dress-suit, at\nleast he ought to be given three dollars and sixty CENTS (the emphasis\nis William's) that Mr. Baxter was moved in the direction of consent--but\nnot far enough. \"I'd like to let you have it, Willie,\" he said, excusing\nhimself for refusal, \"but your mother felt SHE oughtn't to do it unless\nyou'd say what you wanted it for, and I'm sure she wouldn't like me to\ndo it. I can't let you have it unless you get her to say she wants me\nto.\"\n\nThus advised, the unfortunate made another appeal to his mother the next\nday, and, having brought about no relaxation of the situation, again\npetitioned his father, on the following evening. So it went; the torn\nand driven William turning from parent to parent; and surely, since the\nworld began, the special sum of three dollars and sixty cents has never\nbeen so often mentioned in any one house and in the same space of time\nas it was in the house of the Baxters during Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday,\nand Thursday of that oppressive week.\n\nBut on Friday William disappeared after breakfast and did not return to\nlunch.\n\n\n\n\nXXIV\n\nCLOTHES MAKE THE MAN\n\nMrs. Baxter was troubled. During the afternoon she glanced often from\nthe open window of the room where she had gone to sew, but the peaceful\nneighborhood continued to be peaceful, and no sound of the harassed\nfootsteps of William echoed from the pavement. However, she saw Genesis\narrive (in his weekday costume) to do some weeding, and Jane immediately\nskip forth for mingled purposes of observation and conversation.\n\n\"What DO they say?\" thought Mrs. Baxter, observing that both Jane and\nGenesis were unusually animated. But for once that perplexity was to be\ndispersed. After an exciting half-hour Jane came flying to her mother,\nbreathless.\n\n\"Mamma,\" she cried, \"I know where Willie is! Genesis told me, 'cause he\nsaw him, an' he talked to him while he was doin' it.\"\n\n\"Doing what? Where?\"\n\n\"Mamma, listen! What you think Willie's doin'? I bet you can't g--\"\n\n\"Jane!\" Mrs Baxter spoke sharply. \"Tell me what Genesis said, at once.\"\n\n\"Yes'm. Willie's sittin' in a lumber-yard that Genesis comes by on his\nway from over on the avynoo where all the colored people live--an' he's\ncountin' knot-holes in shingles.\"\n\n\"He is WHAT?\"\n\n\"Yes'm. Genesis knows all about it, because he was thinkin' of doin'\nit himself, only he says it would be too slow. This is the way it is,\nmamma. Listen, mamma, because this is just exackly the way it is. Well,\nthis lumber-yard man got into some sort of a fuss because he bought\nmillions an' millions of shingles, mamma, that had too many knots in,\nan' the man don't want to pay for 'em, or else the store where he bought\n'em won't take 'em back, an' they got to prove how many shingles are\nbad shingles, or somep'm, an' anyway, mamma, that's what Willie's doin'.\nEvery time he comes to a bad shingle, mamma, he puts it somewheres else,\nor somep'm like that, mamma, an' every time he's put a thousand bad\nshingles in this other place they give him six cents. He gets the six\ncents to keep, mamma--an' that's what he's been doin' all day!\"\n\n\"Good gracious!\"\n\n\"Oh, but that's nothing, mamma--just you wait till you hear the rest.\nTHAT part of it isn't anything a TALL, mamma! You wouldn't hardly notice\nthat part of it if you knew the other part of it, mamma. Why, that\nisn't ANYTHING!\" Jane made demonstrations of scorn for the insignificant\ninformation already imparted.\n\n\"Jane!\"\n\n\"Yes'm?\"\n\n\"I want to know everything Genesis told you,\" said her mother, \"and I\nwant you to tell it as quickly as you can.\"\n\n\"Well, I AM tellin' it, mamma!\" Jane protested. \"I'm just BEGINNING to\ntell it. I can't tell it unless there's a beginning, can I? How could\nthere be ANYTHING unless you had to begin it, mamma?\"\n\n\"Try your best to go on, Jane!\"\n\n\"Yes'm. Well, Genesis says--Mamma!\" Jane interrupted herself with a\nlittle outcry. \"Oh! I bet THAT'S what he had those two market-baskets\nfor! Yes, sir! That's just what he did! An' then he needed the rest\no' the money an' you an' papa wouldn't give him any, an' so he began\ncountin' shingles to-day 'cause to-night's the night of the party an' he\njust HASS to have it!\"\n\nMrs. Baxter, who had risen to her feet, recalled the episode of the\nbaskets and sank into a chair. \"How did Genesis know Willie wanted forty\ndollars, and if Willie's pawned something how did Genesis know THAT? Did\nWillie tell Gen--\"\n\n\"Oh no, mamma, Willie didn't want forty dollars--only fourteen!\"\n\n\"But he couldn't get even the cheapest readymade dress-suit for fourteen\ndollars.\"\n\n\"Mamma, you're gettin' it all mixed up!\" Jane cried. \"Listen, mamma!\nGenesis knows all about a second-hand store over on the avynoo; an' it\nkeeps 'most everything, an' Genesis says it's the nicest store! It keeps\nwaiter suits all the way up to nineteen dollars and ninety-nine cents.\nWell, an' Genesis wants to get one of those suits, so he goes in there\nall the time, an' talks to the man an' bargains an' bargains with him,\n'cause Genesis says this man is the bargainest man in the wide worl',\nmamma! That's what Genesis says. Well, an' so this man's name is One-eye\nBeljus, mamma. That's his name, an' Genesis says so. Well, an' so this\nman that Genesis told me about, that keeps the store--I mean One-eye\nBeljus, mamma--well, One-eye Beljus had Willie's name written down in a\nbook, an' he knew Genesis worked for fam'lies that have boys like Willie\nin 'em, an' this morning One-eye Beljus showed Genesis Willie's name\nwritten down in this book, an' One-eye Beljus asked Genesis if he knew\nanybody by that name an' all about him. Well, an' so at first Genesis\npretended he was tryin' to remember, because he wanted to find out what\nWillie went there for. Genesis didn't tell any stories, mamma; he\njust pretended he couldn't remember, an' so, well, One-eye Beljus kept\ntalkin' an' pretty soon Genesis found out all about it. One-eye Beljus\nsaid Willie came in there an' tried on the coat of one of those waiter\nsuits--\"\n\n\"Oh no!\" gasped Mrs. Baxter.\n\n\"Yes'm, an' One-eye Beljus said it was the only one that would fit\nWillie, an' One-eye Beljus told Willie that suit was worth fourteen\ndollars, an' Willie said he didn't have any money, but he'd like to\ntrade something else for it. Well, an' so One-eye Beljus said this was\nan awful fine suit an' the only one he had that had b'longed to a white\ngentleman. Well, an' so they bargained, an' bargained, an' bargained,\nan' BARGAINED! An' then, well, an' so at last Willie said he'd go an'\nget everything that b'longed to him, an' One-eye Beljus could pick out\nenough to make fourteen dollars' worth, an' then Willie could have\nthe suit. Well, an' so Willie came home an' put everything he had that\nb'longed to him into those two baskets, mamma--that's just what he\ndid, 'cause Genesis says he told One-eye Beljus it was everything that\nb'longed to him, an' that would take two baskets, mamma. Well, then,\nan' so he told One-eye Beljus to pick out fourteen dollars' worth, an'\nOne-eye Beljus ast Willie if he didn't have a watch. Well, Willie took\nout his watch an' One-eye Beljus said it was an awful bad watch, but he\nwould put it in for a dollar; an' he said, 'I'll put your necktie pin\nin for forty cents more,' so Willie took it out of his necktie an' then\nOne-eye Beljus said it would take all the things in the baskets to make\nI forget how much, mamma, an' the watch would be a dollar more, an' the\npin forty cents, an' that would leave just three dollars an' sixty cents\nmore for Willie to pay before he could get the suit.\"\n\nMrs. Baxter's face had become suffused with high color, but she wished\nto know all that Genesis had said, and, mastering her feelings with an\neffort, she told Jane to proceed--a command obeyed after Jane had taken\nseveral long breaths.\n\n\"Well, an' so the worst part of it is, Genesis says, it's because that\nsuit is haunted.\"\n\n\"What!\"\n\n\"Yes'm,\" said Jane, solemnly; \"Genesis says it's haunted. Genesis says\neverybody over on the avynoo knows all about that suit, an' he says\nthat's why One-eye Beljus never could sell it before. Genesis says\nOne-eye Beljus tried to sell it to a colored man for three dollars,\nbut the man said he wouldn't put in on for three hunderd dollars, an'\nGenesis says HE wouldn't, either, because it belonged to a Dago waiter\nthat--that--\" Jane's voice sank to a whisper of unctuous horror. She was\nhaving a wonderful time! \"Mamma, this Dago waiter, he lived over on the\navynoo, an' he took a case-knife he'd sharpened--AN' HE CUT A LADY'S\nHEAD OFF WITH IT!\"\n\nMrs. Baxter screamed faintly.\n\n\"An' he got hung, mamma! If you don't believe it, you can ask One-eye\nBeljus--I guess HE knows! An' you can ask--\"\n\n\"Hush!\"\n\n\"An' he sold this suit to One-eye Beljus when he was in jail, mamma. He\nsold it to him before he got hung, mamma.\"\n\n\"Hush, Jane!\"\n\nBut Jane couldn't hush now. \"An' he had that suit on when he cut the\nlady's head off, mamma, an' that's why it's haunted. They cleaned it all\nup excep' a few little spots of bl--\"\n\n\"JANE!\" shouted her mother. \"You must not talk about such things, and\nGenesis mustn't tell, you stories of that sort!\"\n\n\"Well, how could he help it, if he told me about Willie?\" Jane urged,\nreasonably.\n\n\"Never mind! Did that crazy ch--Did Willie LEAVE the baskets in that\ndreadful place?\"\n\n\"Yes'm--an' his watch an' pin,\" Jane informed her, impressively. \"An'\nOne-eye Beljus wanted to know if Genesis knew Willie, because One-eye\nBeljus wanted to know if Genesis thought Willie could get the three\ndollars an; sixty cents, an' One-eye Beljus wanted to know if Genesis\nthought he could get anything more out of him besides that. He told\nGenesis he hadn't told Willie he COULD have the suit, after all; he just\ntold him he THOUGHT he could, but he wouldn't say for certain till he\nbrought him the three dollars an' sixty cents. So Willie left all his\nthings there, an' his watch an--\"\n\n\"That will do!\" Mrs. Baxter's voice was sharper than it had ever been in\nJane's recollection. \"I don't need to hear any more--and I don't WANT to\nhear any more!\"\n\nJane was justly aggrieved. \"But, mamma, it isn't MY fault!\"\n\nMrs. Baxter's lips parted to speak, but she checked herself. \"Fault?\"\nshe said, gravely. \"I wonder whose fault it really is!\"\n\nAnd with that she went hurriedly into William's room and made a brief\ninspection of his clothes-closet and dressing-table. Then, as Jane\nwatched her in awed silence, she strode to the window, and called,\nloudly:\n\n\"Genesis!\"\n\n\"Yes'm?\" came the voice from below.\n\n\"Go to that lumber-yard where Mr. William is at work and bring him\nhere to me at once. If he declines to come, tell him--\" Her voice broke\noddly; she choked, but Jane could not decide with what emotion. \"Tell\nhim--tell him I ordered you to use force if necessary! Hurry!\"\n\n\"YES'M!\"\n\nJane ran to the window in time to see Genesis departing seriously\nthrough the back gate.\n\n\"Mamma--\"\n\n\"Don't talk to me now, Jane,\" Mrs. Baxter said, crisply. \"I want you to\ngo down in the yard, and when Willie comes tell him I'm waiting for him\nhere in his own room. And don't come with him, Jane. Run!\"\n\n\"Yes, mamma.\" Jane was pleased with this appointment; she anxiously\ndesired to be the first to see how Willie \"looked.\"\n\n... He looked flurried and flustered and breathless, and there were\nblisters upon the reddened palms of his hands. \"What on earth's the\nmatter, mother?\" he asked, as he stood panting before her. \"Genesis said\nsomething was wrong, and he said you told him to hit me if I wouldn't\ncome.\"\n\n\"Oh NO!\" she cried. \"I only meant I thought perhaps you wouldn't obey\nany ordinary message--\"\n\n\"Well, well, it doesn't matter, but please hurry and say what you want\nto, because I got to get back and--\"\n\n\"No,\" Mrs. Baxter said, quietly, \"you're not going back to count any\nmore shingles, Willie. How much have you earned?\"\n\nHe swallowed, but spoke bravely. \"Thirty-six cents. But I've been\ngetting lots faster the last two hours and there's a good deal of time\nbefore six o'clock. Mother--\"\n\n\"No,\" she said. \"You're going over to that horrible place where you've\nleft your clothes and your watch and all those other things in the two\nbaskets, and you're going to bring them home at once.\"\n\n\"Mother!\" he cried, aghast. \"Who told you?\"\n\n\"It doesn't matter. You don't want your father to find out, do you? Then\nget those things back here as quickly as you can. They'll have to be\nfumigated after being in that den.\"\n\n\"They've never been out of the baskets,\" he protested, hotly, \"except\njust to be looked at. They're MY things, mother, and I had a right to\ndo what I needed to with 'em, didn't I?\" His utterance became difficult.\n\"You and father just CAN'T understand--and you won't do anything to help\nme--\"\n\n\"Willie, you can go to the party,\" she said, gently. \"You didn't need\nthose frightful clothes at all.\"\n\n\"I do!\" he cried. \"I GOT to have 'em! I CAN'T go in my day clo'es!\nThere's a reason you wouldn't understand why I can't. I just CAN'T!\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she said, \"you can go to the party.\"\n\n\"I can't, either! Not unless you give me three dollars and twenty-four\ncents, or unless I can get back to the lumber-yard and earn the rest\nbefore--\"\n\n\"No!\" And the warm color that had rushed over Mrs. Baxter during Jane's\nsensational recital returned with a vengeance. Her eyes flashed. \"If\nyou'd rather I sent a policeman for those baskets, I'll send one. I\nshould prefer to do it--much! And to have that rascal arrested. If you\ndon't want me to send a policeman you can go for them yourself, but\nyou must start within ten minutes, because if you don't I'll telephone\nheadquarters. Ten minutes, Willie, and I mean it!\"\n\nHe cried out, protesting. She would make him a thing of scorn forever\nand soil his honor, if she sent a policeman. Mr. Beljus was a fair\nand honest tradesman, he explained, passionately, and had not made the\napproaches in this matter. Also, the garments in question, though not\nentirely new, nor of the highest mode, were of good material and in\nsplendid condition. Unmistakably they were evening clothes, and such a\nbargain at fourteen dollars that William would guarantee to sell them\nfor twenty after he had worn them this one evening. Mr. Beljus himself\nhad said that he would not even think of letting them go at fourteen\nto anybody else, and as for the two poor baskets of worn and useless\narticles offered in exchange, and a bent scarfpin and a worn-out old\nsilver watch that had belonged to great-uncle Ben--why, the ten dollars\nand forty cents allowed upon them was beyond all ordinary liberality;\nit was almost charity. There was only one place in town where evening\nclothes were rented, and the suspicious persons in charge had insisted\nthat William obtain from his father a guarantee to insure the return of\nthe garments in perfect condition. So that was hopeless. And wasn't it\nbetter, also, to wear clothes which had known only one previous occupant\n(as was the case with Mr. Beljus's offering) than to hire what chance\nhundreds had hired? Finally, there was only one thing to be considered\nand this was the fact that William HAD to have those clothes!\n\n\"Six minutes,\" said Mrs. Baxter, glancing implacably at her watch. \"When\nit's ten I'll telephone.\"\n\nAnd the end of it was, of course, victory for the woman--victory both\nmoral and physical. Three-quarters of an hour later she was unburdening\nthe contents of the two baskets and putting the things back in place,\nilluminating these actions with an expression of strong distaste--in\nspite of broken assurances that Mr. Beljus had not more than touched any\nof the articles offered to him for valuation.\n\n... At dinner, which was unusually early that evening, Mrs. Baxter did\nnot often glance toward her son; she kept her eyes from that white face\nand spent most of her time in urging upon Mr. Baxter that he should\nbe prompt in dressing for a card-club meeting which he and she were\nto attend that evening. These admonitions of hers were continued so\npressingly that Mr. Baxter, after protesting that there was no use in\nbeing a whole hour too early, groaningly went to dress without even\nreading his paper.\n\nWilliam had retired to his own room, where he lay upon his bed in the\ndarkness. He heard the evening noises of the house faintly through the\nclosed door: voices and the clatter of metal and china from the far-away\nkitchen, Jane's laugh in the hall, the opening and closing of the doors.\nThen his father seemed to be in distress about something. William heard\nhim complaining to Mrs. Baxter, and though the words were indistinct,\nthe tone was vigorously plaintive. Mrs. Baxter laughed and appeared\nto make light of his troubles, whatever they were--and presently\ntheir footsteps were audible from the stairway; the front door closed\nemphatically, and they were gone.\n\nEverything was quiet now. The open window showed as a greenish oblong\nset in black, and William knew that in a little while there would come\nthrough the stillness of that window the distant sound of violins. That\nwas a moment he dreaded with a dread that ached. And as he lay on his\ndreary bed he thought of brightly lighted rooms where other boys were\ndressing eagerly faces and hair shining, hearts beating high--boys who\nwould possess this last evening and the \"last waltz together,\" the last\nsmile and the last sigh.\n\nIt did not once enter his mind that he could go to the dance in his\n\"best suit,\" or that possibly the other young people at the party would\nbe too busy with their own affairs to notice particularly what he wore.\nIt was the unquestionable and granite fact, to his mind, that the whole\nderisive World would know the truth about his earlier appearances in his\nfather's clothes. And that was a form of ruin not to be faced. In the\nprotective darkness and seclusion of William's bedroom, it is possible\nthat smarting eyes relieved themselves by blinking rather energetically;\nit is even possible that there was a minute damp spot upon the pillow.\nSeventeen cannot always manage the little boy yet alive under all the\ncoverings.\n\nNow arrived that moment he had most painfully anticipated, and\ndance-music drifted on the night;--but there came a tapping upon his\ndoor and a soft voice spoke.\n\n\"Will-ee?\"\n\nWith a sharp exclamation William swung his legs over the edge of the\nbed and sat up. Of all things he desired not, he desired no conversation\nwith, or on the part of, Jane. But he had forgotten to lock his\ndoor--the handle turned, and a dim little figure marched in.\n\n\"Willie, Adelia's goin' to put me to bed.\"\n\n\"You g'way from here,\" he said, huskily. \"I haven't got time to talk to\nyou. I'm busy.\"\n\n\"Well, you can wait a minute, can't you?\" she asked, reasonably. \"I haf\nto tell you a joke on mamma.\"\n\n\"I don't want to hear any jokes!\"\n\n\"Well, I HAF to tell you this one 'cause she told me to! Oh!\" Jane\nclapped her hand over her mouth and jumped up and down, offering a\nfantastic silhouette against the light of the Open door. \"Oh, oh, OH!\"\n\n\"What's matter?\"\n\n\"She said I mustn't, MUSTN'T tell that she told me to tell! My goodness!\nI forgot that! Mamma took me off alone right after dinner, an' she told\nme to tell you this joke on her a little after she an' papa had left\nthe house, but she said, 'Above all THINGS,' she said, 'DON'T let Willie\nknow _I_ said to tell him.' That's just what she said, an' here that's\nthe very first thing I had to go an' do!\"\n\n\"Well, what of it?\"\n\nJane quieted down. The pangs of her remorse were lost in her love of\nsensationalism, and her voice sank to the thrilling whisper which it was\none of her greatest pleasures to use. \"Did you hear what a fuss papa was\nmakin' when he was dressin' for the card-party?\"\n\n\"_I_ don't care if--\"\n\n\"He had to go in his reg'lar clo'es!\" whispered Jane, triumphantly.\n\"An' this is the joke on mamma: you know that tailor that let papa's\ndress-suit 'way, 'way out; well, Mamma thinks that tailor must think\nshe's crazy, or somep'm 'cause she took papa's dress-suit to him last\nMonday to get it pressed for this card-party, an she guesses he must of\nunderstood her to tell him to do lots besides just pressin' it. Anyway,\nhe went an' altered it, an' he took it 'way, 'way IN again; an' this\nafternoon when it came back it was even tighter 'n what it was in the\nfirst place, an' papa couldn't BEGIN to get into it! Well, an' so it's\nall pressed an' ev'ything, an' she stopped on the way out, an' whispered\nto me that she'd got so upset over the joke on her that she couldn't\nremember where she put it when she took it out o' papa's room after he\ngave up tryin' to get inside of it. An' that,\" cried Jane--\"that's\nthe funniest thing of all! Why, it's layin' right on her bed this very\nminute!\"\n\nIn one bound William leaped through the open door. Two seconds sufficed\nfor his passage through the hall to his mother's bedroom--and there,\nneatly spread upon the lace coverlet and brighter than coronation robes,\nfairer than Joseph's holy coat, It lay!\n\n\n\n\nXXV\n\nYOUTH AND MR. PARCHER\n\nAs a hurried worldling, in almost perfectly fitting evening clothes,\npassed out of his father's gateway and hurried toward the place whence\nfaintly came the sound of dance-music, a child's voice called sweetly\nfrom an unidentified window of the darkened house behind him:\n\n\"Well, ANYWAY, you try and have a good time, Willie!\"\n\nWilliam made no reply; he paused not in his stride. Jane's farewell\ninjunction, though obviously not ill-intended, seemed in poor taste, and\na reply might have encouraged her to believe that, in some measure at\nleast, he condescended to discuss his inner life with her. He departed\nrapidly, but with hauteur. The moon was up, but shade-trees were thick\nalong the sidewalk, and the hauteur was invisible to any human eye;\nnevertheless, William considered it necessary.\n\nJane's friendly but ill-chosen \"ANYWAY\" had touched doubts already\nannoying him. He was certain to be late to the party--so late, indeed,\nthat it might prove difficult to obtain a proper number of dances with\nthe sacred girl in whose honor the celebration was being held. Too\nmany were steeped in a sense of her sacredness, well he wot! and he was\nunable to find room in his apprehensive mind for any doubt that these\nothers would be accursedly diligent.\n\nBut as he hastened onward his spirits rose, and he did reply to Jane,\nafter all, though he had placed a hundred yards between them.\n\n\"Yes, and you can bet your bottom dollar I will, too!\" he muttered,\nbetween his determined teeth.\n\nThe very utterance of the words increased the firmness of his decision,\nand at the same time cheered him. His apprehensions fell away, and a\nglamorous excitement took their place, as he turned a corner and the\nmusic burst more loudly upon his tingling ear. For there, not half-way\nto the next street, the fairy scene lay spread before him.\n\nSpellbound groups of uninvited persons, most of them colored, rested\ntheir forearms upon the upper rail of the Parchers' picket fence,\noffering to William's view a silhouette like that of a crowd at a fire.\nBeyond the fence, bright forms went skimming, shimmering, wavering over\na white platform, while high overhead the young moon sprayed a thinner\nlight down through the maple leaves, to where processions of rosy globes\nhung floating in the blue night. The mild breeze trembled to the silver\npatterings of a harp, to the sweet, barbaric chirping of plucked strings\nof violin and 'cello--and swooned among the maple leaves to the rhythmic\ncrooning of a flute. And, all the while, from the platform came the\nsounds of little cries in girlish voices, and the cadenced shuffling\nof young feet, where the witching dancemusic had its way, as ever and\nforever, with big and little slippers.\n\nThe heart of William had behaved tumultuously the summer long, whenever\nhis eyes beheld those pickets of the Parchers' fence, but now it outdid\nall its previous riotings. He was forced to open his mouth and gasp\nfor breath, so deep was his draught of that young wine, romance.\nYonder--somewhere in the breath-taking radiance--danced his Queen with\nall her Court about her. Queen and Court, thought William, and nothing\nless exorbitant could have expressed his feeling. For seventeen needs\nonly some paper lanterns, a fiddle, and a pretty girl--and Versailles is\nall there!\n\nThe moment was so rich that William crossed the street with a slower\nstep. His mood changed: an exaltation had come upon him, though he was\nnever for an instant unaware of the tragedy beneath all this worldly\nshow and glamor. It was the last night of the divine visit; to-morrow\nthe town would lie desolate, a hollow shell in the dust, without her.\nMiss Pratt would be gone--gone utterly--gone away on the TRAIN! But\nto-night was just beginning, and to-night he would dance with her; he\nwould dance and dance with her--he would dance and dance like mad! He\nand she, poetic and fated pair, would dance on and on! They would be\nintoxicated by the lights--the lights, the flowers, and the music. Nay,\nthe flowers might droop, the lights might go out, the music cease and\ndawn come--she and he would dance recklessly on--on--on!\n\nA sense of picturesqueness--his own picturesqueness--made him walk\nrather theatrically as he passed through the groups of humble onlookers\noutside the picket fence. Many of these turned to stare at the belated\nguest, and William was unconscious of neither their low estate nor his\nown quality as a patrician man-about-town in almost perfectly fitting\nevening dress. A faint, cold smile was allowed to appear upon his lips,\nand a fragment from a story he had read came momentarily to his mind....\n\"Through the gaping crowds the young Augustan noble was borne down\nfrom the Palatine, scornful in his jeweled litter....\"\n\nAn admiring murmur reached William's ear.\n\n\"OH, oh, honey! Look attem long-tail suit! 'At's a rich boy, honey!\"\n\n\"Yessum, SO! Bet he got his pockets pack' full o' twenty-dolluh gol'\npieces right iss minute!\"\n\n\"You right, honey!\"\n\nWilliam allowed the coldness of his faint smile to increase to become\nscornful. These poor sidewalk creatures little knew what seethed inside\nthe alabaster of the young Augustan noble! What was it to THEM that this\nwas Miss Pratt's last night and that he intended to dance and dance with\nher, on and on?\n\nAlmost sternly he left these squalid lives behind him and passed to the\nfestal gateway.\n\nUpon one of the posts of that gateway there rested the elbow of a\ncontemplative man, middleaged or a little worse. Of all persons having\npleasure or business within the bright inclosure, he was, that evening,\nthe least important; being merely the background parent who paid the\nbills. However, even this unconsidered elder shared a thought in common\nwith the Augustan now approaching: Mr. Parcher had just been thinking\nthat there was true romance in the scene before him.\n\nBut what Mr. Parcher contemplated as romance arose from the fact that\nthese young people were dancing on a spot where their great-grandfathers\nhad scalped Indians. Music was made for them by descendants, it might\nwell be, of Romulus, of Messalina, of Benvenuto Cellini, and, around\nbehind the house, waiting to serve the dancers with light food\nand drink, lounged and gossiped grandchildren of the Congo, only\na generation or so removed from dances for which a chance stranger\nfurnished both the occasion and the refreshments. Such, in brief, was\nMr. Parcher's peculiar view of what constituted the romantic element.\n\nAnd upon another subject preoccupying both Mr. Parcher and William,\ntheir two views, though again founded upon one thought, had no real\ncongeniality. The preoccupying subject was the imminence of Miss Pratt's\ndeparture;--neither Mr. Parcher nor William forgot it for an instant. No\nmatter what else played upon the surface of their attention, each kept\nsaying to himself, underneath: \"This is the last night--the last night!\nMiss Pratt is going away--going away to-morrow!\"\n\nMr. Parcher's expression was peaceful. It was more peaceful than it had\nbeen for a long time. In fact, he wore the look of a man who had been\nthrough the mill but now contemplated a restful and health-restoring\nvacation. For there are people in this world who have no respect for the\nmemory of Ponce de Leon, and Mr. Parcher had come to be of their number.\nThe elimination of William from his evenings had lightened the burden;\nnevertheless, Mr. Parcher would have stated freely and openly to any\nresponsible party that a yearning for the renewal of his youth had not\nbeen intensified by his daughter's having as a visitor, all summer long,\na howling belle of eighteen who talked baby-talk even at breakfast and\nspread her suitors all over the small house--and its one veranda--from\neight in the morning until hours of the night long after their mothers\n(in Mr. Parcher's opinion) should have sent their fathers to march them\nhome. Upon Mr. Parcher's optimism the effect of so much unavoidable\nobservation of young love had been fatal; he declared repeatedly that\nhis faith in the human race was about gone. Furthermore, his physical\nconstitution had proved pathetically vulnerable to nightly quartets,\nquintets, and even octets, on the porch below his bedchamber window, so\nthat he was wont to tell his wife that never, never could he expect to\nbe again the man he had been in the spring before Miss Pratt came to\nvisit May. And, referring to conversations which he almost continuously\noverheard, perforce, Mr. Parcher said that if this was the way HE talked\nat that age, he would far prefer to drown in an ordinary fountain, and\nbe dead and done with it, than to bathe in Ponce de Leon's.\n\nAltogether, the summer had been a severe one; he doubted that he could\nhave survived much more of it. And now that it was virtually over,\nat last, he was so resigned to the departure of his daughter's lovely\nlittle friend that he felt no regret for the splurge with which her\nvisit was closing. Nay, to speed the parting guest--such was his lavish\nmood--twice and thrice over would he have paid for the lights, the\nflowers, the music, the sandwiches, the coffee, the chicken salad, the\ncake, the lemonade-punch, and the ice-cream.\n\nThus did the one thought divide itself between William and Mr. Parcher,\nkeeping itself deep and pure under all their other thoughts. \"Miss Pratt\nis going away!\" thought William and Mr. Parcher. \"Miss PRATT is going\naway--to-morrow!\"\n\nThe unuttered words advanced tragically toward the gate in the head of\nWilliam at the same time that they moved contentedly away in the head\nof Mr. Parcher; for Mr. Parcher caught sight of his wife just then, and\nwent to join her as she sank wearily upon the front steps.\n\n\"Taking a rest for a minute?\" he inquired. \"By George! we're both\nentitled to a good LONG rest, after to-night! If we could afford it,\nwe'd go away to a quiet little sanitarium in the hills, somewhere,\nand--\" He ceased to speak and there was the renewal of an old bitterness\nin his expression as his staring eyes followed the movements of a\nstately young form entering the gateway. \"Look at it!\" said Mr. Parcher\nin a whisper. \"Just look at it!\"\n\n\"Look at what?\" asked his wife.\n\n\"That Baxter boy!\" said Mr. Parcher, as William passed on toward the\ndancers. \"What's he think he's imitating--Henry Irving? Look at his\nwalk!\"\n\n\"He walks that way a good deal, lately, I've noticed,\" said Mrs. Parcher\nin a tired voice. \"So do Joe Bullitt and--\"\n\n\"He didn't even come to say good evening to you,\" Mr. Parcher\ninterrupted. \"Talk about MANNERS, nowadays! These young--\"\n\n\"He didn't see us.\"\n\n\"Well, we're used to that,\" said Mr. Parcher. \"None of 'em see us.\nThey've worn holes in all the cane-seated chairs, they've scuffed up the\nwhole house, and I haven't been able to sit down anywhere down-stairs\nfor three months without sitting on some dam boy; but they don't even\nknow we're alive! Well, thank the Lord, it's over--after to-night!\" His\nvoice became reflective. \"That Baxter boy was the worst, until he took\nto coming in the daytime when I was down-town. I COULDN'T have stood it\nif he'd kept on coming in the evening. If I'd had to listen to any more\nof his talking or singing, either the embalmer or the lunatic-asylum\nwould have had me, sure! I see he's got hold of his daddy's dress-suit\nagain for to-night.\"\n\n\"Is it Mr. Baxter's dress-suit?\" Mrs. Parcher inquired. \"How do you\nknow?\"\n\nMr. Parcher smiled. \"How I happen to know is a secret,\" he said. \"I\nforgot about that. His little sister, Jane, told me that Mrs. Baxter had\nhidden it, or something, so that Willie couldn't wear it, but I guess\nJane wouldn't mind my telling YOU that she told me especially as they're\nletting him use it again to-night. I suppose he feels grander 'n the\nKing o' Siam!\"\n\n\"No,\" Mrs. Parcher returned, thoughtfully. \"I don't think he does, just\nnow.\" Her gaze was fixed upon the dancing-platform, which most of\nthe dancers were abandoning as the music fell away to an interval\nof silence. In the center of the platform there remained one group,\nconsisting of Miss Pratt and five orators, and of the orators the most\nimpassioned and gesticulative was William.\n\n\"They all seem to want to dance with her all the time,\" said Mrs.\nParcher. \"I heard her telling one of the boys, half an hour ago, that\nall she could give him was either the twenty-eighth regular dance or the\nsixteenth 'extra.'\"\n\n\"The what?\" Mr. Parcher demanded, whirling to face her. \"Do they think\nthis party's going to keep running till day after to-morrow?\" And then,\nas his eyes returned to the group on the platform, \"That boy seems to\nhave quite a touch of emotional insanity,\" he remarked, referring to\nWilliam. \"What IS the matter with him?\"\n\n\"Oh, nothing,\" his wife returned. \"Only trying to arrange a dance with\nher. He seems to be in difficulties.\"\n\n\n\n\nXXVI\n\nMISS BOKE\n\nNothing could have been more evident than William's difficulties. They\ncontinued to exist, with equal obviousness, when the group broke up in\nsome confusion, after a few minutes of animated discussion; Mr. Wallace\nBanks, that busy and executive youth, bearing Miss Pratt triumphantly\noff to the lemonade-punch-bowl, while William pursued Johnnie Watson\nand Joe Bullitt. He sought to detain them near the edge of the platform,\nthough they appeared far from anxious to linger in his company; and he\nwas able to arrest their attention only by clutching an arm of each. In\nfact, the good feeling which had latterly prevailed among these three\nappeared to be in danger of disintegrating. The occasion was too\nvital; and the watchword for \"Miss Pratt's last night\" was\nDevil-Take-the-Hindmost!\n\n\"Now you look here, Johnnie,\" William said, vehemently, \"and you listen,\ntoo, Joe! You both got seven dances apiece with her, anyway, all on\naccount of my not getting here early enough, and you got to--\"\n\n\"It wasn't because of any such reason,\" young Mr. Watson protested. \"I\nasked her for mine two days ago.\"\n\n\"Well, THAT wasn't fair, was it?\" William cried. \"Just because I never\nthought of sneaking in ahead like that, you go and--\"\n\n\"Well, you ought to thought of it,\" Johnnie retorted, jerking his arm\nfree of William's grasp. \"I can't stand here GABBIN' all night!\" And he\nhurried away.\n\n\"Joe,\" William began, fastening more securely upon Mr. Bullitt--\"Joe,\nI've done a good many favors for you, and--\"\n\n\"I've got to see a man,\" Mr. Bullitt interrupted. \"Lemme go, Silly Bill.\nThere's some body I got to see right away before the next dance begins.\nI GOT to! Honest I have!\"\n\nWilliam seized him passionately by the lapels of his coat. \"Listen, Joe.\nFor goodness' sake can't you listen a MINUTE? You GOT to give me--\"\n\n\"Honest, Bill,\" his friend expostulated, backing away as forcefully as\npossible, \"I got to find a fellow that's here to-night and ask him about\nsomething important before--\"\n\n\"Ye gods! Can't you wait a MINUTE?\" William cried, keeping his grip upon\nJoe's lapels. \"You GOT to give me anyway TWO out of all your dances with\nher! You heard her tell me, yourself, that she'd be willing if you or\nJohnnie or--\"\n\n\"Well, I only got five or six with her, and a couple extras. Johnnie's\ngot seven. Whyn't you go after Johnnie? I bet he'd help you out, all\nright, if you kept after him. What you want to pester ME for, Bill?\"\n\nThe brutal selfishness of this speech, as well as its cold-blooded\ninsincerity, produced in William the impulse to smite. Fortunately, his\nonly hope lay in persuasion, and after a momentary struggle with his own\nfeatures he was able to conceal what he desired to do to Joe's.\n\nHe swallowed, and, increasing the affectionate desperation of his clutch\nupon Mr. Bullitt's lapels, \"Joe,\" he began, huskily--\"Joe, if _I_'d got\nsix reg'lar and two extras with Miss Pratt her last night here, and you\ngot here late, and it wasn't your fault--I couldn't help being late,\ncould I? It wasn't my fault I was late, I guess, was it? Well, if I\nwas in YOUR place I wouldn't act the way you and Johnnie do--not in a\nthousand years I wouldn't! I'd say, 'You want a couple o' my dances with\nMiss Pratt, ole man? Why, CERTAINLY--'\"\n\n\"Yes, you would!\" was the cynical comment of Mr. Bullitt, whose averted\nface and reluctant shoulders indicated a strong desire to conclude the\ninterview. \"To-night, especially!\" he added.\n\n\"Look here, Joe,\" said William, desperately, \"don't you realize that\nthis is the very last night Miss Pratt's going to be in this town?\"\n\n\"You bet I do!\" These words, though vehement, were inaudible; being\nformed in the mind of Mr. Bullitt, but, for diplomatic reasons, not\nprojected upon the air by his vocal organs.\n\nWilliam continued: \"Joe, you and I have been friends ever since you and\nI were boys.\" He spoke with emotion, but Joe had no appearance of being\nfavorably impressed. \"And when I look back,\" said William, \"I expect\nI've done more favors for you than I ever have for any oth--\"\n\nBut Mr. Bullitt briskly interrupted this appealing reminiscence.\n\"Listen here, Silly Bill,\" he said, becoming all at once friendly and\nencouraging--\"Bill, there's other girls here you can get dances with.\nThere's one or two of 'em sittin' around in the yard. You can have a\nbully time, even if you did come late.\" And, with the air of discharging\nhappily all the obligations of which William had reminded him, he added,\n\"I'll tell you THAT much, Bill!\"\n\n\"Joe, you got to give me anyway ONE da--\"\n\n\"Look!\" said Mr. Bullitt, eagerly. \"Look sittin' yonder, over under\nthat tree all by herself! That's a visiting girl named Miss Boke; she's\nvisiting some old uncle or something she's got livin' here, and I bet\nyou could--\"\n\n\"Joe, you GOT to--\"\n\n\"I bet that Miss Boke's a good dancer, Bill,\" Joe continued, warmly.\n\"May Parcher says so. She was tryin' to get me to dance with her myself,\nbut I couldn't, or I would of. Honest, Bill, I would of! Bill, if I was\nyou I'd sail right in there before anybody else got a start, and I'd--\"\n\n\"Ole man,\" said William, gently, \"you remember the time Miss Pratt and I\nhad an engagement to go walkin', and you wouldn't of seen her for a week\non account of your aunt dyin' in Kansas City, if I hadn't let you go\nalong with us? Ole man, if you--\"\n\nBut the music sounded for the next dance, and Joe felt that it was\nindeed time to end this uncomfortable conversation. \"I got to go, Bill,\"\nhe said. \"I GOT to!\"\n\n\"Wait just one minute,\" William implored. \"I want to say just this:\nif--\"\n\n\"Here!\" exclaimed Mr. Bullitt. \"I got to GO!\"\n\n\"I know it. That's why--\"\n\nHeedless of remonstrance, Joe wrenched himself free, for it would have\ntaken a powerful and ruthless man to detain him longer. \"What you take\nme for?\" he demanded, indignantly. \"I got this with Miss PRATT!\"\n\nAnd evading a hand which still sought to clutch him, he departed hotly.\n\n... Mr. Parcher's voice expressed wonder, a little later, as he\nrecommended his wife to turn her gaze in the direction of \"that Baxter\nboy\" again. \"Just look at him!\" said Mr. Parcher. \"His face has got more\ngenuine idiocy in it than I've seen around here yet, and God knows I've\nbeen seeing some miracles in that line this summer!\"\n\n\"He's looking at Lola Pratt,\" said Mrs. Parcher.\n\n\"Don't you suppose I can see that?\" Mr. Parcher returned, with some\nirritation. \"That's what's the trouble with him. Why don't he QUIT\nlooking at her?\"\n\n\"I think probably he feels badly because she's dancing with one of the\nother boys,\" said his wife, mildly.\n\n\"Then why can't he dance with somebody else himself?\" Mr. Parcher\ninquired, testily. \"Instead of standing around like a calf looking out\nof the butcher's wagon! By George! he looks as if he was just going to\nMOO!\"\n\n\"Of course he ought to be dancing with somebody,\" Mrs. Parcher remarked,\nthoughtfully. \"There are one or two more girls than boys here, and\nhe's the only boy not dancing. I believe I'll--\" And, not stopping to\ncomplete the sentence, she rose and walked across the interval of grass\nto William. \"Good evening, William,\" she said, pleasantly. \"Don't you\nwant to dance?\"\n\n\"Ma'am?\" said William, blankly, and the eyes he turned upon here were\nglassy with anxiety. He was still determined to dance on and on and on\nwith Miss Pratt, but he realized that there were great obstacles to be\novercome before he could begin the process. He was feverishly awaiting\nthe next interregnum between dances--then he would show Joe Bullitt and\nJohnnie Watson and Wallace Banks, and some others who had set themselves\nin his way, that he was \"abs'lutely not goin' to stand it!\"\n\nHe couldn't stand it, he told himself, even if he wanted to--not\nto-night! He had \"been through enough\" in order to get to the party, he\nthought, thus defining sufferings connected with his costume, and now\nthat he was here he WOULD dance and dance, on and on, with Miss Pratt.\nAnything else was unthinkable.\n\nHe HAD to!\n\n\"Don't you want to dance?\" Mrs. Parcher repeated. \"Have you looked\naround for a girl without a partner?\"\n\nHe continued to stare at her, plainly having no comprehension of her\nmeaning.\n\n\"Girl?\" he echoed, in a tone of feeble inquiry.\n\nShe smiled and nodded, taking his arm. \"You come with me,\" she said.\n\"I'LL fix you up!\"\n\nWilliam suffered her to conduct him across the yard. Intensely\npreoccupied with what he meant to do as soon as the music paused, he\nwas somewhat hazy, but when he perceived that he was being led in the\ndirection of a girl, sitting solitary under one of the maple-trees, the\nsudden shock of fear aroused his faculties.\n\n\"What--where--\" he stammered, halting and seeking to detach himself from\nhis hostess.\n\n\"What is it?\" she asked.\n\n\"I got--I got to--\" William began, uneasily. \"I got to--\"\n\nHis purpose was to excuse himself on the ground that he had to find a\nman and tell him something important before the next dance, for in the\nconfusion of the moment his powers refused him greater originality.\nBut the vital part of his intended excuse remained unspoken, being\ndisregarded and cut short, as millions of other masculine diplomacies\nhave been, throughout the centuries, by the decisive action of ladies.\n\nMiss Boke had been sitting under the mapletree for a long time--so long,\nindeed, that she was acquiring a profound distaste for forestry and even\nfor maple syrup. In fact, her state of mind was as desperate, in its\nway, as William's; and when a hostess leads a youth (in almost perfectly\nfitting conventional black) toward a girl who has been sitting alone\nthrough dance after dance, that girl knows what that youth is going to\nhave to do.\n\nIt must be confessed for Miss Boke that her eyes had been upon William\nfrom the moment Mrs. Parcher addressed him. Nevertheless, as the pair\ncame toward her she looked casually away in an indifferent manner. And\nyet this may have been but a seeming unconsciousness, for upon the very\ninstant of William's halting, and before he had managed to stammer \"I\ngot to--\" for the fourth time, Miss Boke sprang to her feet and met Mrs.\nParcher more than halfway.\n\n\"Oh, Mrs. Parcher!\" she called, coming forward.\n\n\"I got--\" the panic-stricken William again hastily began. \"I got to--\"\n\n\"Oh, Mrs. Parcher,\" cried Miss Boke, \"I've been SO worried! There's a\ncandle in that Japanese lantern just over your head, and I think it's\ngoing out.\"\n\n\"I'll run and get a fresh one in a minute,\" said Mrs. Parcher, smiling\nbenevolently and retaining William's arm with a little difficulty. \"We\nwere just coming to find you. I've brought--\"\n\n\"I got to--I got to find a m--\" William made a last, stricken effort.\n\n\"Miss Boke, this is Mr. Baxter,\" said Mrs. Parcher, and she added, with\nwhat seemed to William hideous garrulity, \"He and you both came late,\ndear, and he hasn't any dances engaged, either. So run and dance, and\nhave a nice time together.\"\n\nThereupon this disastrous woman returned to her husband. Her look was\nconscientious; she thought she had done something pleasant!\n\nThe full horror of his position was revealed to William in the relieved,\nconfident, proprietor's smile of Miss Boke. For William lived by a code\nfrom which no previous experience had taught him any means of escape.\nMrs. Parcher had made the statement--so needless and so ruinous--that\nhe had no engagements; and in his dismay he had been unable to deny this\nfatal truth; he had been obliged to let it stand. Henceforth, he was\ncommitted absolutely to Miss Boke until either some one else asked her\nto dance, or (while yet in her close company) William could obtain an\nengagement with another girl. The latter alternative presented certain\ngrave difficulties, also contracting William to dance with the other\ngirl before once more obtaining his freedom, but undeniably he regarded\nit from the first as the more hopeful.\n\nHe had to give form to the fatal invitation. \"M'av this dance 'thyou?\"\nhe muttered, doggedly.\n\n\"Vurry pleased to!\" Miss Boke responded, whereupon they walked in\nsilence to the platform, stepped upon its surface, and embraced.\n\nThey made a false start.\n\nThey made another.\n\nThey stood swaying to catch the time; then made another. After that they\ntried again, and were saved from a fall only by spasmodic and noticeable\ncontortions.\n\nMiss Boke laughed tolerantly, as if forgiving William for his\nawkwardness, and his hot heart grew hotter with that injustice. She was\na large, ample girl, weighing more than William (this must be definitely\nclaimed in his behalf), and she had been spending the summer at a\nlakeside hotel where she had constantly danced \"man's part.\" To paint\nWilliam's predicament at a stroke, his partner was a determined rather\nthan a graceful dancer--and their efforts to attune themselves to each\nother and to the music were in a fair way to attract general attention.\n\nA coarse chuckle, a half-suppressed snort, assailed William's scarlet\near, and from the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of Joe Bullitt\ngliding by, suffused; while over Joe's detested shoulder could be seen\nthe adorable and piquant face of the One girl--also suffused.\n\n\"Doggone it!\" William panted.\n\n\"Oh, you mustn't be discouraged with yourself,\" said Miss Boke,\ngenially. \"I've met lots of Men that had trouble to get started and\nturned out to be right good dancers, after all. It seems to me we're\nkind of workin' against each other. I'll tell you--you kind of let me\ndo the guiding and I'll get you going fine. Now! ONE, two, ONE, two!\nThere!\"\n\nWilliam ceased to struggle for dominance, and their efforts to \"get\nstarted\" were at once successful. With a muscular power that was\nsurprising, Miss Boke bore him out into the circling current, swung\nhim round and round, walked him backward half across the platform, then\nswung him round and round and round again. For a girl, she \"guided\"\nremarkably well; nevertheless, a series of collisions, varying in\nintensity, marked the path of the pair upon the rather crowded platform.\nIn such emergencies Miss Boke proved herself deft in swinging William\nto act as a buffer, and he several times found himself heavily stricken\nfrom the rear; anon his face would be pressed suffocatingly into Miss\nBoke's hair, without the slightest wish on his part for such intimacy.\nHe had a helpless feeling, fully warranted by the circumstances. Also,\nhe soon became aware that Miss Boke's powerful \"guiding\" was observed\nby the public; for, after one collision, more severe than others, a low\nvoice hissed in his ear:\n\n\"SHE WON'T HURT YOU MUCH, SILLY BILL. SHE'S ONLY IN FUN!\"\n\nThis voice belonged to the dancer with whom he had just been in painful\ncontact, Johnnie Watson. However, Johnnie had whirled far upon another\norbit before William found a retort, and then it was a feeble one.\n\n\"I wish YOU'D try a few dances with her!\" he whispered, inaudibly, but\nwith unprecedented bitterness, as the masterly arm of his partner just\nsaved him from going over the edge of the platform. \"I bet she'd kill\nyou!\"\n\nMore than once he tried to assert himself and resume his natural place\nas guide, but each time he did so he immediately got out of step with\nhis partner, their knees collided embarrassingly, they staggered and\nwalked upon each other's insteps--and William was forced to abandon the\nunequal contest.\n\n\"I just love dancing,\" said Miss Boke, serenely. \"Don't you, Mr.\nBaxter?\"\n\n\"What?\" he gulped. \"Yeh.\"\n\n\"It's a beautiful floor for dancing, isn't it?\"\n\n\"Yeh.\"\n\n\"I just love dancing,\" Miss Boke thought proper to declare again. \"Don't\nyou love it, Mr. Baxter?\"\n\nThis time he considered his enthusiasm to be sufficiently indicated by a\nnod. He needed all his breath.\n\n\"It's lovely,\" she murmured. \"I hope they don't play 'Home, Sweet\nHome' very early at parties in this town. I could keep on like this all\nnight!\"\n\nTo the gasping William it seemed that she already had kept on like this\nall night, and he expressed himself in one great, frank, agonized moan\nof relief when the music stopped. \"I sh' think those musicians 'd be\ndead!\" he said, as he wiped his brow. And then discovering that May\nParcher stood at his elbow, he spoke hastily to her. \"M'av the next\n'thyou?\"\n\nBut Miss Parcher had begun to applaud the musicians for an encore. She\nshook her head. \"Next's the third extra,\" she said. \"And, anyhow, this\none's going to be encored now. You can have the twenty-second--if there\nIS any!\" William threw a wild glance about him, looking for other girls,\nbut the tireless orchestra began to play the encore, and Miss Boke, who\nhad been applauding, instantly cast herself upon his bosom. \"Come on!\"\nshe cried. \"Don't let's miss a second of it; It's just glorious!\"\n\nWhen the encore was finished she seized William's arm, and, mentioning\nthat she'd left her fan upon the chair under the maple-tree, added,\n\"Come on! Let's go get it QUICK!\"\n\nUnder the maple-tree she fanned herself and talked of her love for\ndancing until the music sounded again. \"Come on!\" she cried, then.\n\"Don't let's miss a second of it! It's just glorious!\"\n\nAnd grasping his arm, she propelled him toward the platform with a merry\nlittle rush.\n\nSo passed five dances. Long, long dances.\n\nLikewise five encores. Long encores.\n\n\n\n\nXXVII\n\nMAROONED\n\nAt every possible opportunity William hailed other girls with a hasty\n\"M'av the next 'thyou?\" but he was indeed unfortunate to have arrived so\nlate.\n\nThe best he got was a promise of \"the nineteenth--if there IS any!\"\n\nAfter each dance Miss Boke conducted him back to the maple-tree, aloof\nfrom the general throng, and William found the intermissions almost\nequal to his martyrdoms upon the platform. But, as there was a barely\nperceptible balance in their favor, he collected some fragments of his\nbroken spirit, when Miss Boke would have borne him to the platform for\nthe sixth time, and begged to \"sit this one out,\" alleging that he had\n\"kind of turned his ankle, or something,\" he believed.\n\nThe cordial girl at once placed him upon the chair and gallantly\nprocured another for herself. In her solicitude she sat close to him,\nlooking fondly at his face, while William, though now and then rubbing\nhis ankle for plausibility's sake, gazed at the platform with an\nexpression which Gustave Dore would gratefully have found suggestive.\nWilliam was conscious of a voice continually in action near him, but\nnot of what it said. Miss Boke was telling him of the dancing \"up at the\nlake\" where she had spent the summer, and how much she had loved it, but\nWilliam missed all that. Upon the many-colored platform the ineffable\nOne drifted to and fro, back and forth; her little blonde head, in a\ngolden net, glinting here and there like a bit of tinsel blowing across\na flower-garden.\n\nAnd when that dance and its encore were over she went to lean against a\ntree, while Wallace Banks fanned her, but she was so busy with Wallace\nthat she did not notice William, though she passed near enough to waft a\nbreath of violet scent to his wan nose. A fragment of her silver speech\ntinkled in his ear:\n\n\"Oh, Wallie Banks! Bid pid s'ant have Bruvva Josie-Joe's dance 'less Joe\nsay so. Lola MUS' be fair. Wallie mustn't--\"\n\n\"That's that Miss Pratt,\" observed Miss Boke, following William's gaze\nwith some interest. \"You met her yet?\"\n\n\"Yeh,\" said William.\n\n\"She's been visiting here all summer,\" Miss Boke informed him. \"I was at\na little tea this afternoon, and some of the girls said this Miss Pratt\nsaid she'd never DREAM of getting engaged to any man that didn't have\nseven hundred and fifty thousand dollars. I don't know if it's true or\nnot, but I expect so. Anyway, they said they heard her say so.\"\n\nWilliam lifted his right hand from his ankle and passed it, time after\ntime, across his damp forehead. He did not believe that Miss Pratt could\nhave expressed herself in so mercenary a manner, but if she HAD--well,\none fact in British history had so impressed him that he remembered\nit even after Examination: William Pitt, the younger, had been Prime\nMinister of England at twenty-one.\n\nIf an Englishman could do a thing like that, surely a bright, energetic\nyoung American needn't feel worried about seven hundred and fifty\nthousand dollars! And although William, at seventeen, had seldom\npossessed more than seven hundred and fifty cents, four long years must\npass, and much could be done, before he would reach the age at which\nWilliam Pitt attained the premiership--coincidentally a good, ripe,\nmarriageable age. Still, seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars is\na stiffish order, even allowing four long years to fill it; and\nundoubtedly Miss Boke's bit of gossip added somewhat to the already\nsufficient anxieties of William's evening.\n\n\"Up at the lake,\" Miss Boke chattered on, \"we got to use the hotel\ndining-room for the hops. It's a floor a good deal like this floor is\nto-night--just about oily enough and as nice a floor as ever I danced\non. We have awf'ly good times up at the lake. 'Course there aren't so\nmany Men up there, like there are here to-night, and I MUST say I AM\nglad to get a chance to dance with a Man again! I told you you'd dance\nall right, once we got started, and look at the way it's turned out:\nour steps just suit exactly! If I must say it, I could scarcely think of\nanybody I EVER met I'd rather dance with. When anybody's step suits in\nwith mine, that way, why, I LOVE to dance straight through an evening\nwith one person, the way we're doing.\"\n\nDimly, yet with strong repulsion, William perceived that their\ninterminable companionship had begun to affect Miss Boke with a liking\nfor him. And as she chattered chummily on, revealing this increasing\ncordiality all the while--though her more obvious topics were dancing,\ndancing-floors, and \"the lake\"--the reciprocal sentiment roused in his\nbreast was that of Sindbad the Sailor for the Old Man of the Sea.\n\nHe was unable to foresee a future apart from her; and when she informed\nhim that she preferred his style of dancing to all other styles shown\nby the Men at this party, her thus singling him out for praise only\nemphasized, in his mind, that point upon which he was the most\nembittered.\n\n\"Yes!\" he reflected. \"It had to be ME!\" With all the crowd to choose\nfrom, Mrs. Parcher had to go and pick on HIM! All, all the others went\nabout, free as air, flitting from girl to girl--girls that danced like\ngirls! All, all except William, danced with Miss PRATT! What Miss Pratt\nhad offered HIM was a choice between the thirty-second dance and\nthe twenty-first extra. THAT was what he had to look forward to: the\nthirty-second reg'lar or the twenty-first extra!\n\nMeanwhile, merely through eternity, he was sealed unto Miss Boke.\n\nThe tie that bound them oppressed him as if it had been an ill-omened\nmatrimony, and he sat beside her like an unwilling old husband. All the\nwhile, Miss Boke had no appreciation whatever of her companion's real\ncondition, and, when little, spasmodic, sinister changes appeared in his\nface (as they certainly did from time to time) she attributed them to\npains in his ankle. However, William decided to discard his ankle,\nafter they had \"sat out\" two dances on account of it. He decided that he\npreferred dancing, and said he guessed he must be better.\n\nSo they danced again--and again.\n\nWhen the fourteenth dance came, about half an hour before midnight, they\nwere still dancing together.\n\nIt was upon the conclusion of this fourteenth dance that Mr. Parcher\nmentioned to his wife a change in his feelings toward William. \"I've\nbeen watching him,\" said Mr. Parcher, \"and I never saw true misery show\nplainer. He's having a really horrible time. By George! I hate him, but\nI've begun to feel kind of sorry for him! Can't you trot up somebody\nelse, so he can get away from that fat girl?\"\n\nMrs. Parcher shook her head in a discouraged way. \"I've tried, and I've\ntried, and I've tried!\" she said.\n\n\"Well, try again.\"\n\n\"I can't now.\" She waved her hand toward the rear of the house. Round\nthe corner marched a short procession of negroes, bearing trays; and\nthe dancers were dispersing themselves to chairs upon the lawn \"for\nrefreshments.\"\n\n\"Well, do something,\" Mr. Parcher urged. \"We don't want to find him in\nthe cistern in the morning!\"\n\nMrs. Parcher looked thoughtful, then brightened. \"_I_ know!\" she said.\n\"I'll make May and Lola and their partners come sit in this little\ncircle of chairs here, and then I'll go and bring Willie and Miss Boke\nto sit with them. I'll give Willie the seat at Lola's left. You keep the\nchairs.\"\n\nStraightway she sped upon her kindly errand. It proved successful, so\nsuccessful, indeed, that without the slightest effort--without even a\nhint on her part--she brought not only William and his constant friend\nto sit in the circle with Miss Pratt, Miss Parcher and their escorts,\nbut Mr. Bullitt, Mr. Watson, Mr. Banks, and three other young gentlemen\nas well. Nevertheless, Mrs. Parcher managed to carry out her plan,\nand after a little display of firmness, saw William satisfactorily\nestablished in the chair at Miss Pratt's left.\n\nAt last, at last, he sat beside the fairy-like creature, and filled\nhis lungs with infinitesimal particles of violet scent. More: he was no\nsooner seated than the little blonde head bent close to his; the golden\nnet brushed his cheek. She whispered:\n\n\"No'ty ickle boy Batster! Lola's last night, an' ickle boy Batster\nfluttin'! Flut all night wif dray bid dirl!\"\n\nWilliam made no reply.\n\nThere are occasions, infrequent, of course, when even a bachelor is not\nflattered by being accused of flirting. William's feelings toward Miss\nBoke had by this time come to such a pass that he, regarded the charge\nof flirting with her as little less than an implication of grave\nmental deficiency. And well he remembered how Miss Pratt, beholding his\nsubjugated gymnastics in the dance, had grown pink with laughter! But\nstill the rose-leaf lips whispered:\n\n\"Lola saw! Lola saw bad boy Batster under dray bid tree fluttin' wif\ndray bid dirl. Fluttin' all night wif dray bid 'normous dirl!\"\n\nHer cruelty was all unwitting; she intended to rally him sweetly. But\nseventeen is deathly serious at such junctures, and William was in a\nsensitive condition. He made no reply in words. Instead, he drew himself\nup (from the waist, that is, because he was sitting) with a kind of\nproud dignity. And that was all.\n\n\"Oo tross?\" whispered Lola.\n\nHe spake not.\n\n\"'Twasn't my fault about dancing,\" she said. \"Bad boy! What made you\ncome so late?\"\n\nHe maintained his silence and the accompanying icy dignity, whereupon\nshe made a charming little pout.\n\n\"Oo be so tross,\" she said, \"Lola talk to nice Man uvver side of her!\"\n\nWith that she turned her back upon him and prattled merrily to the\ngentleman of sixteen upon her right.\n\nStill and cold sat William. Let her talk to the Man at the other side\nof her as she would, and never so gaily, William knew that she was\nconscious every instant of the reproachful presence upon her left. And\nsomehow these moments of quiet and melancholy dignity became the most\nsatisfactory he had known that evening. For as he sat, so silent, so\naustere, and not yet eating, though a plate of chicken salad had been\nplaced upon his lap, he began to feel that there was somewhere about\nhim a mysterious superiority which set him apart from other people--and\nabove them. This quality, indefinable and lofty, had carried him through\ntroubles, that very night, which would have wrecked the lives of such\nsimple fellows as Joe Bullitt and Johnnie Watson. And although Miss\nPratt continued to make merry with the Man upon her right, it seemed\nto William that this was but outward show. He had a strange, subtle\nimpression that the mysterious superiority which set him apart from\nothers was becoming perceptible to her--that she was feeling it, too.\n\nAlas! Such are the moments Fate seizes upon to play the clown!\n\nOver the chatter and laughter of the guests rose a too familiar voice.\n\"Lemme he'p you to nice tongue samwich, lady. No'm? Nice green lettuce\nsamwich, lady?\"\n\nGenesis!\n\n\"Nice tongue samwich, suh? Nice lettuce samwich, lady?\" he could be\nheard vociferating--perhaps a little too much as if he had sandwiches\nfor sale. \"Lemme jes' lay this nice green lettuce samwich on you' plate\nfer you.\"\n\nHis wide-spread hand bore the tray of sandwiches high overhead, for his\nstyle in waiting was florid, though polished. He walked with a faint,\nshuffling suggestion of a prance, a lissome pomposity adopted in\nobedience to the art-sense within him which bade him harmonize himself\nwith occasions of state and fashion. His manner was the super-supreme\nexpression of graciousness, but the graciousness was innocent, being but\nan affectation and nothing inward--for inwardly Genesis was humble. He\nwas only pretending to be the kind of waiter he would like to be.\n\nAnd because he was a new waiter he strongly wished to show familiarity\nwith his duties--familiarity, in fact, with everything and everybody.\nThis yearning, born of self-doubt, and intensified by a slight touch of\ngin, was beyond question the inspiration of his painful behavior when\nhe came near the circle of chairs where sat Mr. and Mrs. Parcher, Miss\nParcher, Miss Pratt, Miss Boke, Mr. Watson, Mr. Bullitt, others--and\nWilliam.\n\n\"Nice tongue samwich, lady!\" he announced, semi-cake-walking beneath his\nhigh-borne tray.\n\n\"Nice green lettuce sam--\" He came suddenly to a dramatic dead-stop as he\nbeheld William sitting before him, wearing that strange new dignity and\nMr. Baxter's evening clothes. \"Name o' goo'ness!\" Genesis exclaimed, so\nloudly that every one looked up. \"How in the livin' worl' you evuh come\nto git here? You' daddy sut'ny mus' 'a' weakened 'way down 'fo' he let\nyou wear his low-cut ves' an' pants an' long-tail coat! I bet any man\nfifty cents you gone an' stole 'em out aftuh he done went to bed!\"\n\nAnd he burst into a wild, free African laugh.\n\nAt seventeen such things are not embarrassing; they are catastrophical.\nBut, mercifully, catastrophes often produce a numbness in the victims.\nMore as in a trance than actually William heard the outbreak of his\nyoung companions; and, during the quarter of an hour subsequent to\nGenesis's performance, the oft-renewed explosions of their mirth made\nbut a kind of horrid buzzing in his ears. Like sounds borne from far\naway were the gaspings of Mr. and Mrs. Parcher, striving with all their\nstrength to obtain mastery of themselves once more.\n\n... A flourish of music challenged the dancers. Couples appeared upon\nthe platform.\n\nThe dreadful supper was over.\n\nThe ineffable One, supremely pink, rose from her seat at William's\nside and moved toward the platform with the glowing Joe Bullitt. Then\nWilliam, roused to action by this sight, sprang to his feet and took a\nstep toward them. But it was only one weak step.\n\nA warm and ample hand placed itself firmly inside the crook of his\nelbow. \"Let's get started for this one before the floor gets all crowded\nup,\" said Miss Boke.\n\nMiss Boke danced and danced with him; she danced him on--and on--and\non----\n\nAt half past one the orchestra played \"Home, Sweet Home.\" As the last\nbars sounded, a group of earnest young men who had surrounded the lovely\nguest of honor, talking vehemently, broke into loud shouts, embraced one\nanother and capered variously over the lawn. Mr. Parcher beheld from a\ndistance these manifestations, and then, with an astonishment even more\nprofound, took note of the tragic William, who was running toward him,\nradiant--Miss Boke hovering futilely in the far background.\n\n\"What's all the hullabaloo?\" Mr. Parcher inquired.\n\n\"Miss Pratt!\" gasped William. \"Miss Pratt!\"\n\n\"Well, what about her?\"\n\nAnd upon receiving William's reply, Mr. Parcher might well have\ndiscerned behind it the invisible hand of an ironic but recompensing\nProvidence making things even--taking from the one to give to the other.\n\n\"She's going to stay!\" shouted the happy William. \"She's promised to\nstay another week!\"\n\nAnd then, mingling with the sounds of rejoicing, there ascended to\nheaven the stricken cry of an elderly man plunging blindly into the\nhouse in search of his wife.\n\n\n\n\nXXVIII\n\nRANNIE KIRSTED\n\nObserving the monotonously proper behavior of the sun, man had an absurd\nidea and invented Time. Becoming still more absurd, man said, \"So much\nshall be a day; such and such shall be a week. All weeks shall be the\nsame length.\" Yet every baby knows better! How long for Johnnie Watson,\nfor Joe Bullitt, for Wallace Banks--how long for William Sylvanus Baxter\nwas the last week of Miss Pratt? No one can answer. How long was that\nweek for Mr. Parcher? Again the mind is staggered.\n\nMany people, of course, considered it to be a week of average size.\nAmong these was Jane.\n\nThroughout seven days which brought some tense moments to the Baxter\nhousehold, Jane remained calm; and she was still calm upon the eighth\nmorning as she stood in the front yard of her own place of residence,\ngazing steadily across the street. The object of her grave attention was\nan ample brick house, newly painted white after repairs and enlargements\nso inspiring to Jane's faculty for suggesting better ways of doing\nthings, that the workmen had learned to address her, with a slight\nbitterness, as \"Madam President.\"\n\nThroughout the process of repair, and until the very last of the\npainting, Jane had considered this house to be as much her property as\nanybody's; for children regard as ownerless all vacant houses and all\nhouses in course of construction or radical alteration. Nothing short of\nfurniture--intimate furniture in considerable quantity--hints that the\npublic is not expected. However, such a hint, or warning, was conveyed\nto Jane this morning, for two \"express wagons\" were standing at the curb\nwith their backs impolitely toward the brick house; and powerful-voiced\nmen went surging to and fro under fat arm-chairs, mahogany tables,\ndisarticulated bedsteads, and baskets of china and glassware; while a\nharassed lady appeared in the outer doorway, from time to time, with\ngestures of lamentation and entreaty. Upon the sidewalk, between the\nwagons and the gate, was a broad wet spot, vaguely circular, with a\npartial circumference of broken glass and extinct goldfish.\n\nJane was forced to conclude that the brick house did belong to somebody,\nafter all. Wherefore, she remained in her own yard, a steadfast\nspectator, taking nourishment into her system at regular intervals.\nThis was beautifully automatic: in each hand she held a slice of bread,\nfreely plastered over with butter, apple sauce, and powdered sugar;\nand when she had taken somewhat from the right hand, that hand slowly\ndescended with its burden, while, simultaneously, the left began to\nrise, reaching the level of her mouth precisely at the moment when a\nlittle wave passed down her neck, indicating that the route was clear.\nThen, having made delivery, the left hand sank, while the right began to\nrise again. And, so well had custom trained Jane's members, never once\ndid she glance toward either of these faithful hands or the food that\nit supported; her gaze was all the while free to remain upon the house\nacross the way and the great doings before it.\n\nAfter a while, something made her wide eyes grow wider almost to their\nutmost. Nay, the event was of that importance her mechanical hands\nceased to move and stopped stock-still, the right half-way up, the left\nhalf-way down, as if because of sudden motor trouble within Jane. Her\nmouth was equally affected, remaining open at a visible crisis in the\nperformance of its duty. These were the tokens of her agitation upon\nbeholding the removal of a dolls' house from one of the wagons. This\ndolls' house was at least five feet high, of proportionate breadth and\ndepths the customary absence of a facade disclosing an interior of four\nluxurious floors, with stairways, fireplaces, and wall-paper. Here was a\nmansion wherein doll-duchesses, no less, must dwell.\n\nStraightway, a little girl ran out of the open doorway of the brick\nhouse and, with a self-importance concentrated to the point of\nshrewishness, began to give orders concerning the disposal of her\npersonal property, which included (as she made clear) not only the\ndolls' mansion, but also three dolls' trunks and a packing-case of fair\nsize. She was a thin little girl, perhaps half a year younger than Jane;\nand she was as soiled, particularly in respect to hands, brow, chin, and\nthe knees of white stockings, as could be expected of any busybodyish\nperson of nine or ten whose mother is house-moving. But she was\ngifted--if we choose to put the matter in the hopeful, sweeter way--she\nwas gifted with an unusually loud and shrill voice, and she made herself\nheard over the strong-voiced men to such emphatic effect that one of the\nlatter, with the dolls' mansion upon his back, paused in the gateway to\nacquaint her with his opinion that of all the bossy little girls he had\never seen, heard, or heard of, she was the bossiest.\n\n\"THE worst!\" he added.\n\nThe little girl across the street was of course instantly aware of Jane,\nthough she pretended not to be; and from the first her self-importance\nwas in large part assumed for the benefit of the observer. After a\nmomentary silence, due to her failure to think of any proper response to\nthe workman who so pointedly criticized her, she resumed the peremptory\ndirection of her affairs. She ran in and out of the house, her brow dark\nwith frowns, her shoulders elevated; and by every means at her disposal\nshe urged her audience to behold the frightful responsibilities of one\nwho must keep a thousand things in her head at once, and yet be ready\nfor decisive action at any instant.\n\nThere may have been one weakness in this strong performance: the\nartistic sincerity of it was a little discredited by the increasing\nfrequency with which the artist took note of her effect. During each\nof her most impressive moments, she flashed, from the far corner of her\neye, two questions at Jane: \"How about THAT one? Are you still watching\nMe?\"\n\nThen, apparently in the very midst of her cares, she suddenly and\nwithout warning ceased to boss, walked out into the street, halted, and\nstared frankly at Jane.\n\nJane had begun her automatic feeding again. She continued it, meanwhile\nseriously returning the stare of the new neighbor. For several minutes\nthis mutual calm and inoffensive gaze was protracted; then Jane, after\nswallowing the last morsel of her supplies, turned her head away and\nlooked at a tree. The little girl, into whose eyes some wistfulness had\ncrept, also turned her head and looked at a tree. After a while, she\nadvanced to the curb on Jane's side of the street, and, swinging her\nright foot, allowed it to kick the curbstone repeatedly.\n\nJane came out to the sidewalk and began to kick one of the\nfence-pickets.\n\n\"You see that ole fatty?\" asked the little girl, pointing to one of the\nworkmen, thus sufficiently identified.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"That's the one broke the goldfish,\" said the little girl. There was a\npause during which she continued to scuff the curbstone with her shoe,\nJane likewise scuffing the fence-picket. \"I'm goin' to have papa get him\narrested,\" added the stranger.\n\n\"My papa got two men arrested once,\" Jane said, calmly. \"Two or three.\"\n\nThe little girl's eyes, wandering upward, took note of Jane's papa's\nhouse, and of a fierce young gentleman framed in an open window\nup-stairs. He was seated, wore ink upon his forehead, and tapped his\nteeth with a red penholder.\n\n\"Who is that?\" she asked.\n\n\"It's Willie.\"\n\n\"Is it your papa?\"\n\n\"NO-O-O-O!\" Jane exclaimed. \"It's WILLIE!\"\n\n\"Oh,\" said the little girl, apparently satisfied.\n\nEach now scuffed less energetically with her shoe; feet slowed down;\nso did conversation, and, for a time, Jane and the stranger wrapped\nthemselves in stillness, though there may have been some silent\ncommuning between them. Then the new neighbor placed her feet far apart\nand leaned backward upon nothing, curving her front outward and her\nremarkably flexible spine inward until a profile view of her was grandly\nsemicircular.\n\nJane watched her attentively, but without comment. However, no one\ncould have doubted that the processes of acquaintance were progressing\nfavorably.\n\n\"Let's go in our yard,\" said Jane.\n\nThe little girl straightened herself with a slight gasp, and accepted\nthe invitation. Side by side, the two passed through the open gate,\nwalked gravely forth upon the lawn, and halted, as by common consent.\nJane thereupon placed her feet wide apart and leaned backward upon\nnothing, attempting the feat in contortion just performed by the\nstranger.\n\n\"Look,\" she said. \"Look at ME!\"\n\nBut she lacked the other's genius, lost her balance, and fell. Born\npersistent, she immediately got to her feet and made fresh efforts.\n\n\"No! Look at ME!\" the little girl cried, becoming semicircular again.\n\"This is the way. I call it 'puttin' your stummick out o' joint.' You\nhaven't got yours out far enough.\"\n\n\"Yes, I have,\" said Jane, gasping.\n\n\"Well, to do it right, you must WALK that way. As soon as you get your\nstummick out o' joint, you must begin an' walk. Look! Like this.\" And\nthe little girl, having achieved a state of such convexity that her\nbraided hair almost touched the ground behind her, walked successfully\nin that singular attitude.\n\n\"I'm walkin',\" Jane protested, her face not quite upside down. \"Look!\nI'M walkin' that way, too. My stummick--\"\n\nThere came an outraged shout from above, and a fierce countenance,\nstained with ink, protruded from the window.\n\n\"Jane!\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"Stop that! Stop putting your stomach out in front of you like that!\nIt's disgraceful!\"\n\nBoth young ladies, looking rather oppressed, resumed the perpendicular.\n\"Why doesn't he like it?\" the stranger asked in a tone of pure wonder.\n\n\"I don't know,\" said Jane. \"He doesn't like much of anything. He's\nseventeen years old.\"\n\nAfter that, the two stared moodily at the ground for a little while,\nchastened by the severe presence above; then Jane brightened.\n\n\"_I_ know!\" she exclaimed, cozily. \"Let's play callers. Right here by\nthis bush 'll be my house. You come to call on me, an' we'll talk\nabout our chuldren. You be Mrs. Smith an' I'm Mrs. Jones.\" And in the\ncharacter of a hospitable matron she advanced graciously toward the new\nneighbor. \"Why, my dear Mrs. SMITH, come right IN! I THOUGHT you'd call\nthis morning. I want to tell you about my lovely little daughter. She's\nonly ten years old, an' says the brightest THINGS! You really must--\"\n\nBut here Jane interrupted herself abruptly, and, hopping behind the\nresidential bush, peeped over it, not at Mrs. Smith, but at a boy of ten\nor eleven who was passing along the sidewalk. Her expression was gravely\ninterested, somewhat complacent; and Mrs. Smith was not so lacking in\nperception that she failed to understand how completely--for the time\nbeing, at least--calling was suspended.\n\nThe boy whistled briskly, \"My country, 'tis of thee,\" and though his\nknowledge of the air failed him when he finished the second line, he\nwas not disheartened, but began at the beginning again, continuing\nrepeatedly after this fashion to offset monotony by patriotism. He\nwhistled loudly; he walked with ostentatious intent to be at some heavy\naffair in the distance; his ears were red. He looked neither to the\nright nor to the left.\n\nThat is, he looked neither to the right nor to the left until he had\npassed the Baxters' fence. But when he had gone as far as the upper\ncorner of the fence beyond, he turned his head and looked back, without\nany expression--except that of a whistler--at Jane. And thus, still\nwhistling \"My country, 'tis of thee,\" and with blank pink face over his\nshoulder, he proceeded until he was out of sight.\n\n\"Who was that boy?\" the new neighbor then inquired.\n\n\"It's Freddie,\" said Jane, placidly. \"He's in our Sunday-school. He's in\nlove of me.\"\n\n\"JANE!\"\n\nAgain the outraged and ink-stained countenance glared down from the\nwindow.\n\n\"What you want?\" Jane asked.\n\n\"What you MEAN talking about such things?\" William demanded. \"In all my\nlife I never heard anything as disgusting! Shame on you!\"\n\nThe little girl from across the street looked upward thoughtfully. \"He's\nmad,\" she remarked, and, regardless of Jane's previous information, \"It\nIS your papa, isn't it?\" she insisted.\n\n\"No!\" said Jane, testily. \"I told you five times it's my brother\nWillie.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" said the little girl, and, grasping the fact that William's\nposition was, in dignity and authority, negligible, compared with that\nwhich she had persisted in imagining, she felt it safe to tint her\nupward gaze with disfavor. \"He acts kind of crazy,\" she murmured.\n\n\"He's in love of Miss Pratt,\" said Jane. \"She's goin' away to-day. She\nsaid she'd go before, but to-day she IS! Mr. Parcher, where she visits,\nhe's almost dead, she's stayed so long. She's awful, I think.\"\n\nWilliam, to whom all was audible, shouted, hoarsely, \"I'll see to YOU!\"\nand disappeared from the window.\n\n\"Will he come down here?\" the little girl asked, taking a step toward\nthe gate.\n\n\"No. He's just gone to call mamma. All she'll do' ll be to tell us to go\nplay somewheres else. Then we can go talk to Genesis.\"\n\n\"Who?\"\n\n\"Genesis. He's puttin' a load of coal in the cellar window with a\nshovel. He's nice.\"\n\n\"What's he put the coal in the window for?\"\n\n\"He's a colored man,\" said Jane.\n\n\"Shall we go talk to him now?\"\n\n\"No,\" Jane said, thoughtfully. \"Let's be playin' callers when mamma\ncomes to tell us to go 'way. What was your name?\"\n\n\"Rannie.\"\n\n\"No, it wasn't.\"\n\n\"It is too, Rannie,\" the little girl insisted. \"My whole name's Mary\nRandolph Kirsted, but my short name's Rannie.\"\n\nJane laughed. \"What a funny name!\" she said. \"I didn't mean your real\nname; I meant your callers' name. One of us was Mrs. Jones, and one\nwas--\"\n\n\"I want to be Mrs. Jones,\" said Rannie.\n\n\"Oh, my DEAR Mrs. Jones,\" Jane began at once, \"I want to tell you\nabout my lovely chuldren. I have two, one only seven years old, and the\nother--\"\n\n\"Jane!\" called Mrs. Baxter from William's window.\n\n\"Yes'm?\"\n\n\"You must go somewhere else to play. Willie's trying to work at his\nstudies up here, and he says you've disturbed him very much.\"\n\n\"Yes'm.\"\n\nThe obedient Jane and her friend turned to go, and as they went, Miss\nMary Randolph Kirsted allowed her uplifted eyes to linger with increased\ndisfavor upon William, who appeared beside Mrs. Baxter at the window.\n\n\"I tell you what let's do,\" Rannie suggested in a lowered voice. \"He got\nso fresh with us, an' made your mother come, an' all, let's--let's--\"\n\nShe hesitated.\n\n\"Let's what?\" Jane urged her, in an eager whisper.\n\n\"Let's think up somep'n he won't like--an' DO it!\"\n\nThey disappeared round a corner of the house, their heads close\ntogether.\n\n\n\n\nXXIX\n\n\"DON'T FORGET!\"\n\nUp-stairs, Mrs. Baxter moved to the door of her son's room, pretending\nto be unconscious of the gaze he maintained upon her. Mustering courage\nto hum a little tune and affecting inconsequence, she had nearly crossed\nthe threshold when he said, sternly:\n\n\"And this is all you intend to say to that child?\"\n\n\"Why, yes, Willie.\"\n\n\"And yet I told you what she said!\" he cried. \"I told you I HEARD her\nstand there and tell that dirty-faced little girl how that idiot boy\nthat's always walkin' past here four or five times a day, whistling and\nlooking back, was in 'love of' her! Ye gods! What kind of a person will\nshe grow up into if you don't punish her for havin' ideas like that at\nher age?\"\n\nMrs. Baxter regarded him mildly, not replying, and he went on, with loud\nindignation:\n\n\"I never heard of such a thing! That Worm walkin' past here four or five\ntimes a day just to look at JANE! And her standing there, calmly tellin'\nthat sooty-faced little girl, 'He's in love of me'! Why, it's enough to\nsicken a man! Honestly, if I had my way, I'd see that both she and that\nlittle Freddie Banks got a first-class whipping!\"\n\n\"Don't you think, Willie,\" said Mrs. Baxter--\"don't you think that,\nconsidering the rather noncommittal method of Freddie's courtship, you\nare suggesting extreme measures?\"\n\n\"Well, SHE certainly ought to be punished!\" he insisted, and then, with\na reversal to agony, he shuddered. \"That's the least of it!\" he cried.\n\"It's the insulting things you always allow her to say of one of the\nnoblest girls in the United States--THAT'S what counts! On the very last\nday--yes, almost the last hour--that Miss Pratt's in this town, you let\nyour only daughter stand there and speak disrespectfully of her--and\nthen all you do is tell her to 'go and play somewhere else'! I don't\nunderstand your way of bringing up a child,\" he declared, passionately.\n\"I do NOT!\"\n\n\"There, there, Willie,\" Mrs. Baxter said. \"You're all wrought up--\"\n\n\"I am NOT wrought up!\" shouted William. \"Why should I be charged with--\"\n\n\"Now, now!\" she said. \"You'll feel better to-morrow.\"\n\n\"What do you mean by that?\" he demanded, breathing deeply.\n\nFor reply she only shook her head in an odd little way, and in her\nparting look at him there was something at once compassionate, amused,\nand reassuring.\n\n\"You'll be all right, Willie,\" she said, softly, and closed the door.\n\nAlone, William lifted clenched hands in a series of tumultuous\ngestures at the ceiling; then he moaned and sank into a chair at his\nwriting-table. Presently a comparative calm was restored to him, and\nwith reverent fingers he took from a drawer a one-pound box of candy,\ncovered with white tissue-paper, girdled with blue ribbon. He set the\nbox gently beside him upon the table; then from beneath a large, green\nblotter drew forth some scribbled sheets. These he placed before him,\nand, taking infinite pains with his handwriting, slowly copied:\n\n\nDEAR LOLA--I presume when you are reading these lines it will be this\nafternoon and you will be on the train moving rapidly away from this old\nplace here farther and farther from it all. As I sit here at my old desk\nand look back upon it all while I am writing this farewell letter I hope\nwhen you are reading it you also will look back upon it all and think\nof one you called (Alias) Little Boy Baxter. As I sit here this morning\nthat you are going away at last I look back and I cannot rember any\nsummer in my whole life which has been like this summer, because a great\nchange has come over me this summer. If you would like to know what this\nmeans it was something like I said when John Watson got there yesterday\nafternoon and interrupted what I said. May you enjoy this candy and think\nof the giver. I will put something in with this letter. It is something\nmaybe you would like to have and in exchange I would give all I possess\nfor one of you if you would send it to me when you get home. Please do\nthis for now my heart is braking. Yours sincerely, WILLIAM S. BAXTER\n(ALIAS) LITTLE BOY BAXTER.\n\n\nWilliam opened the box of candy and placed the letter upon the top layer\nof chocolates. Upon the letter he placed a small photograph (wrapped in\ntissue-paper) of himself. Then, with a pair of scissors, he trimmed\nan oblong of white cardboard to fit into the box. Upon this piece of\ncardboard he laboriously wrote, copying from a tortured, inky sheet\nbefore him:\n\n IN DREAM\n BY WILLIAM S. BAXTER\n\n The sunset light\n Fades into night\n But never will I forget\n The smile that haunts me yet\n Through the future four long years\n I hope you will remember with tears\n Whate'er my rank or station\n Whilst receiving my education\n Though far away you seem\n I will see thee in dream.\n\nHe placed his poem between the photograph and the letter, closed the\nbox, and tied the tissue-paper about it again with the blue ribbon.\nThroughout these rites (they were rites both in spirit and in manner) he\nwas subject to little catchings of the breath, half gulp, half sigh. But\nthe dolorous tokens passed, and he sat with elbows upon the table,\nhis chin upon his hands, reverie in his eyes. Tragedy had given way to\ngentler pathos;--beyond question, something had measurably soothed him.\nPossibly, even in this hour preceding the hour of parting, he knew a\nlittle of that proud amazement which any poet is entitled to feel over\neach new lyric miracle just wrought.\n\nPerhaps he was helped, too, by wondering what Miss Pratt would think of\nhim when she read \"In Dream,\" on the train that afternoon. For reasons\npurely intuitive, and decidedly without foundation in fact, he was\nsatisfied that no rival farewell poem would be offered her, and so it\nmay be that he thought \"In Dream\" might show her at last, in one blaze\nof light, what her eyes had sometimes fleetingly intimated she did\nperceive in part--the difference between William and such every-day,\nrather well-meaning, fairly good-hearted people as Joe Bullitt, Wallace\nBanks, Johnnie Watson, and others. Yes, when she came to read \"In\nDream,\" and to \"look back upon it all,\" she would surely know--at last!\n\nAnd then, when the future four long years (while receiving his\neducation) had passed, he would go to her. He would go to her, and\nshe would take him by the hand, and lead him to her father, and say,\n\"Father, this is William.\"\n\nBut William would turn to her, and, with the old, dancing light in his\neyes, \"No, Lola,\" he would say, \"not William, but Ickle Boy Baxter!\nAlways and always, just that for you; oh, my dear!\"\n\nAnd then, as in story and film and farce and the pleasanter kinds of\ndrama, her father would say, with kindly raillery, \"Well, when you two\nyoung people get through, you'll find me in the library, where I have a\npretty good BUSINESS proposition to lay before YOU, young man!\"\n\nAnd when the white-waistcoated, white-side-burned old man had,\nchuckling, left the room, William would slowly lift his arms; but Lola\nwould move back from him a step--only a step--and after laying a finger\narchly upon her lips to check him, \"Wait, sir!\" she would say. \"I have a\nquestion to ask you, sir!\"\n\n\"What question, Lola?\"\n\n\"THIS question, sir!\" she would reply. \"In all that summer, sir, so long\nago, why did you never tell me what you WERE, until I had gone away and\nit was too late to show you what I felt? Ah, Ickle Boy Baxter, I never\nunderstood until I looked back upon it all, after I had read 'In Dream,'\non the train that day! THEN I KNEW!\" \"And now, Lola?\" William would say.\n\"Do you understand me, NOW?\"\n\nShyly she would advance the one short step she had put between\nthem, while he, with lifted, yearning arms, this time destined to no\ndisappointment----\n\nAt so vital a moment did Mrs. Baxter knock at his door and consoling\nreverie cease to minister unto William. Out of the rosy sky he dropped,\nfalling miles in an instant, landing with a bump. He started, placed the\nsacred box out of sight, and spoke gruffly.\n\n\"What you want?\"\n\n\"I'm not coming in, Willie,\" said his mother. \"I just wanted to know--I\nthought maybe you were looking out of the window and noticed where those\nchildren went.\"\n\n\"What children?\"\n\n\"Jane and that little girl from across the street--Kirsted, her name\nmust be.\"\n\n\"No. I did not.\"\n\n\"I just wondered,\" Mrs. Baxter said, timidly. \"Genesis thinks he\nheard the little Kirsted girl telling Jane she had plenty of money for\ncarfare. He thinks they went somewhere on a street-car. I thought maybe\nyou noticed wheth--\"\n\n\"I told you I did not.\"\n\n\"All right,\" she said, placatively. \"I didn't mean to bother you, dear.\"\n\nFollowing this there was a silence; but no sound of receding footsteps\nindicated Mrs. Baxter's departure from the other side of the closed\ndoor.\n\n\"Well, what you WANT?\" William shouted.\n\n\"Nothing--nothing at all,\" said the compassionate voice. \"I just thought\nI'd have lunch a little later than usual; not till half past one. That\nis if--well, I thought probably you meant to go to the station to see\nMiss Pratt off on the one-o'clock train.\"\n\nEven so friendly an interest as this must have appeared to the quivering\nWilliam an intrusion in his affairs, for he demanded, sharply:\n\n\"How'd you find out she's going at one o'clock?\"\n\n\"Why--why, Jane mentioned it,\" Mrs. Baxter replied, with obvious\ntimidity. \"Jane said--\"\n\nShe was interrupted by the loud, desperate sound of William's fist\nsmiting his writing-table, so sensitive was his condition. \"This is just\nunbearable!\" he cried. \"Nobody's business is safe from that child!\"\n\n\"Why, Willie, I don't see how it matters if--\"\n\nHe uttered a cry. \"No! Nothing matters! Nothing matters at all! Do you\ns'pose I want that child, with her insults, discussing when Miss Pratt\nis or is not going away? Don't you know there are SOME things that have\nno business to be talked about by every Tom, Dick, and Harry?\"\n\n\"Yes, dear,\" she said. \"I understand, of course. Jane only told me she\nmet Mr. Parcher on the street, and he mentioned that Miss Pratt was\ngoing at one o'clock to-day. That's all I--\"\n\n\"You say you understand,\" he wailed, shaking his head drearily at the\nclosed door, \"and yet, even on such a day as this, you keep TALKING!\nCan't you see sometimes there's times when a person can't stand to--\"\n\n\"Yes, Willie,\" Mrs. Baxter interposed, hurriedly. \"Of course! I'm going\nnow. I have to go hunt up those children, anyway. You try to be back for\nlunch at half past one--and don't worry, dear; you really WILL be all\nright!\"\n\nShe departed, a sigh from the abyss following her as she went down the\nhall. Her comforting words meant nothing pleasant to her son, who felt\nthat her optimism was out of place and tactless. He had no intention to\nbe \"all right,\" and he desired nobody to interfere with his misery.\n\nHe went to his mirror, and, gazing long--long and piercingly--at the\nWilliam there limned, enacted, almost unconsciously, a little scene of\nparting. The look of suffering upon the mirrored face slowly altered; in\nits place came one still sorrowful, but tempered with sweet indulgence.\nHe stretched out his hand, as if he set it upon a head at about the\nheight of his shoulder.\n\n\"Yes, it may mean--it may mean forever!\" he said in a low, tremulous\nvoice. \"Little girl, we MUST be brave!\"\n\nAnd the while his eyes gazed into the mirror, they became expressive\nof a momentary pleased surprise, as if, even in the arts of sorrow, he\nfound himself doing better than he knew. But his sorrow was none the\nless genuine because of that.\n\nThen he noticed the ink upon his forehead, and went away to wash. When\nhe returned he did an unusual thing--he brushed his coat thoroughly,\nremoving it for this special purpose. After that, he earnestly combed\nand brushed his hair, and retied his tie. Next, he took from a drawer\ntwo clean handkerchiefs. He placed one in his breast pocket, part of the\ncolored border of the handkerchief being left on exhibition, and with\nthe other he carefully wiped his shoes. Finally, he sawed it back and\nforth across them, and, with a sigh, languidly dropped it upon the\nfloor, where it remained.\n\nReturning to the mirror, he again brushed his hair--he went so far, this\ntime, as to brush his eyebrows, which seemed not much altered by the\noperation. Suddenly, he was deeply affected by something seen in the\nglass.\n\n\"By George!\" he exclaimed aloud.\n\nSeizing a small hand-mirror, he placed it in juxtaposition to his right\neye, and closely studied his left profile as exhibited in the larger\nmirror. Then he examined his right profile, subjecting it to a like\nscrutiny emotional, yet attentive and prolonged.\n\n\"By George!\" he exclaimed, again. \"By George!\"\n\nHe had made a discovery. There was a downy shadow upon his upper lip.\nWhat he had just found out was that this down could be seen projecting\nbeyond the line of his lip, like a tiny nimbus. It could be seen in\nPROFILE.\n\n\"By GEORGE!\" William exclaimed.\n\nHe was still occupied with the two mirrors when his mother again tapped\nsoftly upon his door, rousing him as from a dream (brief but engaging)\nto the heavy realities of that day.\n\n\"What you want now?\"\n\n\"I won't come in,\" said Mrs. Baxter. \"I just came to see.\"\n\n\"See what?\"\n\n\"I wondered--I thought perhaps you needed something. I knew your watch\nwas out of order--\"\n\n\"F'r 'evan's sake what if it is?\"\n\nShe offered a murmur of placative laughter as her apology, and said:\n\"Well, I just thought I'd tell you--because if you did intend going to\nthe station, I thought you probably wouldn't want to miss it and get\nthere too late. I've got your hat here all nicely brushed for you. It's\nnearly twenty minutes of one, Willie.\"\n\n\"WHAT?\"\n\n\"Yes, it is. It's--\"\n\nShe had no further speech with him.\n\nBreathless, William flung open his door, seized the hat, racketed down\nthe stairs, and out through the front door, which he left open behind\nhim. Eight seconds later he returned at a gallop, hurtled up the stairs\nand into his room, emerging instantly with something concealed under his\ncoat. Replying incoherently to his mother's inquiries, he fell down the\nstairs as far as the landing, used the impetus thus given as a help to\ngreater speed for the rest of the descent--and passed out of hearing.\n\nMrs. Baxter sighed, and went to a window in her own room, and looked\nout.\n\nWilliam was already more than half-way to the next corner, where there\nwas a car-line that ran to the station; but the distance was not too\ngreat for Mrs. Baxter to comprehend the nature of the symmetrical white\nparcel now carried in his right hand. Her face became pensive as she\ngazed after the flying slender figure:--there came to her mind the\nrecollection of a seventeen-year-old boy who had brought a box of candy\n(a small one, like William's) to the station, once, long ago, when she\nhad been visiting in another town. For just a moment she thought of that\nboy she had known, so many years ago, and a smile came vaguely upon her\nlips. She wondered what kind of a woman he had married, and how many\nchildren he had--and whether he was a widower----\n\nThe fleeting recollection passed; she turned from the window and shook\nher head, puzzled.\n\n\"Now where on earth could Jane and that little Kirsted girl have gone?\"\nshe murmured.\n\n... At the station, William, descending from the street-car, found\nthat he had six minutes to spare. Reassured of so much by the great\nclock in the station tower, he entered the building, and, with calm\nand dignified steps, crossed the large waiting-room. Those calm\nand dignified steps were taken by feet which little betrayed the\ntremulousness of the knees above them. Moreover, though William's\nface was red, his expression--cold, and concentrated upon high\nmatters--scorned the stranger, and warned the lower classes that the\nmission of this bit of gentry was not to them.\n\nWith but one sweeping and repellent glance over the canaille present,\nhe made sure that the person he sought was not in the waiting-room.\nTherefore, he turned to the doors which gave admission to the tracks,\nbut before he went out he paused for an instant of displeasure. Hard by\nthe doors stood a telephone-booth, and from inside this booth a little\ngirl of nine or ten was peering eagerly out at William, her eyes just\nabove the lower level of the glass window in the door.\n\nEven a prospect thus curtailed revealed her as a smudged and dusty\nlittle girl; and, evidently, her mother must have been preoccupied with\nsome important affair that day; but to William she suggested nothing\nfamiliar. As his glance happened to encounter hers, the peering\neyes grew instantly brighter with excitement;--she exposed her whole\ncountenance at the window, and impulsively made a face at him.\n\nWilliam had not the slightest recollection of ever having seen her\nbefore.\n\nHe gave her one stern look and went on; though he felt that something\nought to be done. The affair was not a personal one--patently, this was\na child who played about the station and amused herself by making faces\nat everybody who passed the telephone-booth--still, the authorities\nought not to allow it. People did not come to the station to be\ninsulted.\n\nThree seconds later the dusty-faced little girl and her moue were sped\nutterly from William's mind. For, as the doors swung together behind\nhim, he saw Miss Pratt. There were no gates nor iron barriers to obscure\nthe view; there was no train-shed to darken the air. She was at\nsome distance, perhaps two hundred feet, along the tracks, where\nthe sleeping-cars of the long train would stop. But there she stood,\nmistakable for no other on this wide earth!\n\nThere she stood--a glowing little figure in the hazy September sunlight,\nher hair an amber mist under the adorable little hat; a small bunch\nof violets at her waist; a larger bunch of fragrant but less expensive\nsweet peas in her right hand; half a dozen pink roses in her left; her\nlittle dog Flopit in the crook of one arm; and a one-pound box of candy\nin the crook of the other--ineffable, radiant, starry, there she stood!\n\nNear her also stood her young hostess, and Wallace Banks, Johnnie\nWatson, and Joe Bullitt--three young gentlemen in a condition of\nsolemn tensity. Miss Parcher saw William as he emerged from the\nstation building, and she waved her parasol in greeting, attracting the\nattention of the others to him, so that they: all turned and stared.\n\nSeventeen sometimes finds it embarrassing (even in a state of deep\nemotion) to walk two hundred feet, or thereabout, toward a group of\npeople who steadfastly watch the long approach. And when the watching\ngroup contains the lady of all the world before whom one wishes to\nappear most debonair, and contains not only her, but several rivals,\nwho, though FAIRLY good-hearted, might hardly be trusted to neglect such\nan opportunity to murmur something jocular about one--No, it cannot be\nsaid that William appeared to be wholly without self-consciousness.\n\nIn fancy he had prophesied for this moment something utterly different.\nHe had seen himself parting from her, the two alone as within a cloud.\nHe had seen himself gently placing his box of candy in her hands, some\nof his fingers just touching some of hers and remaining thus lightly in\ncontact to the very last. He had seen himself bending toward the sweet\nblonde head to murmur the few last words of simple eloquence, while\nher eyes lifted in mysterious appeal to his--and he had put no other\nfigures, not even Miss Parcher's, into this picture.\n\nParting is the most dramatic moment in young love, and if there is one\ntime when the lover wishes to present a lofty but graceful appearance it\nis at the last. To leave with the loved one, for recollection, a final\npicture of manly dignity in sorrow--that, above all things, is\nthe lover's desire. And yet, even at the beginning of William's\ntwo-hundred-foot advance (later so much discussed) he felt the heat\nsurging over his ears, and, as he took off his hat, thinking to wave it\njauntily in reply to Miss Parcher, he made but an uncertain gesture of\nit, so that he wished he had not tried it. Moreover, he had covered less\nthan a third of the distance, when he became aware that all of the\ngroup were staring at him with unaccountable eagerness, and had begun to\nlaugh.\n\nWilliam felt certain that his attire was in no way disordered, nor in\nitself a cause for laughter;--all of these people had often seen him\ndressed as he was to-day, and had preserved their gravity. But, in spite\nof himself, he took off his hat again, and looked to see if anything\nabout it might explain this mirth, which, at his action, increased. Nay,\nthe laughter began to be shared by strangers; and some set down their\nhand-luggage for greater pleasure in what they saw.\n\nWilliam's inward state became chaotic.\n\nHe tried to smile carelessly, to prove his composure, but he found that\nhe had lost almost all control over his features. He had no knowledge\nof his actual expression except that it hurt him. In desperation he fell\nback upon hauteur; he managed to frown, and walked proudly. At that\nthey laughed the more, Wallace Banks rudely pointing again and again at\nWilliam; and not till the oncoming sufferer reached a spot within\ntwenty feet of these delighted people did he grasp the significance of\nWallace's repeated gesture of pointing. Even then he understood only\nwhen the gesture was supplemented by half-articulate shouts:\n\n\"Behind you! Look BEHIND you!\"\n\nThe stung youth turned.\n\nThere, directly behind him, he beheld an exclusive little procession\nconsisting of two damsels in single file, the first soiled with\nhouse-moving, the second with apple sauce.\n\nFor greater caution they had removed their shoes; and each damsel,\nas she paraded, dangled from each far-extended hand a shoe. And both\ndamsels, whether beneath apple sauce or dust smudge, were suffused with\nthe rapture of a great mockery.\n\nThey were walking with their stummicks out o' joint.\n\nAt sight of William's face they squealed. They turned and ran. They got\nthemselves out of sight.\n\nSimultaneously, the air filled with solid thunder and the pompous train\nshook the ground. Ah, woe's the word! This was the thing that meant to\nbear away the golden girl and honeysuckle of the world--meant to, and\nwould, not abating one iron second!\n\nNow a porter had her hand-bag.\n\nDear Heaven! to be a porter--yes, a colored one! What of that, NOW? Just\nto be a simple porter, and journey with her to the far, strange pearl\namong cities whence she had come!\n\nThe gentle porter bowed her toward the steps of his car; but first she\ngave Flopit into the hands of May Parcher, for a moment, and whispered\na word to Wallace Banks; then to Joe Bullitt; then to Johnnie\nWatson;--then she ran to William.\n\nShe took his hand.\n\n\"Don't forget!\" she whispered. \"Don't forget Lola!\"\n\nHe stood stock-still. His face was blank, his hand limp. He said\nnothing.\n\nShe enfolded May Parcher, kissed her devotedly; then, with Flopit once\nmore under her arm, she ran and jumped upon the steps just as the train\nbegan to move. She stood there, on the lowest step, slowly gliding away\nfrom them, and in her eyes there was a sparkle of tears, left, it may\nbe, from her laughter at poor William's pageant with Jane and Rannie\nKirsted--or, it may be, not.\n\nShe could not wave to her friends, in answer to their gestures of\nfarewell, for her arms were too full of Flopit and roses and candy and\nsweet peas; but she kept nodding to them in a way that showed them how\nmuch she thanked them for being sorry she was going--and made it clear\nthat she was sorry, too, and loved them all.\n\n\"Good-by!\" she meant.\n\nFaster she glided; the engine passed from sight round a curve beyond a\nculvert, but for a moment longer they could see the little figure upon\nthe steps--and, to the very last glimpse they had of her, the small,\ngolden head was still nodding \"Good-by!\" Then those steps whereon she\nstood passed in their turn beneath the culvert, and they saw her no\nmore.\n\nLola Pratt was gone!\n\nWet-eyed, her young hostess of the long summer turned away, and stumbled\nagainst William. \"Why, Willie Baxter!\" she cried, blinking at him.\n\nThe last car of the train had rounded the curve and disappeared, but\nWilliam was still waving farewell--not with his handkerchief, but with\na symmetrical, one-pound parcel, wrapped in white tissue-paper, girdled\nwith blue ribbon.\n\n\"Never mind!\" said May Parcher. \"Let's all walk Up-town together, and\ntalk about her on the way, and we'll go by the express-office, and you\ncan send your candy to her by express, Willie.\"\n\n\n\n\nXXX\n\nTHE BRIDE-TO-BE\n\nIn the smallish house which all summer long, from morning until late\nat night, had resounded with the voices of young people, echoing their\nsongs, murmurous with their theories of love, or vibrating with their\nglee, sometimes shaking all over during their more boisterous moods--in\nthat house, now comparatively so vacant, the proprietor stood and\nbreathed deep breaths.\n\n\"Hah!\" he said, inhaling and exhaling the air profoundly.\n\nHis wife was upon the porch, outside, sewing. The silence was deep.\nHe seemed to listen to it--to listen with gusto; his face slowly\nbroadening, a pinkish tint overspreading it. His flaccid cheeks appeared\nto fill, to grow firm again, a smile finally widening them.\n\n\"HAH!\" he breathed, sonorously. He gave himself several resounding slaps\nupon the chest, then went out to the porch and sat in a rocking-chair\nnear his wife. He spread himself out expansively. \"My Glory!\" he said.\n\"I believe I'll take off my coat! I haven't had my coat off, outside of\nmy own room, all summer. I believe I'll take a vacation! By George, I\nbelieve I'll stay home this afternoon!\"\n\n\"That's nice,\" said Mrs. Parcher.\n\n\"Hah!\" he said. \"My Glory! I believe I'll take off my shoes!\"\n\nAnd, meeting no objection, he proceeded to carry out this plan.\n\n\"Hah-AH!\" he said, and placed his stockinged feet upon the railing,\nwhere a number of vines, running upon strings, made a screen between the\nporch and the street. He lit a large cigar. \"Well, well!\" he said. \"That\ntastes good! If this keeps on, I'll be in as good shape as I was last\nspring before you know it!\" Leaning far back in the rocking-chair, his\nhands behind his head, he smoked with fervor; but suddenly he jumped in\na way which showed that his nerves were far from normal. His feet came\nto the floor with a thump, he jerked the cigar out of his mouth, and\nturned a face of consternation upon his wife.\n\n\"What's the matter?\"\n\n\"Suppose,\" said Mr. Patcher, huskily--\"suppose she missed her train.\"\n\nMrs. Parcher shook her head.\n\n\"Think not?\" he said, brightening. \"I ordered the livery-stable to have\na carriage here in lots of time.\"\n\n\"They did,\" said Mrs. Parcher, severely. \"About five dollars' worth.\"\n\n\"Well, I don't mind that,\" he returned, putting his feet up again.\n\"After all, she was a mighty fine little girl in her way. The only\ntrouble with me was that crowd of boys;--having to listen to them\ncertainly liked to killed me, and I believe if she'd stayed just one\nmore day I'd been a goner! Of all the dam boys I ever--\" He paused,\nlistening.\n\n\"Mr. Parcher!\" a youthful voice repeated.\n\nHe rose, and, separating two of the vines which screened the end of the\nporch from the street, looked out. Two small maidens had paused upon the\nsidewalk, and were peering over the picket fence.\n\n\"Mr. Parcher,\" said Jane, as soon as his head appeared between the\nvines--\"Mr. Parcher, Miss Pratt's gone. She's gone away on the cars.\"\n\n\"You think so?\" he asked, gravely.\n\n\"We saw her,\" said Jane. \"Rannie an' I were there. Willie was goin' to\nchase us, I guess, but we went in the baggage-room behind trunks, an'\nwe saw her go. She got on the cars, an' it went with her in it. Honest,\nshe's gone away, Mr. Parcher.\"\n\nBefore speaking, Mr. Parcher took a long look at this telepathic child.\nIn his fond eyes she was a marvel and a darling.\n\n\"Well--THANK you, Jane!\" he said.\n\nJane, however, had turned her head and was staring at the corner, which\nwas out of his sight.\n\n\"Oo-oo-ooh!\" she murmured.\n\n\"What's the trouble, Jane?\"\n\n\"Willie!\" she said. \"It's Willie an' that Joe Bullitt, an' Johnnie\nWatson, an' Mr. Wallace Banks. They're with Miss May Parcher. They're\ncomin' right here!\"\n\nMr. Parcher gave forth a low moan, and turned pathetically to his wife,\nbut she cheered him with a laugh.\n\n\"They've only walked up from the station with May,\" she said. \"They\nwon't come in. You'll see!\"\n\nRelieved, Mr. Parcher turned again to speak to Jane--but she was not\nthere. He caught but a glimpse of her, running up the street as fast as\nshe could, hand in hand with her companion.\n\n\"Run, Rannie, run!\" panted Jane. \"I got to get home an' tell mamma about\nit before Willie. I bet I ketch Hail Columbia, anyway, when he does get\nthere!\"\n\nAnd in this she was not mistaken: she caught Hail Columbia. It lasted\nall afternoon.\n\nIt was still continuing after dinner. Thatt evening, when an\noft-repeated yodel, followed by a shrill-wailed, \"Jane-ee! Oh,\nJane-NEE-ee!\" brought her to an open window down-stairs. In the early\ndusk she looked out upon the washed face of Rannie Kirsted, who stood on\nthe lawn below.\n\n\"Come on out, Janie. Mamma says I can stay outdoors an' play till half\npast eight.\"\n\nJane shook her head. \"I can't. I can't go outside the house till\nto-morrow. It's because we walked after Willie with our stummicks out o'\njoint.\"\n\n\"Pshaw!\" Rannie cried, lightly. \"My mother didn't do anything to me for\nthat.\"\n\n\"Well, nobody told her on you,\" said Jane, reasonably.\n\n\"Can't you come out at all?\" Rannie urged. \"Go ask your mother. Tell\nher--\"\n\n\"How can I,\" Jane inquired, with a little heat, \"when she isn't here to\nask? She's gone out to play cards--she and papa.\"\n\nRannie swung her foot. \"Well,\" she said, \"I guess I haf to find SOMEp'n\nto do! G' night!\"\n\nWith head bowed in thought she moved away, disappearing into the gray\ndusk, while Jane, on her part, left the window and went to the open\nfront door. Conscientiously, she did not cross the threshold, but\nrestrained herself to looking out. On the steps of the porch sat\nWilliam, alone, his back toward the house.\n\n\"Willie?\" said Jane, softly; and, as he made no response, she lifted her\nvoice a little. \"Will-ee!\"\n\n\"Whatchwant!\" he grunted, not moving.\n\n\"Willie, I told mamma I was sorry I made you feel so bad.\"\n\n\"All right!\" he returned, curtly.\n\n\"Well, when I haf to go to bed, Willie,\" she said, \"mamma told me\nbecause I made you feel bad I haf to go up-stairs by myself, to-night.\"\n\nShe paused, seeming to hope that he would say something, but he spake\nnot.\n\n\"Willie, I don't haf to go for a while yet, but when I do--maybe in\nabout a half an hour--I wish you'd come stand at the foot of the stairs\ntill I get up there. The light's lit up-stairs, but down around here\nit's kind of dark.\"\n\nHe did not answer.\n\n\"Will you, Willie?\"\n\n\"Oh, all RIGHT!\" he said.\n\nThis contented her, and she seated herself so quietly upon the floor,\njust inside the door, that he ceased to be aware of her, thinking she\nhad gone away. He sat staring vacantly into the darkness, which had come\non with that abruptness which begins to be noticeable in September.\nHis elbows were on his knees, and his body was sunk far forward in an\nattitude of desolation.\n\nThe small noises of the town--that town so empty to-night--fell upon his\nears mockingly. It seemed to him incredible that so hollow a town could\ngo about its nightly affairs just as usual. A man and a woman, going\nby, laughed loudly at something the man had said: the sound of their\nlaughter was horrid to William. And from a great distance from far out\nin the country--there came the faint, long-drawn whistle of an engine.\n\nThat was the sorrowfulest sound of all to William. His lonely mind's\neye sought the vasty spaces to the east; crossed prairie, and river, and\nhill, to where a long train whizzed onward through the dark--farther\nand farther and farther away. William uttered a sigh, so hoarse, so deep\nfrom the tombs, so prolonged, that Jane, who had been relaxing herself\nat full length upon the floor, sat up straight with a jerk.\n\nBut she was wise enough not to speak.\n\nNow the full moon came masquerading among the branches of the\nshade-trees; it came in the likeness of an enormous football, gloriously\norange. Gorgeously it rose higher, cleared the trees, and resumed its\nwonted impersonation of a silver disk. Here was another mockery: What\nwas the use of a moon NOW?\n\nIts use appeared straightway.\n\nIn direct coincidence with that rising moon, there came from a little\ndistance down the street the sound of a young male voice, singing.\nIt was not a musical voice, yet sufficiently loud; and it knew only a\nportion of the words and air it sought to render, but, upon completing\nthe portion it did know, it instantly began again, and sang that portion\nover and over with brightest patience. So the voice approached the\nresidence of the Baxter family, singing what the shades of night gave\ncourage to sing--instead of whistle, as in the abashing sunlight.\n\nThus:\n\n\"My countree, 'tis of thee, Sweet land of liber-tee, My countree, 'tis\nof thee, Sweet land of liber-tee, My countree, 'tis of thee, Sweet land\nof liber-tee, My countree, 'tis of thee, Sweet land of liber-tee, My\ncountree, 'tis--\"\n\n\nJane spoke unconsciously. \"It's Freddie,\" she said.\n\nWilliam leaped to his feet; this was something he could NOT bear! He\nmade a bloodthirsty dash toward the gate, which the singer was just in\nthe act of passing.\n\n\"You GET OUT O' HERE!\" William roared.\n\nThe song stopped. Freddie Banks fled like a rag on the wind.\n\n\n... Now here is a strange matter.\n\nThe antique prophets prophesied successfully; they practised with some\nease that art since lost but partly rediscovered by M. Maeterlinck, who\nproves to us that the future already exists, simultaneously with the\npresent. Well, if his proofs be true, then at this very moment when\nWilliam thought menacingly of Freddie Banks, the bright air of a happy\nJune evening--an evening ordinarily reckoned ten years, nine months and\ntwenty-one days in advance of this present sorrowful evening--the bright\nair of that happy June evening, so far in the future, was actually\nalready trembling to a wedding-march played upon a church organ; and\nthis selfsame Freddie, with a white flower in his buttonhole, and in\nevery detail accoutred as a wedding usher, was an usher for this very\nWilliam who now (as we ordinarily count time) threatened his person.\n\nBut for more miracles:\n\nAs William turned again to resume his meditations upon the steps, his\nincredulous eyes fell upon a performance amazingly beyond fantasy, and\nwithout parallel as a means to make scorn of him. Not ten feet from the\nporch--and in the white moonlight that made brilliant the path to the\ngate--Miss Mary Randolph Kirsted was walking. She was walking with\ninsulting pomposity in her most pronounced semicircular manner.\n\n\"YOU GET OUT O' HERE!\" she said, in a voice as deep and hoarse as she\ncould make it. \"YOU GET OUT O' HERE!\"\n\nHer intention was as plain as the moon. She was presenting in her own\nperson a sketch of William, by this means expressing her opinion of him\nand avenging Jane.\n\n\"YOU GET OUT O' HERE!\" she croaked.\n\nThe shocking audacity took William's breath. He gasped; he sought for\nwords.\n\n\"Why, you--you--\" he cried. \"You--you sooty-faced little girl!\"\n\nIn this fashion he directly addressed Miss Mary Randolph Kirsted for the\nfirst time in his life.\n\nAnd that was the strangest thing of this strange evening. Strangest\nbecause, as with life itself, there was nothing remarkable upon the\nsurface of it. But if M. Maeterlinck has the right of the matter, and\nif the bright air of that June evening, almost eleven years in the\nso-called future, was indeed already trembling to \"Lohengrin,\" then\nWilliam stood with Johnnie Watson against a great bank of flowers at the\nfoot of a church aisle; that aisle was roped with white-satin ribbons;\nand William and Johnnie were waiting for something important to happen.\nAnd then, to the strains of \"Here Comes the Bride,\" it did--a stately,\nsolemn, roseate, gentle young thing with bright eyes seeking through a\nveil for William's eyes.\n\nYes, if great M. Maeterlinck is right, it seems that William ought to\nhave caught at least some eerie echo of that wedding-march, however\nfaint--some bars or strains adrift before their time upon the moonlight\nof this September night in his eighteenth year.\n\nFor there, beyond the possibility of any fate to intervene, or of any\nlater vague, fragmentary memory of even Miss Pratt to impair, there in\nthat moonlight was his future before him.\n\nHe started forward furiously. \"You--you--you little--\"\n\nBut he paused, not wasting his breath upon the empty air.\n\nHis bride-to-be was gone."