SEVENTEEN

A TALE OF YOUTH AND

SUMMER TIME AND

THE BAXTER FAMILY

ESPECIALLY WILLIAM

By Booth Tarkington

SEVENTEEN

TO S. K. T. 

CONTENTS

 I. WILLIAM II. THE UNKNOWN III. THE PAINFUL AGE IV. GENESIS AND CLEMATIS V. SORROWS WITHIN A BOILER VI. TRUCULENCE VII. MR. BAXTER'S EVENING CLOTHES VIII. JANE IX. LITTLE SISTERS HAVE BIG EARS X. MR. PARCHER AND LOVE XI. BEGINNING A TRUE FRIENDSHIP XII. PROGRESS OF THE SYMPTOMS XIII. AT HOME TO HIS FRIENDS XIV. TIME DOES FLY XV. ROMANCE OF STATISTICS XVI. THE SHOWER XVII. JANE'S THEORY XVIII. THE BIG, FAT LUMMOX XIX. "I DUNNO WHY IT IS" XX. SYDNEY CARTON XXI. MY LITTLE SWEETHEARTS XXII. FORESHADOWINGS XXIII. FATHERS FORGET XXIV. CLOTHES MAKE THE MAN XXV. YOUTH AND MR. PARCHER XXVI. MISS BOKE XXVII. MAROONED XXVIII. RANNIE KIRSTED XXIX. ''DON'T FORGET!'' XXX. THE BRIDE-TO-BE

SEVENTEEN

I

WILLIAM

William Sylvanus Baxter paused for a moment of thought in front of thedrug-store at the corner of Washington Street and Central Avenue. He hadan internal question to settle before he entered the store: he wishedto allow the young man at the soda-fountain no excuse for saying, "Well, make up your mind what it's goin' to be, can't you?" Rudeness of thiskind, especially in the presence of girls and women, was hard to bear, and though William Sylvanus Baxter had borne it upon occasion, hehad reached an age when he found it intolerable. Therefore, to avoidoffering opportunity for anything of the kind, he decided upon chocolateand strawberry, mixed, before approaching the fountain. Once there, however, and a large glass of these flavors and diluted ice-creamproving merely provocative, he said, languidly--an affectation, for hecould have disposed of half a dozen with gusto: "Well, now I'm here, Imight as well go one more. Fill 'er up again. Same. "

Emerging to the street, penniless, he bent a fascinated and dramaticgaze upon his reflection in the drug-store window, and then, as heturned his back upon the alluring image, his expression altered toone of lofty and uncondescending amusement. That was his glance at thepassing public. From the heights, he seemed to bestow upon the worlda mysterious derision--for William Sylvanus Baxter was seventeen longyears of age, and had learned to present the appearance of one whopossesses inside information about life and knows all strangers and mostacquaintances to be of inferior caste, costume, and intelligence. 

He lingered upon the corner awhile, not pressed for time. Indeed, hefound many hours of these summer months heavy upon his hands, for he hadno important occupation, unless some intermittent dalliance with awork on geometry (anticipatory of the distant autumn) might be thoughtimportant, which is doubtful, since he usually went to sleep on theshady side porch at his home, with the book in his hand. So, havingnothing to call him elsewhere, he lounged before the drug-store in theearly afternoon sunshine, watching the passing to and fro of the lowerorders and bourgeoisie of the middle-sized midland city which claimedhim (so to speak) for a native son. 

Apparently quite unembarrassed by his presence, they went about theirbusiness, and the only people who looked at him with any attention werepedestrians of color. It is true that when the gaze of these fell uponhim it was instantly arrested, for no colored person could have passedhim without a little pang of pleasure and of longing. Indeed, thetropical violence of William Sylvanus Baxter's tie and the strangebrilliancy of his hat might have made it positively unsafe for him towalk at night through the negro quarter of the town. And though no mancould have sworn to the color of that hat, whether it was blue or green, yet its color was a saner thing than its shape, which was blurred, tortured, and raffish; it might have been the miniature model of avolcano that had blown off its cone and misbehaved disastrously on itslower slopes as well. He had the air of wearing it as a matter of courseand with careless ease, but that was only an air--it was the apple ofhis eye. 

For the rest, his costume was neutral, subordinate, and even a littleneglected in the matter of a detail or two: one pointed flap of his softcollar was held down by a button, but the other showed a frayed threadwhere the button once had been; his low patent-leather shoes were of aluster not solicitously cherished, and there could be no doubt that heneeded to get his hair cut, while something might have been done, too, about the individualized hirsute prophecies which had made independentappearances, here and there, upon his chin. He examined these from timeto time by the sense of touch, passing his hand across his face andallowing his finger-tips a slight tapping motion wherever they detecteda prophecy. 

Thus he fell into a pleasant musing and seemed to forget the crowdedstreet. 

II

THE UNKNOWN

He was roused by the bluff greeting of an acquaintance not dissimilar tohimself in age, manner, and apparel. 

"H'lo, Silly Bill!" said this person, William Sylvanus Baxter. "What'sthe news?"

William showed no enthusiasm; on the contrary, a frown of annoyanceappeared upon his brow. The nickname "Silly Bill"--long ago compoundedby merry child-comrades from "William" and "Sylvanus"--was not to histaste, especially in public, where he preferred to be addressed simplyand manfully as "Baxter. " Any direct expression of resentment, however, was difficult, since it was plain that Johnnie Watson intended nooffense whatever and but spoke out of custom. 

"Don't know any, " William replied, coldly. 

"Dull times, ain't it?" said Mr. Watson, a little depressed by hisfriend's manner. "I heard May Parcher was comin' back to town yesterday, though. "

"Well, let her!" returned William, still severe. 

"They said she was goin' to bring a girl to visit her, " Johnnie began ina confidential tone. "They said she was a reg'lar ringdinger and--"

"Well, what if she is?" the discouraging Mr. Baxter interrupted. "Makeslittle difference to ME, I guess!"

"Oh no, it don't. YOU don't take any interest in girls! OH no!"

"No, I do not!" was the emphatic and heartless retort. "I never saw onein my life I'd care whether she lived or died!"

"Honest?" asked Johnnie, struck by the conviction with which this speechwas uttered. "Honest, is that so?"

"Yes, 'honest'!" William replied, sharply. "They could ALL die, _I_wouldn't notice!"

Johnnie Watson was profoundly impressed. "Why, _I_ didn't know you feltthat way about 'em, Silly Bill. I always thought you were kind of--"

"Well, I do feel that way about 'em!" said William Sylvanus Baxter, and, outraged by the repetition of the offensive nickname, he began to moveaway. "You can tell 'em so for me, if you want to!" he added over hisshoulder. And he walked haughtily up the street, leaving Mr. Watson toponder upon this case of misogyny, never until that moment suspected. 

It was beyond the power of his mind to grasp the fact that WilliamSylvanus Baxter's cruel words about "girls" had been uttered becauseWilliam was annoyed at being called "Silly Bill" in a public place, andhad not known how to object otherwise than by showing contempt for anytopic of conversation proposed by the offender. This latter, being ofa disposition to accept statements as facts, was warmly interested, instead of being hurt, and decided that here was something worth talkingabout, especially with representatives of the class so sweepinglyexcluded from the sympathies of Silly Bill. 

William, meanwhile, made his way toward the "residence section" of thetown, and presently--with the passage of time found himself eased of hisannoyance. He walked in his own manner, using his shoulders to emphasizean effect of carelessness which he wished to produce upon observers. Forhis consciousness of observers was abnormal, since he had it whether anyone was looking at him or not, and it reached a crucial stage wheneverhe perceived persons of his own age, but of opposite sex, approaching. 

A person of this description was encountered upon the sidewalk within ahundred yards of his own home, and William Sylvanus Baxter saw her whileyet she was afar off. The quiet and shady thoroughfare was empty of allhuman life, at the time, save for those two; and she was upon the sameside of the street that he was; thus it became inevitable that theyshould meet, face to face, for the first time in their lives. Hehad perceived, even in the distance, that she was unknown to him, astranger, because he knew all the girls in this part of the town whodressed as famously in the mode as that! And then, as the distancebetween them lessened, he saw that she was ravishingly pretty; far, farprettier, indeed, than any girl he knew. At least it seemed so, for itis, unfortunately, much easier for strangers to be beautiful. Asidefrom this advantage of mystery, the approaching vision was piquant andgraceful enough to have reminded a much older boy of a spotless whitekitten, for, in spite of a charmingly managed demureness, there wasprecisely that kind of playfulness somewhere expressed about her. Justnow it was most definite in the look she bent upon the light and fluffyburden which she carried nestled in the inner curve of her right arm:a tiny dog with hair like cotton and a pink ribbon round his neck--ananimal sated with indulgence and idiotically unaware of his privilege. He was half asleep!

William did not see the dog, or it is the plain, anatomical truththat when he saw how pretty the girl was, his heart--his physicalheart--began to do things the like of which, experienced by an elderlyperson, would have brought the doctor in haste. In addition, hiscomplexion altered--he broke out in fiery patches. He suffered frombreathlessness and from pressure on the diaphragm. 

Afterward, he could not have named the color of the little parasol shecarried in her left hand, and yet, as it drew nearer and nearer, a rosyhaze suffused the neighborhood, and the whole world began to turn anexquisite pink. Beneath this gentle glow, with eyes downcast in thought, she apparently took no note of William, even when she and William hadcome within a few yards of each other. Yet he knew that she would lookup and that their eyes must meet--a thing for which he endeavored toprepare himself by a strange weaving motion of his neck against thefriction of his collar--for thus, instinctively, he strove to obtaingreater ease and some decent appearance of manly indifference. He feltthat his efforts were a failure; that his agitation was ruinous andmust be perceptible at a distance of miles, not feet. And then, inthe instant of panic that befell, when her dark-lashed eyelids slowlylifted, he had a flash of inspiration. 

He opened his mouth somewhat, and as her eyes met his, full andstartlingly, he placed three fingers across the orifice, and alsooffered a slight vocal proof that she had surprised him in the midst ofa yawn. 

"Oh, hum!" he said. 

For the fraction of a second, the deep blue spark in her eyes glowedbrighter--gentle arrows of turquoise shot him through and through--andthen her glance withdrew from the ineffable collision. Her small, white-shod feet continued to bear her onward, away from him, whilehis own dimmed shoes peregrinated in the opposite direction--Williamnecessarily, yet with excruciating reluctance, accompanying them. Butjust at the moment when he and the lovely creature were side by side, and her head turned from him, she spoke that is, she murmured, but hecaught the words. 

"You Flopit, wake up!" she said, in the tone of a mother talkingbaby-talk. "SO indifferink!"

William's feet and his breath halted spasmodically. For an instant hethought she had spoken to him, and then for the first time he perceivedthe fluffy head of the dog bobbing languidly over her arm, with themotion of her walking, and he comprehended that Flopit, and not WilliamSylvanus Baxter, was the gentleman addressed. But--but had she MEANThim?

His breath returning, though not yet operating in its usual manner, he stood gazing after her, while the glamorous parasol passed down theshady street, catching splashes of sunshine through the branches ofthe maple-trees; and the cottony head of the tiny dog continued to bevisible, bobbing rhythmically over a filmy sleeve. Had she meant thatWilliam was indifferent? Was it William that she really addressed?

He took two steps to follow her, but a suffocating shyness stopped himabruptly and, in a horror lest she should glance round and detect himin the act, he turned and strode fiercely to the gate of his own homebefore he dared to look again. And when he did look, affecting greatcasualness in the action, she was gone, evidently having turned thecorner. Yet the street did not seem quite empty; there was stillsomething warm and fragrant about it, and a rosy glamor lingered inthe air. William rested an elbow upon the gate-post, and with his chinreposing in his hand gazed long in the direction in which the unknownhad vanished. And his soul was tremulous, for she had done her work buttoo well. 

"'Indifferink'!" he murmured, thrilling at his own exceedinglyindifferent imitation of her voice. "Indifferink!" that was just what hewould have her think--that he was a cold, indifferent man. It was whathe wished all girls to think. And "sarcastic"! He had been envious oneday when May Parcher said that Joe Bullitt was "awfully sarcastic. "William had spent the ensuing hour in an object-lesson intended to makeMiss Parcher see that William Sylvanus Baxter was twice as sarcasticas Joe Bullitt ever thought of being, but this great effort had beenunsuccessful, because William, failed to understand that Miss Parcherhad only been sending a sort of message to Mr. Bullitt. It was a devicenot unique among her sex; her hope was that William would repeat herremark in such a manner that Joe Bullitt would hear it and call toinquire what she meant. 

"'SO indifferink'!" murmured William, leaning dreamily upon thegate-post. "Indifferink!" He tried to get the exact cooing quality ofthe unknown's voice. "Indifferink!" And, repeating the honeyed word, soentrancingly distorted, he fell into a kind of stupor; vague, beautifulpictures rising before him, the one least blurred being of himself, onhorseback, sweeping between Flopit and a racing automobile. Andthen, having restored the little animal to its mistress, Williamsat carelessly in the saddle (he had the Guardsman's seat) while theperfectly trained steed wheeled about, forelegs in the air, preparingto go. "But shall I not see you again, to thank you more properly?" shecried, pleading. "Some other day--perhaps, " he answered. 

And left her in a cloud of dust. 

III

THE PAINFUL AGE

"OH WILL--EE!"

Thus a shrill voice, to his ears hideously different from that other, interrupted and dispersed his visions. Little Jane, his ten-year-oldsister, stood upon the front porch, the door open behind her, and in herhand she held a large slab of bread-and-butter covered with apple sauceand powdered sugar. Evidence that she had sampled this compound was uponher cheeks, and to her brother she was a repulsive sight. 

"Will-ee!" she shrilled. "Look! GOOD!" And to emphasize the adjectiveshe indelicately patted the region of her body in which she believedher stomach to be located. "There's a slice for you on the dining-roomtable, " she informed him, joyously. 

Outraged, he entered the house without a word to her, and, proceedingto the dining-room, laid hands upon the slice she had mentioned, butdeclined to eat it in Jane's company. He was in an exalted mood, andthough in no condition of mind or body would he refuse food of almostany kind, Jane was an intrusion he could not suffer at this time. 

He carried the refection to his own room and, locking the door, sat downto eat, while, even as he ate, the spell that was upon him deepened inintensity. 

"Oh, eyes!" he whispered, softly, in that cool privacy and shelter fromthe world. "Oh, eyes of blue!"

The mirror of a dressing-table sent him the reflection of his own eyes, which also were blue; and he gazed upon them and upon the rest of hisimage the while he ate his bread-and-butter and apple sauce and sugar. Thus, watching himself eat, he continued to stare dreamily at the mirroruntil the bread-and-butter and apple sauce and sugar had disappeared, whereupon he rose and approached the dressing-table to study himself atgreater advantage. 

He assumed as repulsive an expression as he could command, at the sametime making the kingly gesture of one who repels unwelcome attentions;and it is beyond doubt that he was thus acting a little scene ofindifference. Other symbolic dramas followed, though an invisibleobserver might have been puzzled for a key to some of them. One, however, would have proved easily intelligible: his expression havingaltered to a look of pity and contrition, he turned from the mirror, and, walking slowly to a chair across the room, used his right hand ina peculiar manner, seeming to stroke the air at a point about ten inchesabove the back of the chair. "There, there, little girl, " he said in alow, gentle voice. "I didn't know you cared!"

Then, with a rather abrupt dismissal of this theme, he returned to themirror and, after a questioning scrutiny, nodded solemnly, forming withhis lips the words, "The real thing--the real thing at last!" Hemeant that, after many imitations had imposed upon him, Love--the realthing--had come to him in the end. And as he turned away he murmured, "And even her name--unknown!"

This evidently was a thought that continued to occupy him, for he walkedup and down the room, frowning; but suddenly his brow cleared and hiseye lit with purpose. Seating himself at a small writing-table bythe window, he proceeded to express his personality--though withconsiderable labor--in something which he did not doubt to be a poem. 

Three-quarters of an hour having sufficed for its completion, including"rewriting and polish, " he solemnly signed it, and then read it severaltimes in a state of hushed astonishment. He had never dreamed that hecould do anything like this. 

 MILADY I do not know her name Though it would be the same Where roses bloom at twilight And the lark takes his flight It would be the same anywhere Where music sounds in air I was never introduced to the lady So I could not call her Lass or Sadie So I will call her Milady By the sands of the sea She always will be Just M'lady to me. --WILLIAM SYLVANUS BAXTER, Esq. , July 14

It is impossible to say how many times he might have read the poem over, always with increasing amazement at his new-found powers, had he notbeen interrupted by the odious voice of Jane. 

"Will--ee!"

To William, in his high and lonely mood, this piercing summons broughtan actual shudder, and the very thought of Jane (with tokens of applesauce and sugar still upon her cheek, probably) seemed a kind ofsacrilege. He fiercely swore his favorite oath, acquired from the heroof a work of fiction he admired, "Ye gods!" and concealed his poem inthe drawer of the writing-table, for Jane's footsteps were approachinghis door. 

"Will--ee! Mamma wants you. " She tried the handle of the door. 

"G'way!" he said. 

"Will--ee!" Jane hammered upon the door with her fist. "Will--ee!"

"What you want?" he shouted. 

Jane explained, certain pauses indicating that her attention waspartially diverted to another slice of bread-and-butter and apple sauceand sugar. "Will--ee, mamma wants you--wants you to go help Genesisbring some wash-tubs home and a tin clo'es-boiler--from the second-handman's store. "

"WHAT!"

Jane repeated the outrageous message, adding, "She wants you tohurry--and I got some more bread-and-butter and apple sauce and sugarfor comin' to tell you. "

William left no doubt in Jane's mind about his attitude in referenceto the whole matter. His refusal was direct and infuriated, but, in themidst of a multitude of plain statements which he was making, therewas a decisive tapping upon the door at a point higher than Jane couldreach, and his mother's voice interrupted:

"Hush, Willie! Open the door, please. "

He obeyed furiously, and Mrs. Baxter walked in with a deprecating air, while Jane followed, so profoundly interested that, until almost theclose of the interview, she held her bread-and-butter and apple sauceand sugar at a sort of way-station on its journey to her mouth. 

"That's a nice thing to ask me to do!" stormed the unfortunate William. "Ye gods! Do you think Joe Bullitt's mother would dare to--"

"Wait, dearie!" Mrs. Baxter begged, pacifically. "I just want toexplain--"

"'Explain'! Ye gods!"

"Now, now, just a minute, Willie!" she said. "What I wanted to explainwas why it's necessary for you to go with Genesis for the--"

"Never!" he shouted. "Never! You expect me to walk through the publicstreets with that awful-lookin' old nigger--"

"Genesis isn't old, " she managed to interpolate. "He--"

But her frantic son disregarded her. "Second-hand wash-tubs!" hevociferated. "And tin clothes-boilers! THAT'S what you want your SON tocarry through the public streets in broad daylight! Ye gods!"

"Well, there isn't anybody else, " she said. "Please don't rave so, Willie, and say 'Ye gods' so much; it really isn't nice. I'm sure nobody'll notice you--"

"'Nobody'!" His voice cracked in anguish. "Oh no! Nobody except thewhole town! WHY, when there's anything disgusting has to be donein this family--why do _I_ always have to be the one? Why can't Genesisbring the second-hand wash-tubs without ME? Why can't the second-handstore deliver 'em? Why can't--"

"That's what I want to tell you, " she interposed, hurriedly, and as theyouth lifted his arms on high in a gesture of ultimate despair, andthen threw himself miserably into a chair, she obtained the floor. "Thesecond-hand store doesn't deliver things, " she said. "I bought them atan auction, and it's going out of business, and they have to be takenaway before half past four this afternoon. Genesis can't bring them inthe wheelbarrow, because, he says, the wheel is broken, and he says hecan't possibly carry two tubs and a wash-boiler himself; and he can'tmake two trips because it's a mile and a half, and I don't like to askhim, anyway; and it would take too long, because he has to get back andfinish cutting the grass before your papa gets home this evening. Papasaid he HAD to! Now, I don't like to ask you, but it really isn't much. You and Genesis can just slip up there and--"

"Slip!" moaned William. "'Just SLIP up there'! Ye gods!"

"Genesis is waiting on the back porch, " she said. "Really it isn't worthyour making all this fuss about. "

"Oh no!" he returned, with plaintive satire. "It's nothing! Nothing atall!"

"Why, _I_ shouldn't mind it, " she said; briskly, "if I had the time. Infact, I'll have to, if you won't. "

"Ye gods!" He clasped his head in his hands, crushed, for he knew thatthe curse was upon him and he must go. "Ye gods!"

And then, as he stamped to the door, his tragic eye fell upon Jane, andhe emitted a final cry of pain:

"Can't you EVER wash your face?" he shouted. 

IV

GENESIS AND CLEMATIS

Genesis and his dog were waiting just outside the kitchen door, andof all the world these two creatures were probably the last in whosecompany William Sylvanus Baxter desired to make a public appearance. Genesis was an out-of-doors man and seldom made much of a toilet; hisoveralls in particular betraying at important points a lack of theanxiety he should have felt, since only Genesis himself, instead ofa supplementary fabric, was directly underneath them. And the aged, grayish, sleeveless and neckless garment which sheltered him from waistto collar-bone could not have been mistaken for a jersey, even thoughwhat there was of it was dimly of a jerseyesque character. Upon the feetof Genesis were things which careful study would have revealed to bepatent-leather dancing-pumps, long dead and several times buried;and upon his head, pressing down his markedly criminal ears, was aonce-derby hat of a brown not far from Genesis's own color, thoughdecidedly without his gloss. A large ring of strange metals with thestone missing, adorned a finger of his right hand, and from a corner ofhis mouth projected an unlighted and spreading cigar stub which had theappearance of belonging to its present owner merely by right of salvage. 

And Genesis's dog, scratching himself at his master's feet, was the truecomplement of Genesis, for although he was a youngish dog, and had notlong been the property of Genesis, he was a dog that would have beenrecognized anywhere in the world as a colored person's dog. He was not aspecial breed of dog--though there was something rather houndlike abouthim--he was just a dog. His expression was grateful but anxious, and hewas unusually bald upon the bosom, but otherwise whitish and brownish, with a gaunt, haunting face and no power to look anybody in the eye. 

He rose apprehensively as the fuming William came out of the kitchen, but he was prepared to follow his master faithfully, and when Williamand Genesis reached the street the dog was discovered at their heels, whereupon William came to a decisive halt. 

"Send that dog back, " he said, resolutely. "I'm not going through thestreets with a dog like that, anyhow!"

Genesis chuckled. "He ain' goin' back, " he said. "'Ain' nobody kinmake 'at dog go back. I 'ain' had him mo'n two weeks, but I don' b'lievePres'dent United States kin make 'at dog go back! I show you. " And, wheeling suddenly, he made ferocious gestures, shouting. "G'on back, dog!"

The dog turned, ran back a few paces, halted, and then began to followagain, whereupon Genesis pretended to hurl stones at him; but the animalonly repeated his manoeuver--and he repeated it once more when Williamaided Genesis by using actual missiles, which were dodged with almostcareless adeptness. 

"I'll show him!" said William, hotly. "I'll show him he can't followME!" He charged upon the dog, shouting fiercely, and this seemed to dothe work, for the hunted animal, abandoning his partial flights, turneda tucked-under tail, ran all the way back to the alley, and disappearedfrom sight. "There!" said William. "I guess that 'll show him!"

"I ain' bettin' on it!" said Genesis, as they went on. "He nev' didstop foll'in' me yet. I reckon he the foll'indest dog in the worl'! NameClem. "

"Well, he can't follow ME!" said the surging William, in whose mind'seye lingered the vision of an exquisite doglet, with pink-ribbonedthroat and a cottony head bobbing gently over a filmy sleeve. "Hedoesn't come within a mile of ME, no matter what his name is!"

"Name Clem fer short, " said Genesis, amiably. "I trade in a mandolinefer him what had her neck kind o' busted off on one side. I couldn' playher nohow, an' I found her, anyways. Yes-suh, I trade in 'at mandolinefer him 'cause always did like to have me a good dog--but I d'in' haveme no name fer him; an' this here Blooie Bowers, what I trade in themandoline to, he say HE d'in have no name fer him. Say nev' did know ifWAS a name fer him 'tall. So I'z spen' the evenin' at 'at lady's house, Fanny, what used to be cook fer Miz Johnson, nex' do' you' maw's; an'I ast Fanny what am I go'n' a do about it, an' Fanny say, 'Call himClematis, ' she say. ''At's a nice name!' she say. 'Clematis. ' So 'at'sname I name him, Clematis. Call him Clem fer short, but Clematis hisreal name. He'll come, whichever one you call him, Clem or Clematis. Make no diff'ence to him, long's he git his vittles. Clem or Clematis, HE ain' carin'!"

William's ear was deaf to this account of the naming of Clematis; hewalked haughtily, but as rapidly as possible, trying to keep a little inadvance of his talkative companion, who had never received the trainingas a servitor which should have taught him his proper distance from theYoung Master. William's suffering eyes were fixed upon remoteness; andhis lips moved, now and then, like a martyr's, pronouncing inaudibly asacred word. "Milady! Oh, Milady!"

Thus they had covered some three blocks of their journey--thetoo-democratic Genesis chatting companionably and William burning withmortification--when the former broke into loud laughter. 

"What I tell you?" he cried, pointing ahead. "Look ayonnuh! NO, suh, Pres'dent United States hisse'f ain' go tell 'at dog stay home!"

And there, at the corner before them, waited Clematis, roguishly lyingin a mud-puddle in the gutter. He had run through alleys parallel totheir course--and in the face of such demoniac cunning the wretchedWilliam despaired of evading his society. Indeed, there was nothing todo but to give up, and so the trio proceeded, with William unable todecide which contaminated him more, Genesis or the loyal Clematis. Tohis way of thinking, he was part of a dreadful pageant, and he wincedpitiably whenever the eye of a respectable passer-by fell upon him. Everybody seemed to stare--nay, to leer! And he felt that the wholeworld would know his shame by nightfall. 

Nobody, he reflected, seeing him in such company, could believe that hebelonged to "one of the oldest and best families in town. " Nobody wouldunderstand that he was not walking with Genesis for the pleasure of hiscompanionship--until they got the tubs and the wash-boiler, when hissocial condition must be thought even more degraded. And nobody, he wasshudderingly positive, could see that Clematis was not his dog (Clematiskept himself humbly a little in the rear, but how was any observer toknow that he belonged to Genesis and not to William?)

And how frightful that THIS should befall him on such a day, the veryday that his soul had been split asunder by the turquoise shafts ofMilady's eyes and he had learned to know the Real Thing at last!

"Milady! Oh, Milady!"

For in the elder teens adolescence may be completed, but not byexperience, and these years know their own tragedies. It is the time oflife when one finds it unendurable not to seem perfect in all outwardmatters: in worldly position, in the equipments of wealth, in family, and in the grace, elegance, and dignity of all appearances inpublic. And yet the youth is continually betrayed by the child stillintermittently insistent within him, and by the child which undiplomaticpeople too often assume him to be. Thus with William's attire: he couldill have borne any suggestion that it was not of the mode, but takingcare of it was a different matter. Also, when it came to his appetite, he could and would eat anything at any time, but something younger thanhis years led him--often in semi-secrecy--to candy-stores and soda-waterfountains and ice-cream parlors; he still relished green apples and knewcravings for other dangerous inedibles. But these survivals were farfrom painful to him; what injured his sensibilities was the dispositionon the part of people especially his parents, and frequently his auntsand uncles--to regard him as a little boy. Briefly, the deference hissoul demanded in its own right, not from strangers only, but fromhis family, was about that which is supposed to be shown a Grand Dukevisiting his Estates. Therefore William suffered often. 

But the full ignominy of the task his own mother had set him thisafternoon was not realized until he and Genesis set forth upon thereturn journey from the second-hand shop, bearing the two wash-tubs, aclothes-wringer (which Mrs. Baxter had forgotten to mention), and thetin boiler--and followed by the lowly Clematis. 

V

SORROWS WITHIN A BOILER

There was something really pageant-like about the little excursion now, and the glittering clothes-boiler, borne on high, sent flashing lightsfar down the street. The wash-tubs were old-fashioned, of wood; theyrefused to fit one within the other; so William, with his right hand, and Genesis, with his left, carried one of the tubs between them;Genesis carried the heavy wringer with his right hand, and he hadfastened the other tub upon his back by means of a bit of rope whichpassed over his shoulder; thus the tin boiler, being a lighter burden, fell to William. 

The cover would not stay in place, but continually fell off when heessayed to carry the boiler by one of its handles, and he made shiftto manage the accursed thing in various ways--the only one provingphysically endurable being, unfortunately, the most grotesque. Hewas forced to carry the cover in his left hand and to place his headpartially within the boiler itself, and to support it--tilted obliquelyto rest upon his shoulders--as a kind of monstrous tin cowl or helmet. This had the advantage of somewhat concealing his face, though whenhe leaned his head back, in order to obtain clearer vision of what wasbefore him, the boiler slid off and fell to the pavement with a noisethat nearly caused a runaway, and brought the hot-cheeked William muchderisory attention from a passing street-car. However, he presentlycaught the knack of keeping it in position, and it fell no more. 

Seen from the rear, William was unrecognizable--but interesting. He appeared to be a walking clothes-boiler, armed with a shield andconnected, by means of a wash-tub, with a negro of informal ideasconcerning dress. In fact, the group was whimsical, and three youngpeople who turned in behind it, out of a cross-street, indulgedimmediately in fits of inadequately suppressed laughter, though neitherMiss May Parcher nor Mr. Johnnie Watson even remotely suspected that thelegs beneath the clothes-boiler belonged to an acquaintance. And asfor the third of this little party, Miss Parcher's visitor, thoseperegrinating legs suggested nothing familiar to her. 

"Oh, see the fun-ee laundrymans!" she cried, addressing a cottonydoglet's head that bobbed gently up and down over her supporting arm. "Sweetest Flopit must see, too! Flopit, look at the fun-ee laundrymans!"

"'Sh!" murmured Miss Parcher, choking. "He might hear you. "

He might, indeed, since they were not five yards behind him and thedulcet voice was clear and free. Within the shadowy interior of theclothes-boiler were features stricken with sudden, utter horror. "FLOPIT!"

The attention of Genesis was attracted by a convulsive tugging of thetub which he supported in common with William; it seemed passionately tourge greater speed. A hissing issued from the boiler, and Genesis caughtthe words, huskily whispered:

"Walk faster! You got to walk faster. "

The tub between them tugged forward with a pathos of appeal wasted uponthe easy-going Genesis. 

"I got plenty time cut 'at grass befo' you' pa gits home, " he said, reassuringly. "Thishere rope what I got my extry tub slung to is 'mos'wo' plum thew my hide. "

Having uttered this protest, he continued to ambulate at the same pace, though somewhat assisted by the forward pull of the connecting tub, aneasance of burden which he found pleasant; and no supplementary messagecame from the clothes-boiler, for the reason that it was incapableof further speech. And so the two groups maintained for a time theirrelative positions, about fifteen feet apart. 

The amusement of the second group having abated through satiety, theminds of its components turned to other topics. "Now Flopit must havehis darlin' 'ickle run, " said Flopit's mistress, setting the doglet uponthe ground. "That's why sweetest Flopit and I and all of us came for awalk, instead of sitting on the nice, cool porch-kins. SEE the sweetietoddle! Isn't he adorable, May? ISN'T he adorable, Mr. Watson?"

Mr. Watson put a useless sin upon his soul, since all he needed to saywas a mere "Yes. " He fluently avowed himself to have become insane overthe beauty of Flopit. 

Flopit, placed upon the ground, looked like something that had droppedfrom a Christmas tree, and he automatically made use of fuzzy legs, somewhat longer than a caterpillar's, to patter after his mistress. Hewas neither enterprising nor inquisitive; he kept close to the rim ofher skirt, which was as high as he could see, and he wished to be takenup and carried again. He was in a half-stupor; it was his desireto remain in that condition, and his propulsion was almost whollysubconscious, though surprisingly rapid, considering his dimensions. 

"My goo'ness!" exclaimed Genesis, glancing back over his shoulder. "'Atli'l' thing ack like he think he go'n a GIT somewheres!" And then, inanswer to a frantic pull upon the tub, "Look like you mighty strongt'day, " he said. "I cain' go no fastuh!" He glanced back again, chuckling. "'At li'l' bird do well not mix up nothin' 'ith ole manClematis!"

Clematis, it happened, was just coming into view, having been detainedround the corner by his curiosity concerning a set of Louis XVI. Furniture which some house-movers were unpacking upon the sidewalk. Acurl of excelsior, in fact, had attached itself to his nether lip, and he was pausing to remove it--when his roving eye fell upon Flopit. Clematis immediately decided to let the excelsior remain where it was, lest he miss something really important. 

He approached with glowing eagerness at a gallop. 

Then, having almost reached his goal, he checked himself with surprisingabruptness and walked obliquely beside Flopit, but upon a parallelcourse, his manner agitated and his brow furrowed with perplexity. Flopit was about the size of Clematis's head, and although Clematis wascertain that Flopit was something alive, he could not decide what. 

Flopit paid not the slightest attention to Clematis. The self-importanceof dogs, like that of the minds of men, is in directly inverse ratio totheir size; and if the self-importance of Flopit could have been takenout of him and given to an elephant, that elephant would have beeninsufferable. 

Flopit continued to pay no attention to Clematis. 

All at once, a roguish and irresponsible mood seized upon Clematis; helaid his nose upon the ground, deliberating a bit of gaiety, and then, with a little rush, set a large, rude paw upon the sensitive faceof Flopit and capsized him. Flopit uttered a bitter complaint in anasthmatic voice. 

"Oh, nassy dray bid Horror!" cried his mistress, turning quickly at thissound and waving a pink parasol at Clematis. "Shoo! DIRTY dog! Go 'way!"And she was able somehow to connect him with the wash-tub and boiler, for she added, "Nassy laundrymans to have bad doggies!"

Mr. Watson rushed upon Clematis with angry bellowings and imaginarymissiles. "You disgusting brute!" he roared. "How DARE you?"

Apparently much alarmed, Clematis lowered his ears, tucked his tailunderneath him, and fled to the rear, not halting once or looking backuntil he disappeared round the corner whence he had come. "There!" saidMr. Watson. "I guess HE won't bother us again very soon!"

It must be admitted that Milady was one of those people who do not mindbeing overheard, no matter what they say. "Lucky for us, " she said, "we had a nice dray bid MANS to protect us, wasn't it, Flopit?" Andshe thought it necessary to repeat something she had already madesufficiently emphatic. 

"Nassy laundrymans!"

"I expect I gave that big mongrel the fright of his life, " said Mr. Watson, with complacency. "He'll probably run a mile!"

The shoulders of Genesis shook as he was towed along by the convulsivetub. He knew from previous evidence that Clematis possessed both a highquality and a large quantity of persistence, and it was his hilariousopinion that the dog had not gone far. As a matter of fact, the headof Clematis was at this moment cautiously extended from behind thefence-post at the corner whither he had fled. Viewing with growingassurance the scene before him, he permitted himself to emerge wholly, and sat down, with his head tilted to one side in thought. Almost at thenext corner the clothes-boiler with legs, and the wash-tubs, andGenesis were marching on; and just behind them went three figures notso familiar to Clematis, and connected in his mind with a vague, mildapprehension. But all backs were safely toward him, and behind thempattered that small live thing which had so profoundly interested him. 

He rose and came on apace, silently. 

When he reached the side of Flopit, some eight or nine seconds later, Clematis found himself even more fascinated and perplexed than duringtheir former interview, though again Flopit seemed utterly to disregardhim. Clematis was not at all sure that Flopit WAS a dog, but he feltthat it was his business to find out. Heaven knows, so far, Clematis hadnot a particle of animosity in his heart, but he considered it his dutyto himself--in case Flopit turned out not to be a dog--to learn justwhat he was. The thing might be edible. 

Therefore, again pacing obliquely beside Flopit (while the human beingsahead went on, unconscious of the approaching climax behind them)Clematis sought to detect, by senses keener than sight, some evidence ofFlopit's standing in the zoological kingdom; and, sniffing at the topof Flopit's head--though Clematis was uncertain about its indeed being ahead--he found himself baffled and mentally much disturbed. 

Flopit did not smell like a dog; he smelled of violets. 

VI

TRUCULENCE

Clematis frowned and sneezed as the infinitesimal particles of sachetpowder settled in the lining of his nose. He became serious, and wasconscious of a growing feeling of dislike; he began to be upset over thewhole matter. But his conscience compelled him to persist in hisattempt to solve the mystery; and also he remembered that one shouldbe courteous, no matter what some other thing chooses to be. Hence hesought to place his nose in contact with Flopit's, for he had perceivedon the front of the mysterious stranger a buttony something which mightpossibly be a nose. 

Flopit evaded the contact. He felt that he had endured about enoughfrom this Apache, and that it was nearly time to destroy him. Having noexperience of battle, save with bedroom slippers and lace handkerchiefs, Flopit had little doubt of his powers as a warrior. Betrayed by hismajestic self-importance, he had not the remotest idea that he wassmall. Usually he saw the world from a window, or from the seat of anautomobile, or over his mistress's arm. He looked down on all dogs, thought them ruffianly, despised them; and it is the miraculous truththat not only was he unaware that he was small, but he did not even knowthat he was a dog, himself. He did not think about himself in that way. 

From these various ignorances of his sprang his astonishing, hisincredible, valor. Clematis, with head lowered close to Flopit's, perceived something peering at him from beneath the tangled curtainof cottony, violet-scented stuff which seemed to be the upper part ofFlopit's face. It was Flopit's eye, a red-rimmed eye and sore--and sodemoniacally malignant that Clematis, indescribably startled, wouldhave withdrawn his own countenance at once--but it was too late. With afearful oath Flopit sprang upward and annexed himself to the under lipof the horrified Clematis. 

Horror gave place to indignation instantly; and as Miss Parcher and herguest turned, screaming, Clematis's self-command went all to pieces. 

Miss Parcher became faint and leaned against the hedge along which theyhad been passing, but her visitor continued to scream, while Mr. Watsonendeavored to kick Clematis without ruining Flopit--a difficult matter. 

Flopit was baresark from the first, and the mystery is where helearned the dog-cursing that he did. In spite of the David-and-Goliathdifference in size it would be less than justice to deny that a veryfair dog-fight took place. It was so animated, in truth, that the oneexpert in such matters who was present found himself warmly interested. Genesis relieved himself of the burden of the wash-tub upon his back, dropped the handle of that other in which he had a half-interest, and watched the combat; his mouth, like his eyes, wide open in simplepleasure. 

He was not destined to enjoy the spectacle to the uttermost; a furiousyoung person struck him a frantic, though harmless, blow with a pinkparasol. 

"You stop them!" she screamed. "You make that horrible dog stop, or I'llhave you arrested!"

Genesis rushed forward. 

"You CLEM!" he shouted. 

And instantly Clematis was but a whitish and brownish streak along thehedge. He ran like a dog in a moving picture when they speed the film, and he shot from sight, once more, round the corner, while Flopit, stillcursing, was seized and squeezed in his mistress's embrace. 

But she was not satisfied. "Where's that laundryman with the tin thingon his head?" she demanded. "He ought to be arrested for having such adog. It's HIS dog, isn't it? Where is he?"

Genesis turned and looked round about the horizon, mystified. WilliamSylvanus Baxter and the clothes-boiler had disappeared from sight. 

"If he owns that dog, " asserted the still furious owner of Flopit, "IWILL have him arrested. Where is he? Where is that laundryman?"

"Why, he, " Genesis began slowly, "HE ain' no laundrym--" He came to anuncertain pause. If she chose to assume, with quick feminine intuition, that the dog was William's and that William was a laundryman, it was notGenesis's place to enlighten her. "'Tic'larly, " he reflected, "sinceshe talk so free about gittin' people 'rested!" He became aware thatWilliam had squirmed through the hedge and now lay prostrate on theother side of it, but this, likewise, was something within neither hisduty nor his inclination to reveal. 

"Thishere laundryman, " said Genesis, resuming--"thishere laundryman whatown the dog, I reckon he mus' hopped on 'at street-car what went by. "

"Well, he OUGHT to be arrested!" she said, and, pressing her cheekto Flopit's, she changed her tone. "Izzum's ickle heart a-beatin' sofloppity! Um's own mumsy make ums all right, um's p'eshus Flopit!"

Then with the consoling Miss Parcher's arm about her, and Mr. Watsoneven more dazzled with love than when he had first met her, some threehours past, she made her way between the tubs, and passed on down thestreet. Not till the three (and Flopit) were out of sight did Williamcome forth from the hedge. 

"Hi yah!" exclaimed Genesis. "'At lady go'n a 'rest ev'y man what own adog, 'f she had her way!"

But William spoke no word. 

In silence, then, they resumed their burdens and their journey. Clematiswas waiting for them at the corner ahead. 

VII

MR. BAXTER'S EVENING CLOTHES

That evening, at about half-past seven o'clock, dinner being over andMr. And Mrs. Baxter (parents of William) seated in the library, Mrs. Baxter said:

"I think it's about time for you to go and dress for your Emerson Clubmeeting, papa, if you intend to go. "

"Do I have to dress?" Mr. Baxter asked, plaintively. 

"I think nearly all the men do, don't they?" she insisted. 

"But I'm getting old enough not to have to, don't you think, mamma?" heurged, appealingly. "When a man's my age--"

"Nonsense!" she said. "Your figure is exactly like William's. It's thefigure that really shows age first, and yours hasn't begun to. " And sheadded, briskly, "Go along like a good boy and get it ever!"

Mr. Baxter rose submissively and went upstairs to do as he was bid. But, after fifteen or twenty minutes, during which his footsteps hadbeen audible in various parts of the house, he called down over thebanisters:

"I can't find 'em. "

"Can't find what?"

"My evening clothes. They aren't anywhere in the house. "

"Where did you put them the last time you wore them?" she called. 

"I don't know. I haven't had 'em on since last spring. "

"All right; I'll come, " she said, putting her sewing upon the table andrising. "Men never can find anything, " she observed, additionally, asshe ascended the stairs. "Especially their own things!"

On this occasion, however, as she was obliged to admit a little later, women were not more efficacious than the duller sex. Search high, searchlow, no trace of Mr. Baxter's evening clothes were to be found. "PerhapsWilliam could find them, " said Mrs. Baxter, a final confession ofhelplessness. 

But William was no more to be found than the missing apparel. William, in fact, after spending some time in the lower back hall, listening tothe quest above, had just gone out through the kitchen door. And aftersome ensuing futile efforts, Mr. Baxter was forced to proceed to hisclub in the accoutrements of business. 

He walked slowly, enjoying the full moon, which sailed up a river in thesky--the open space between the trees that lined the street--and ashe passed the house of Mr. Parcher he noted the fine white shape of amasculine evening bosom gleaming in the moonlight on the porch. Adainty figure in white sat beside it, and there was another white figurepresent, though this one was so small that Mr. Baxter did not see it atall. It was the figure of a tiny doglet, and it reposed upon the blackmasculine knees that belonged to the evening bosom. 

Mr. Baxter heard a dulcet voice. 

"He IS indifferink, isn't he, sweetest Flopit? Seriously, though, Mr. Watson was telling me about you to-day. He says you're the mostindifferent man he knows. He says you don't care two minutes whether agirl lives or dies. Isn't he a mean ole wicked sing, p'eshus Flopit!"

The reply was inaudible, and Mr. Baxter passed on, having recognizednothing of his own. 

"These YOUNG fellows don't have any trouble finding their dress-suits, Iguess, " he murmured. "Not on a night like this!"

. .. Thus William, after a hard day, came to the gates of his romance, entering those portals of the moon in triumph. At one stroke his dashingraiment gave him high superiority over Johnnie Watson and other rivalswho might loom. But if he had known to what undoing this great coupexposed him, it is probable that Mr. Baxter would have appeared at theEmerson Club, that night, in evening clothes. 

VIII

JANE

William's period of peculiar sensitiveness dated from that evening, andJane, in particular, caused him a great deal of anxiety. In fact, hebegan to feel that Jane was a mortification which his parents might havespared him, with no loss to themselves or to the world. Not havingshown that consideration for anybody, they might at least have been lessspinelessly indulgent of her. William's bitter conviction was that hehad never seen a child so starved of discipline or so lost to etiquetteas Jane. 

For one thing, her passion for bread-and-butter, covered with applesauce and powdered sugar, was getting to be a serious matter. Secretly, William was not yet so changed by love as to be wholly indifferent tothis refection himself, but his consumption of it was private, whereasJane had formed the habit of eating it in exposed places--such as thefront yard or the sidewalk. At no hour of the day was it advisable fora relative to approach the neighborhood in fastidious company, unlessprepared to acknowledge kinship with a spindly young person eithereating bread-and-butter and apple sauce and powdered sugar, or all toovisibly just having eaten bread-and-butter and apple sauce and powderedsugar. Moreover, there were times when Jane had worse things than applesauce to answer for, as William made clear to his mother in an orationas hot as the July noon sun which looked down upon it. 

Mrs. Baxter was pleasantly engaged with a sprinkling-can and some smallflower-beds in the shady back yard, and Jane, having returned fromvarious sidewalk excursions, stood close by as a spectator, her handsreplenished with the favorite food and her chin rising and falling ingentle motions, little prophecies of the slight distensions which passeddown her slender throat with slow, rhythmic regularity. Upon this calmscene came William, plunging round a corner of the house, furious yetplaintive. 

"You've got to do something about that child!" he began. "I CAN notstand it!"

Jane looked at him dumbly, not ceasing, how ever, to eat; while Mrs. Baxter thoughtfully continued her sprinkling. 

"You've been gone all morning, Willie, " she said. "I thought your fathermentioned at breakfast that he expected you to put in at least fourhours a day on your mathematics and--"

"That's neither here nor there, " William returned, vehemently. "I justwant to say this: if you don't do something about Jane, I will! Justlook at her! LOOK at her, I ask you! That's just the way she looked halfan hour ago, out on the public sidewalk in front of the house, whenI came by here with Miss PRATT! That was pleasant, wasn't it? To bewalking with a lady on the public street and meet a member of my familylooking like that! Oh, LOVELY!"

In the anguish of this recollection his voice cracked, and though hiseyes were dry his gestures wept for him. Plainly, he was about to reachthe most lamentable portion of his narrative. "And then she HOLLERED atme! She hollered, 'Oh, WILL--EE!'" Here he gave an imitation of Jane'svoice, so damnatory that Jane ceased to eat for several moments and drewherself up with a kind of dignity. "She hollered, 'Oh, WILL--EE' atme!" he stormed. "Anybody would think I was about six years old! Shehollered, 'Oh, Will--ee, ' and she rubbed her stomach and slushed applesauce all over her face, and she kept hollering, 'Will--ee!' with hermouth full. 'Will--ee, look! Good! Bread-and-butter and apple sauce andsugar! I bet you wish YOU had some, Will--ee!'"

"You did eat some, the other day, " said Jane. "You ate a whole lot. Youeat it every chance you get!"

"You hush up!" he shouted, and returned to his description of theoutrage. "She kept FOLLOWING us! She followed us, hollering, 'WILL--EE!'till it's a wonder we didn't go deaf! And just look at her! I don'tsee how you can stand it to have her going around like that and peopleknowing it's your child! Why, she hasn't got enough ON!"

Mrs. Baxter laughed. "Oh, for this very hot weather, I really don'tthink people notice or care much about--"

"'Notice'!" he wailed. "I guess Miss PRATT noticed! Hot weather's noexcuse for--for outright obesity!" (As Jane was thin, it is probablethat William had mistaken the meaning of this word. ) "Why, half o' whatshe HAS got on has come unfastened--especially that frightful thinghanging around her leg--and look at her back, I just beg you! I ask youto look at her back. You can see her spinal cord!"

"Column, " Mrs. Baxter corrected. "Spinal column, Willie. "

"What do _I_ care which it is?" he fumed. "People aren't supposed to goaround with it EXPOSED, whichever it is! And with apple sauce on theirears!"

"There is not!" Jane protested, and at the moment when she spoke she wasright. Naturally, however, she lifted her hands to the accused ears, andthe unfortunate result was to justify William's statement. 

"LOOK!" he cried. "I just ask you to look! Think of it: that's the sightI have to meet when I'm out walking with Miss PRATT! She asked me whoit was, and I wish you'd seen her face. She wanted to know who 'thatcurious child' was, and I'm glad you didn't hear the way she said it. 'Who IS that curious child?' she said, and I had to tell her it was mysister. I had to tell Miss PRATT it was my only SISTER!"

"Willie, who is Miss Pratt?" asked Mrs. Baxter, mildly. "I don't thinkI've ever heard of--"

Jane had returned to an admirable imperturbability, but she chosethis moment to interrupt her mother, and her own eating, with remarksdelivered in a tone void of emphasis or expression. 

"Willie's mashed on her, " she said, casually. "And she wears falseside-curls. One almost came off. "

At this unspeakable desecration William's face was that of a high prieststricken at the altar. 

"She's visitin' Miss May Parcher, " added the deadly Jane. "But theParchers are awful tired of her. They wish she'd go home, but they don'tlike to tell her so. "

One after another these insults from the canaille fell upon the ears ofWilliam. That slanders so atrocious could soil the universal air seemedunthinkable. 

He became icily calm. 

"NOW if you don't punish her, " he said, deliberately, "it's because youhave lost your sense of duty!"

Having uttered these terrible words, he turned upon his heel and marchedtoward the house. His mother called after him:

"Wait, Willie. Jane doesn't mean to hurt your feelings--"

"My feelings!" he cried, the iciness of his demeanor giving way underthe strain of emotion. "You stand there and allow her to speak as shedid of one of the--one of the--" For a moment William appeared to be ata loss, and the fact is that it always has been a difficult matter todescribe THE bright, ineffable divinity of the world to one's mother, especially in the presence of an inimical third party of tender years. "One of the--" he said; "one of the--the noblest--one of the noblest--"

Again he paused. 

"Oh, Jane didn't mean anything, " said Mrs. Baxter. "And if you thinkMiss Pratt is so nice, I'll ask May Parcher to bring her to tea with ussome day. If it's too hot, we'll have iced tea, and you can ask JohnnieWatson, if you like. Don't get so upset about things, Willie!"

"'Upset'!" he echoed, appealing to heaven against this word. "'Upset'!"And he entered the house in a manner most dramatic. 

"What made you say that?" Mrs. Baxter asked, turning curiously to Janewhen William had disappeared. "Where did you hear any such things?"

"I was there, " Jane replied, gently eating on and on. William could comeand William could go, but Jane's alimentary canal went on forever. 

"You were where, Jane?"

"At the Parchers'. "

"Oh, I see. "

"Yesterday afternoon, " said Jane, "when Miss Parcher had theSunday-school class for lemonade and cookies. "

"Did you hear Miss Parcher say--"

"No'm, " said Jane. "I ate too many cookies, I guess, maybe. Anyways, Miss Parcher said I better lay down--"

"LIE down, Jane. "

"Yes'm. On the sofa in the liberry, an' Mrs. Parcher an' Mr. Parchercame in there an' sat down, after while, an' it was kind of dark, an'they didn't hardly notice me, or I guess they thought I was asleep, maybe. Anyways, they didn't talk loud, but Mr. Parcher would sort ofgrunt an' ack cross. He said he just wished he knew when he was goin'to have a home again. Then Mrs. Parcher said May HAD to ask herSunday-school class, but he said he never meant the Sunday-school class. He said since Miss Pratt came to visit, there wasn't anywhere he couldgo, because Willie Baxter an' Johnnie Watson an' Joe Bullitt an' all theother ones like that were there all the time, an' it made him just sickat the stummick, an' he did wish there was some way to find out when shewas goin' home, because he couldn't stand much more talk about love. He said Willie an' Johnnie Watson an' Joe Bullitt an' Miss Pratt werealways arguin' somep'm about love, an' he said Willie was the worst. Mamma, he said he didn't like the rest of it, but he said he guessed hecould stand it if it wasn't for Willie. An' he said the reason they wereall so in love of Miss Pratt was because she talks baby-talk, an' hesaid he couldn't stand much more baby-talk. Mamma, she has the loveliestlittle white dog, an' Mr. Parcher doesn't like it. He said he couldn'tgo anywhere around the place without steppin' on the dog or WillieBaxter. An' he said he couldn't sit on his own porch any more; he saidhe couldn't sit even in the liberry but he had to hear baby-talk goin'on SOMEwheres an' then either Willie Baxter or Joe Bullitt orsomebody or another arguin' about love. Mamma, he said"--Jane becameimpressive--"he said, mamma, he said he didn't mind the Sunday-schoolclass, but he couldn't stand those dam boys!"

"Jane!" Mrs. Baxter cried, "you MUSTN'T say such things!"

"I didn't, mamma. Mr. Parcher said it. He said he couldn't stand thoseda--"

"JANE! No matter what he said, you mustn't repeat--"

"But I'm not. I only said Mr. PARCHER said he couldn't stand those d--"

Mrs. Baxter cut the argument short by imprisoning Jane's mouth with afirm hand. Jane continued to swallow quietly until released. Then shesaid:

"But, mamma, how can I tell you what he said unless I say--"

"Hush!" Mrs. Baxter commanded. "You must never, never again use such aterrible and wicked word. "

"I won't, mamma, " Jane said, meekly. Then she brightened. "Oh, _I_ know!I'll say 'word' instead. Won't that be all right?"

"I--I suppose so. "

"Well, Mr. Parcher said he couldn't stand those word boys. That soundsall right, doesn't it, mamma?"

Mrs. Baxter hesitated, but she was inclined to hear as complete aspossible a report of Mr. And Mrs. Parcher's conversation, since itseemed to concern William so nearly; and she well knew that Jane had herown way of telling things--or else they remained untold. 

"I--I suppose so, " Mrs. Baxter said, again. 

"Well, they kind of talked along, " Jane continued, much pleased;--"an'Mr. Parcher said when he was young he wasn't any such a--such a wordfool as these young word fools were. He said in all his born days WillieBaxter was the wordest fool he ever saw!"

Willie Baxter's mother flushed a little. "That was very unjust and verywrong of Mr. Parcher, " she said, primly. 

"Oh no, mamma!" Jane protested. "Mrs. Parcher thought so, too. "

"Did she, indeed!"

"Only she didn't say word or wordest or anything like that, " Janeexplained. "She said it was because Miss Pratt had coaxed him to be soin love of her, an' Mr. Parcher said he didn't care whose fault it was, Willie was a--a word calf an' so were all the rest of 'em, Mr. Parchersaid. An' he said he couldn't stand it any more. Mr. Parcher said that awhole lot of times, mamma. He said he guess' pretty soon he'd haf to bein the lunatic asylum if Miss Pratt stayed a few more days with her wordlittle dog an' her word Willie Baxter an' all the other word calfs. Mrs. Parcher said he oughtn't to say 'word, ' mamma. She said, 'Hush, hush!'to him, mamma. He talked like this, mamma: he said, 'I'll be word if Istand it!' An' he kept gettin' crosser, an' he said, 'Word! Word! WORD!WOR--'"

"There!" Mrs. Baxter interrupted, sharply. "That will do, Jane! We'lltalk about something else now, I think. "

Jane looked hurt; she was taking great pleasure in this confidentialinterview, and gladly would have continued to quote the harried Mr. Parcher at great length. Still, she was not entirely uncontent: she musthave had some perception that her performance merely as a notable bit ofreportorial art--did not wholly lack style, even if her attire did. Yet, brilliant as Jane's work was, Mrs. Baxter felt no astonishment; severaltimes ere this Jane had demonstrated a remarkable faculty for theretention of details concerning William. And running hand in hand witha really superb curiosity, this powerful memory was making Jane an evengreater factor in William's life than he suspected. 

During the glamors of early love, if there be a creature more deadlythan the little brother of a budding woman, that creature is the littlesister of a budding man. The little brother at least tells in the openall he knows, often at full power of his lungs, and even that may beavoided, since he is wax in the hands of bribery; but the little sisteris more apt to save her knowledge for use upon a terrible occasion; and, no matter what bribes she may accept, she is certain to tell her mothereverything. All in all, a young lover should arrange, if possible, to bethe only child of elderly parents; otherwise his mother and sister aresure to know a great deal more about him than he knows that they know. 

This was what made Jane's eyes so disturbing to William during lunchthat day. She ate quietly and competently, but all the while he wasconscious of her solemn and inscrutable gaze fixed upon him; and shespoke not once. She could not have rendered herself more annoying, especially as William was trying to treat her with silent scorn, fornothing is more irksome to the muscles of the face than silent scorn, when there is no means of showing it except by the expression. On theother hand, Jane's inscrutability gave her no discomfort whatever. Infact, inscrutability is about the most comfortable expression that aperson can wear, though the truth is that just now Jane was not reallyinscrutable at all. 

She was merely looking at William and thinking of Mr. Parcher. 

IX

LITTLE SISTERS HAVE BIG EARS

The confidential talk between mother and daughter at noon was notthe last to take place that day. At nightfall--eight o'clock in thispleasant season--Jane was saying her prayers beside her bed, while hermother stood close by, waiting to put out the light. 

"An' bless mamma and papa an'--" Jane murmured, coming to a pause. "An'--an' bless Willie, " she added, with a little reluctance. 

"Go on, dear, " said her mother. "You haven't finished. "

"I know it, mamma, " Jane looked up to say. "I was just thinkin' aminute. I want to tell you about somep'm. "

"Finish your prayers first, Jane. "

Jane obeyed with a swiftness in which there was no intentionalirreverence. Then she jumped into bed and began a fresh revelation. 

"It's about papa's clo'es, mamma. "

"What clothes of papa's? What do you mean, Jane?" asked Mrs. Baxter, puzzled. 

"The ones you couldn't find. The ones you been lookin' for 'most everyday. "

"You mean papa's evening clothes?"

"Yes'm, " said Jane. "Willie's got 'em on. "

"What!"

"Yes, he has!" Jane assured her with emphasis. "I bet you he's had 'emon every single evening since Miss Pratt came to visit the Parchers!Anyway, he's got 'em on now, 'cause I saw 'em. "

Mrs. Baxter bit her lip and frowned. "Are you sure, Jane?"

"Yes'm. I saw him in 'em. "

"How?"

"Well, I was in my bare feet after I got undressed--before you cameup-stairs--mamma, an' I was kind of walkin' around in the hall--"

"You shouldn't do that, Jane. "

"No'm. An' I heard Willie say somep'm kind of to himself, or likedeckamation. He was inside his room, but the door wasn't quite shut. Hestarted out once, but he went back for somep'm an' forgot to, I guess. Anyway, I thought I better look an' see what was goin' on, mamma. So Ijust kind of peeked in--"

"But you shouldn't do that, dear, " Mrs. Baxter said, musingly. "It isn'treally quite honorable. "

"No'm. Well, what you think he was doin'?" (Here Jane's voice betrayedexcitement and so did her eyes. ) "He was standin' up there in papa'sclo'es before the lookin'-glass, an' first he'd lean his head over onone side, an' then he'd lean it over on the other side, an' then he'dbark, mamma. "

"He'd what?"

"Yes'm!" said Jane. "He'd give a little, teeny BARK, mamma--kind of likea puppy, mamma. "

"What?" cried Mrs. Baxter. 

"Yes'm, he did!" Jane asserted. "He did it four or five times. Firsthe'd lean his head way over on his shoulder like this--look, mamma!--an'then he'd lean it way over the other shoulder, an' every time he'd do ithe'd bark. 'Berp-werp!' he'd say, mamma, just like that, only not loudat all. He said, 'Berp-werp! BERP-WERP-WERP!' You could tell he meantit for barkin', but it wasn't very good, mamma. What you think he meant, mamma?"

"Heaven knows!" murmured the astonished mother. 

"An' then, " Jane continued, "he quit barkin' all of a sudden, an' didn'tlean his head over any more, an' commenced actin' kind of solemn, an'kind of whispered to himself. I think he was kind of pretendin' he wastalkin' to Miss Pratt, or at a party, maybe. Anyways, he spoke out loudafter while not just exactly LOUD, I mean, but anyway so's 't I couldhear what he said. Mamma--he said, 'Oh, my baby-talk lady!' just likethat, mamma. Listen, mamma, here's the way he said it: 'Oh, my baby-talklady!'"

Jane's voice, in this impersonation, became sufficiently soft andtremulous to give Mrs. Baxter a fair idea of the tender yearning of theoriginal. "'OH, MY BABY-TALK LADY!'" cooed the terrible Jane. 

"Mercy!" Mrs. Baxter exclaimed. "Perhaps it's no wonder Mr. Parcher--"She broke off abruptly, then inquired, "What did he do next, Jane?"

"Next, " said Jane, "he put the light out, an' I had to--well, I justwaited kind of squeeged up against the wall, an' he never saw me. Hewent on out to the back stairs, an' went down the stairs tiptoe, mamma. You know what I think, mamma? I think he goes out that way an' throughthe kitchen on account of papa's clo'es. "

Mrs. Baxter paused, with her hand upon the key of the shaded electriclamp. "I suppose so, " she said. "I think perhaps--" For a moment ortwo she wrapped herself in thought. "Perhaps"--she repeated, musingly--"perhaps we'll keep this just a secret between you and me fora little while, Jane, and not say anything to papa about the clothes. Idon't think it will hurt them, and I suppose Willie feels they givehim a great advantage over the other boys--and papa uses them so verylittle, especially since he's grown a wee bit stouter. Yes, it will beour secret, Jane. We'll think it over till to-morrow. "

"Yes'm. "

Mrs. Baxter turned out the light, then came and kissed Jane in the dark. "Good night, dear. "

"G' night, mamma. " But as Mrs. Baxter reached the door Jane's voice washeard again. 

"Mamma?"

"Yes?" Mrs. Baxter paused. 

"Mamma, " Jane said, slowly, "I think--I think Mr. Parcher is a very niceman. Mamma?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Mamma, what do you s'pose Willie barked at the lookin'-glass for?"

"That, " said Mrs. Baxter, "is beyond me. Young people and children dothe strangest things, Jane! And then, when they get to be middle-aged, they forget all those strange things they did, and they can't understandwhat the new young people--like you and Willie mean by the strangethings THEY do. "

"Yes'm. I bet _I_ know what he was barkin' for, mamma. "

"Well?"

"You know what I think? I think he was kind of practisin'. I think hewas practisin' how to bark at Mr. Parcher. "

"No, no!" Mrs. Baxter laughed. "Who ever could think of such a thing butyou, Jane! You go to sleep and forget your nonsense!"

Nevertheless, Jane might almost have been gifted with clairvoyance, herpreposterous idea came so close to the actual fact, for at that verymoment William was barking. He was not barking directly at Mr. Parcher, it is true, but within a short distance of him and all too well withinhis hearing. 

X

MR. PARCHER AND LOVE

Mr. Parcher, that unhappy gentleman, having been driven indoors from hisown porch, had attempted to read Plutarch's Lives in the library, but, owing to the adjacency of the porch and the summer necessity for openwindows, his escape spared only his eyes and not his suffering ears. Thehouse was small, being but half of a double one, with small rooms, andthe "parlor, " library, and dining-room all about equally exposed to theporch which ran along the side of the house. Mr. Parcher had no refugeexcept bed or the kitchen, and as he was troubled with chronic insomnia, and the cook had callers in the kitchen, his case was desperate. Mostunfortunately, too, his reading-lamp, the only one in the house, was afixture near a window, and just beyond that window sat Miss Pratt andWilliam in sweet unconsciousness, while Miss Parcher entertained theoverflow (consisting of Mr. Johnnie Watson) at the other end of theporch. Listening perforce to the conversation of the former couplethough "conversation" is far from the expression later used by Mr. Parcher to describe what he heard--he found it impossible to sitstill in his chair. He jerked and twitched with continually increasingrestlessness; sometimes he gasped, and other times he moaned a little, and there were times when he muttered huskily. 

"Oh, cute-ums!" came the silvery voice of Miss Pratt from the likewisesilvery porch outside, underneath the summer moon. "Darlin' Flopit, look! Ickle boy Baxter goin' make imitations of darlin' Flopit again. See! Ickle boy Baxter puts head one side, then other side, justlike darlin' Flopit. Then barks just like darlin' Flopit! Ladies and'entlemen, imitations of darlin' Flopit by ickle boy Baxter. "

"Berp-werp! Berp-werp!" came the voice of William Sylvanus Baxter. 

And in the library Plutarch's Lives moved convulsively, while withwrithing lips Mr. Parcher muttered to himself. 

"More, more!" cried Miss Pratt, clapping her hands. "Do it again, ickleboy Baxter!"

"Berp-werp! Berp-werp-werp!"

"WORD!" muttered Mr. Parcher. 

Miss Pratt's voice became surcharged with honeyed wonder. "How did helearn such marv'lous, MARV'LOUS imitations of darlin' Flopit? He oughtto go on the big, big stage and be a really actor, oughtn't he, darlin'Flopit? He could make milyums and milyums of dollardies, couldn't he, darlin' Flopit?"

William's modest laugh disclaimed any great ambition for himself in thisline. "Oh, I always could think up imitations of animals; things likethat--but I hardly would care to--to adop' the stage for a career. Would--you?" (There was a thrill in his voice when he pronounced theineffably significant word "you. ")

Miss Pratt became intensely serious. 

"It's my DREAM!" she said. 

William, seated upon a stool at her feet, gazed up at the amber head, divinely splashed by the rain of moonlight. The fire with which shespoke stirred him as few things had ever stirred him. He knew she hadjust revealed a side of herself which she reserved for only the chosenfew who were capable of understanding her, and he fell into a hushedrapture. It seemed to him that there was a sacredness about this moment, and he sought vaguely for something to say that would live up to it andnot be out of keeping. Then, like an inspiration, there came into hishead some words he had read that day and thought beautiful. He had foundthem beneath an illustration in a magazine, and he spoke them almostinstinctively. 

"It was wonderful of you to say that to me, " he said. "I shall neverforget it!"

"It's my DREAM!" Miss Pratt exclaimed, again, with the same enthusiasm. "It's my DREAM. "

"You would make a glorious actress!" he said. 

At that her mood changed. She laughed a laugh like a sweet little girl'slaugh (not Jane's) and, setting her rocking-chair in motion, cuddled thefuzzy white doglet in her arms. "Ickle boy Baxter t'yin' flatterbox us, tunnin' Flopit! No'ty, no'ty flatterbox!"

"No, no!" William insisted, earnestly. "I mean it. But--but--"

"But whatcums?"

"What do you think about actors and actresses making love to each otheron the stage? Do you think they have to really feel it, or do they justpretend?"

"Well, " said Miss Pratt, weightily, "sometimes one way, sometimes theother. "

William's gravity became more and more profound. "Yes, but how can theypretend like that? Don't you think love is a sacred thing, Cousin Lola?"

Fictitious sisterships, brotherships, and cousinships are devices topush things along, well known to seventeen and even more advanced ages. On the wonderful evening of their first meeting William and Miss Pratthad cozily arranged to be called, respectively, "Ickle boy Baxter" and"Cousin Lola. " (Thus they had broken down the tedious formalities oftheir first twenty minutes together. )

"Don't you think love is sacred?" he repeated in the deepest tone ofwhich his vocal cords were capable. 

"Ess, " said Miss Pratt. 

"_I_ do!" William was emphatic. "I think love is the most sacred thingthere is. I don't mean SOME kinds of love. I mean REAL love. You takesome people, I don't believe they ever know what real love means. TheyTALK about it, maybe, but they don't understand it. Love is somethingnobody can understand unless they feel it and and if they don'tunderstand it they don't feel it. Don't YOU think so?"

"Ess. "

"Love, " William continued, his voice lifting and thrilling to the greattheme--"love is something nobody can ever have but one time in theirlives, and if they don't have it then, why prob'ly they never will. Now, if a man REALLY loves a girl, why he'd do anything in the world shewanted him to. Don't YOU think so?"

"Ess, 'deedums!" said the silvery voice. 

"But if he didn't, then he wouldn't, " said William vehemently. "But whena man really loves a girl he will. Now, you take a man like that andhe can generally do just about anything the girl he loves wants himto. Say, f'rinstance, she wants him to love her even more than he doesalready--or almost anything like that--and supposin' she asks him to. Well, he would go ahead and do it. If they really loved each other hewould!"

He paused a moment, then in a lowered tone he said, "I think REAL loveis sacred, don't you?"

"Ess. "

"Don't you think love is the most sacred thing there is--that is, ifit's REAL love?"

"Ess. "

"_I_ do, " said William, warmly. "I--I'm glad you feel like that, becauseI think real love is the kind nobody could have but just once in theirlives, but if it isn't REAL love, why--why most people never have it atall, because--" He paused, seeming to seek for the exact phrase whichwould express his meaning. "--Because the REAL love a man feels for agirl and a girl for a man, if they REALLY love each other, and, you lookat a case like that, of course they would BOTH love each other, or itwouldn't be real love well, what _I_ say is, if it's REAL love, well, it's--it's sacred, because I think that kind of love is always sacred. Don't you think love is sacred if it's the real thing?"

"Ess, " said Miss Pratt. "Do Flopit again. Be Flopit!"

"Berp-werp! Berp-werp-werp. "

And within the library an agonized man writhed and muttered:

"WORD! WORD! WORD--"

This hoarse repetition had become almost continuous. 

. .. But out on the porch, that little, jasmine-scented bower inArcady where youth cried to youth and golden heads were haloed in themoonshine, there fell a silence. Not utter silence, for out there anethereal music sounded constantly, unheard and forgotten by older ears. Time was when the sly playwrights used "incidental music" in theirdramas; they knew that an audience would be moved so long as the musicplayed; credulous while that crafty enchantment lasted. And when thegalled Mr. Parcher wondered how those young people out on the porchcould listen to each other and not die, it was because he did nothear and had forgotten the music that throbs in the veins of youth. Nevertheless, it may not be denied that despite his poor memory this manof fifty was deserving of a little sympathy. 

It was William who broke the silence. "How--" he began, and his voicetrembled a little. "How--how do you--how do you think of me when I'm notwith you?"

"Think nice-cums, " Miss Pratt responded. "Flopit an' me thinknice-cums. "

"No, " said William; "I mean what name do you have for me when you'rewhen you're thinking about me?"

Miss Pratt seemed to be puzzled, perhaps justifiably, and she made acooing sound of interrogation. 

"I mean like this, " William explained. "F'rinstance, when you firstcame, I always thought of you as 'Milady'--when I wrote that poem, youknow. "

"Ess. Boo'fums. "

"But now I don't, " he said. "Now I think of you by another name when I'malone. It--it just sort of came to me. I was kind of just sitting aroundthis afternoon, and I didn't know I was thinking about anything at allvery much, and then all of a sudden I said it to myself out loud. It wasabout as strange a thing as I ever knew of. Don't YOU think so?"

"Ess. It uz dest WEIRD!" she answered. "What ARE dat pitty names?"

"I called you, " said William, huskily and reverently, "I called you 'MyBaby-Talk Lady. '"

BANG!

They were startled by a crash from within the library; a heavy weightseemed to have fallen (or to have been hurled) a considerable distance. Stepping to the window, William beheld a large volume lying in adistorted attitude at the foot of the wall opposite to that in which thereading-lamp was a fixture. But of all human life the room was empty;for Mr. Parcher had given up, and was now hastening to his bed in thelast faint hope of saving his reason. 

His symptoms, however, all pointed to its having fled; and his wife, looking up from some computations in laundry charges, had but a visionof windmill gestures as he passed the door of her room. Then, not onlyfor her, but for the inoffensive people who lived in the other half ofthe house, the closing of his own door took place in a really memorablemanner. 

William, gazing upon the fallen Plutarch, had just offered theexplanation, "Somebody must 'a' thrown it at a bug or something, Iguess, " when the second explosion sent its reverberations through thehouse. 

"My doodness!" Miss Pratt exclaimed, jumping up. 

William laughed reassuringly, remaining calm. "It's only a door blewshut up-stairs, " he said "Let's sit down again--just the way we were?"

Unfortunately for him, Mr. Joe Bullitt now made his appearance at theother end of the porch. Mr. Bullitt, though almost a year younger thaneither William or Johnnie Watson, was of a turbulent and masterfuldisposition. Moreover, in regard to Miss Pratt, his affections werein as ardent a state as those of his rivals, and he lacked Johnnie'smeekness. He firmly declined to be shunted by Miss Parcher, who wastrying to favor William's cause, according to a promise he had won ofher by strong pleading. Regardless of her efforts, Mr. Bullitt descendedupon William and his Baby-Talk-Lady, and received from the latter ahoneyed greeting, somewhat to the former's astonishment and not at allto his pleasure. 

"Oh, goody-cute!" cried Miss Pratt. "Here's big Bruvva Josie-Joe!" Andshe lifted her little dog close to Mr. Bullitt's face, guiding one ofFlopit's paws with her fingers. "Stroke big Bruvva Josie-Joe's pintteeks, darlin' Flopit. " (Josie-Joe's pink cheeks were indicated by theexpression "pint teeks, " evidently, for her accompanying action was topass Flopit's paw lightly over those glowing surfaces. ) "'At's nice!"she remarked. "Stroke him gently, p'eshus Flopit, an' nen we'll coax himto make pitty singin' for us, like us did yestiday. "

She turned to William. 

"COAX him to make pitty singin'? I LOVE his voice--I'm dest CRAZY overit. Isn't oo?"

William's passion for Mr. Bullitt's voice appeared to be under control. He laughed coldly, almost harshly. "Him sing?" he said. "Has he beentryin' to sing around HERE? I wonder the family didn't call for thepolice!"

It was to be seen that Mr. Bullitt did not relish the sally. "Well, theywill, " he retorted, "if you ever spring one o' your solos on 'em!" Andturning to Miss Pratt, he laughed loudly and bitterly. "You ought tohear Silly Bill sing--some time when you don't mind goin' to bed sickfor a couple o' days!"

Symptoms of truculence at once became alarmingly pronounced on bothsides. William was naturally incensed, and as for Mr. Bullitt, he hadendured a great deal from William every evening since Miss Pratt'sarrival. William's evening clothes were hard enough for both Mr. Watsonand Mr. Bullitt to bear, without any additional insolence on the partof the wearer. Big Bruvva Josie-Joe took a step toward his enemy andbreathed audibly. 

"Let's ALL sing, " the tactful Miss Pratt proposed, hastily. "Come on, May and Cousin Johnnie-Jump-Up, " she called to Miss Parcher and Mr. Watson. "Singin'-school, dirls an' boys! Singin'-school! Ding, ding!Singin'-school bell's a-wingin'!"

The diversion was successful. Miss Parcher and Mr. Watson joined theother group with alacrity, and the five young people were presentlyseated close together upon the steps of the porch, sending their voicesout upon the air and up to Mr. Parcher's window in the song they foundloveliest that summer. 

Miss Pratt carried the air. William also carried it part of the timeand hunted for it the rest of the time, though never in silence. MissParcher "sang alto, " Mr. Bullitt "sang bass, " and Mr. Watson "sangtenor"--that is, he sang as high as possible, often making the top soundof a chord and always repeating the last phrase of each line before theothers finished it. The melody was a little too sweet, possibly; whilethe singers thought so highly of the words that Mr. Parcher missed notone, especially as the vocal rivalry between Josie-Joe and Ickle BoyBaxter incited each of them to prevent Miss Pratt from hearing theother. 

William sang loudest of all; Mr. Parcher had at no time any difficultyin recognizing his voice. 

 "Oh, I love my love in the morning And I love my love at night, I love my love in the dawning, And when the stars are bright. Some may love the sunshine, Others may love the dew. Some may love the raindrops, But I love only you-OO-oo! By the stars up above It is you I luh-HUV! Yes, _I_ love own-LAY you!"

They sang it four times; then Mr. Bullitt sang his solo, "Tell her, OGolden Moon, how I Adore her, " William following with "The violate lovesthe cowslip, but _I_ love YEW, " and after that they all sang, "Oh, Ilove my love in the morning, " again. 

All this while that they sang of love, Mr. Parcher was moving to and froupon his bed, not more than eighteen feet in an oblique upward-slantingline from the heads of the serenaders. Long, long he tossed, listeningto the young voices singing of love; long, long he thought of love, andmany, many times he spoke of it aloud, though he was alone in the room. And in thus speaking of it, he would give utterance to phrases andwords probably never before used in connection with love since the worldbegan. 

His thoughts, and, at intervals, his mutterings, continued to be activefar into the night, long after the callers had gone, and though hishousehold and the neighborhood were at rest, with never a katydidoutside to rail at the waning moon. And by a coincidence not moresingular than most coincidences, it happened that at just about the timehe finally fell asleep, a young lady at no great distance from him awoketo find her self thinking of him. 

XI

BEGINNING A TRUE FRIENDSHIP

This was Miss Jane Baxter. She opened her eyes upon the new-born day, and her first thoughts were of Mr. Parcher. That is, he was alreadyin her mind when she awoke, a circumstance to be accounted for on theground that his conversation, during her quiet convalescence in hislibrary, had so fascinated her that in all likelihood she had beendreaming of him. Then, too, Jane and Mr. Parcher had a bond in common, though Mr. Parcher did not know it. Not without result had Williamrepeated Miss Pratt's inquiry in Jane's hearing: "Who IS that curiouschild?" Jane had preserved her sang-froid, but the words remained withher, for she was one of those who ponder and retain in silence. 

She thought almost exclusively of Mr. Parcher until breakfast-time, andresumed her thinking of him at intervals during the morning. Then, inthe afternoon, a series of quiet events not unconnected with William'spassion caused her to think of Mr. Parcher more poignantly than ever;nor was her mind diverted to a different channel by another confidentialconversation with her mother. Who can say, then, that it was not bydesign that she came face to face with Mr. Parcher on the public highwayat about five o'clock that afternoon? Everything urges the belief thatshe deliberately set herself in his path. 

Mr. Parcher was walking home from his office, and he walked slowly, gulping from time to time, as he thought of the inevitable eveningbefore him. His was not a rugged constitution, and for the lastfortnight or so he had feared that it was giving way altogether. Eachevening he felt that he was growing weaker, and sometimes he thoughtpiteously that he might go away for a while. He did not much care where, though what appealed to him most, curiously enough, was not the thoughtof the country, with the flowers and little birds; no, what allured himwas the idea that perhaps he could find lodgment for a time in an OldPeople's Home, where the minimum age for inmates was about eighty. 

Walking more and more slowly, as he approached the dwelling he had oncethought of as home, he became aware of a little girl in a checkereddress approaching him at a gait varied by the indifferent behavior ofa barrel-hoop which she was disciplining with a stick held in herright hand. When the hoop behaved well, she came ahead rapidly; when itaffected to be intoxicated, which was most often its whim, she zigzaggedwith it, and gained little ground. But all the while, and withoutreference to what went on concerning the hoop, she slowly andcontinuously fed herself (with her left hand) small, solemnly relishedbites of a slice of bread-and-butter covered with apple sauce andpowdered sugar. 

Mr. Parcher looked upon her, and he shivered slightly; for he knew herto be Willie Baxter's sister. 

Unaware of the emotion she produced in him, Jane checked her hoop andhalted. 

"G'd afternoon, Mister Parcher, " she said, gravely. 

"Good afternoon, " he returned, without much spirit. 

Jane looked up at him trustfully and with a strange, unconsciousfondness. "You goin' home now, Mr. Parcher?" she asked, turning towalk at his side. She had suspended the hoop over her left arm andtransferred the bread-and-butter and apple sauce and sugar to her right, so that she could eat even more conveniently than before. 

"I suppose so, " he murmured. 

"My brother Willie's been at your house all afternoon, " she remarked. 

He repeated, "I suppose so, " but in a tone which combined the vocaltokens of misery and of hopeless animosity. 

"He just went home, " said Jane. "I was 'cross the street from yourhouse, but I guess he didn't see me. He kept lookin' back at your house. Miss Pratt was on the porch. "

"I suppose so. " This time it was a moan. 

Jane proceeded to give him some information. "My brother Willie isn'tcomin' back to your house to-night, but he doesn't know it yet. "

"What!" exclaimed Mr. Parcher. 

"Willie isn't goin' to spend any more evenings at your house at all, "said Jane, thoughtfully. "He isn't, but he doesn't know it yet. "

Mr. Parcher gazed fixedly at the wonderful child, and something likea ray of sunshine flickered over his seamed and harried face. "Are youSURE he isn't?" he said. "What makes you think so?"

"I know he isn't, " said demure Jane. "It's on account of somep'm I toldmamma. "

And upon this a gentle glow began to radiate throughout Mr. Parcher. Anew feeling budded within his bosom; he was warmly attracted to Jane. She was evidently a child to be cherished, and particularly to beencouraged in the line of conduct she seemed to have adopted. He wishedthe Bullitt and Watson families each had a little girl like this. Still, if what she said of William proved true, much had been gained and lifemight be tolerable, after all. 

"He'll come in the afternoons, I guess, " said Jane. "But you aren'thome then, Mr. Parcher, except late like you were that day of theSunday-school class. It was on account of what you said that day. I toldmamma. "

"Told your mamma what?"

"What you said. "

Mr. Parcher's perplexity continued. "What about?"

"About Willie. YOU know!" Jane smiled fraternally. 

"No, I don't. "

"It was when I was layin' in the liberry, that day of the Sunday-schoolclass, " Jane told him. "You an' Mrs. Parcher was talkin' in there aboutMiss Pratt an' Willie an' everything. "

"Good heavens!" Mr. Parcher, summoning his memory, had placed theoccasion and Jane together. "Did you HEAR all that?"

"Yes. " Jane nodded. "I told mamma all what you said. "

"Murder!"

"Well, " said Jane, "I guess it's good I did, because look--that's thevery reason mamma did somep'm so's he can't come any more except indaytime. I guess she thought Willie oughtn't to behave so's't you saidso many things about him like that; so to-day she did somep'm, an' nowhe can't come any more to behave that loving way of Miss Pratt that yousaid you would be in the lunatic asylum if he didn't quit. But he hasn'tfound it out yet. "

"Found what out, please?" asked Mr. Parcher, feeling more affection forJane every moment. 

"He hasn't found out he can't come back to your house to-night; an' hecan't come back to-morrow night, nor day-after-to-morrow night, nor--"

"Is it because your mamma is going to tell him he can't?"

"No, Mr. Parcher. Mamma says he's too old--an' she said she didn't liketo, anyway. She just DID somep'm. "

"What? What did she do?"

"It's a secret, " said Jane. "I could tell you the first part of it--upto where the secret begins, I expect. "

"Do!" Mr. Parcher urged. 

"Well, it's about somep'm Willie's been WEARIN', " Jane began, movingcloser to him as they slowly walked onward. "I can't tell you what theywere, because that's the secret--but he had 'em on him every eveningwhen he came to see Miss Pratt, but they belong to papa, an' papadoesn't know a word about it. Well, one evening papa wanted to put 'emon, because he had a right to, Mr. Parcher, an' Willie didn't have anyright to at all, but mamma couldn't find 'em; an' she rummidged an'rummidged 'most all next day an' pretty near every day since then an'never did find 'em, until don't you believe I saw Willie inside of 'emonly last night! He was startin' over to your house to see Miss Pratt in'em! So I told mamma, an' she said it 'd haf to be a secret, so that'swhy I can't tell you what they were. Well, an' then this afternoon, early, I was with her, an' she said, long as I had told her the secretin the first place, I could come in Willie's room with her, an' we bothwere already in there anyway, 'cause I was kind of thinkin' maybe she'dgo in there to look for 'em, Mr. Parcher--"

"I see, " he said, admiringly. "I see. "

"Well, they were under Willie's window-seat, all folded up; an' mammasaid she wondered what she better do, an' she was worried because shedidn't like to have Willie behave so's you an' Mrs. Parcher thought thatway about him. So she said the--the secret--what Willie wears, youknow, but they're really papa's an' aren't Willie's any more'n they'reMINE--well, she said the secret was gettin' a little teeny bit too tightfor papa, but she guessed they--I mean the secret--she said she guessedit was already pretty loose for Willie; so she wrapped it up, an' Iwent with her, an' we took 'em to a tailor, an' she told him to make 'embigger, for a surprise for papa, 'cause then they'll fit him again, Mr. Parcher. She said he must make 'em a whole lot bigger. She said he mustlet 'em way, WAY out! So I guess Willie would look too funny in 'emafter they're fixed; an' anyway, Mr. Parcher, the secret won't be homefrom the tailor's for two weeks, an' maybe by that time Miss Pratt'll begone. "

They had reached Mr. Parcher's gate; he halted and looked down fondlyupon this child who seemed to have read his soul. "Do you honestly thinkso?" he asked. 

"Well, anyway, Mr. Parcher, " said Jane, "mamma said--well, she saidshe's sure Willie wouldn't come here in the evening any more when YOU'reat home, Mr. Parcher--'cause after he'd been wearin' the secret everynight this way he wouldn't like to come and not have the secret on. Mamma said the reason he would feel like that was because he wasseventeen years old. An' she isn't goin' to tell him anything about it, Mr. Parcher. She said that's the best way. "

Her new friend nodded and seemed to agree. "I suppose that's what youmeant when you said he wasn't coming back but didn't know it yet?"

"Yes, Mr. Parcher. "

He rested an elbow upon the gate-post, gazing down with ever-increasingesteem. "Of course I know your last name, " he said, "but I'm afraid I'veforgotten your other one. "

"It's Jane. "

"Jane, " said Mr. Parcher, "I should like to do something for you. "

Jane looked down, and with eyes modestly lowered she swallowed the lastfragment of the bread-and-butter and apple sauce and sugar which hadbeen the constantly evanescent companion of their little walk together. She was not mercenary; she had sought no reward. 

"Well, I guess I must run home, " she said. And with one lift of hereyes to his and a shy laugh--laughter being a rare thing for Jane--shescampered quickly to the corner and was gone. 

But though she cared for no reward, the extraordinary restlessness ofWilliam, that evening, after dinner, must at least have been of greatinterest to her. He ascended to his own room directly from the table, but about twenty minutes later came down to the library, where Janewas sitting (her privilege until half after seven) with her father andmother. William looked from one to the other of his parents and seemedabout to speak, but did not do so. Instead, he departed for the upperfloor again and presently could be heard moving about energetically invarious parts of the house, a remote thump finally indicating that hewas doing something with a trunk in the attic. 

After that he came down to the library again and once more seemed aboutto speak, but did not. Then he went up-stairs again, and came downagain, and he was still repeating this process when Jane's time-limitwas reached and she repaired conscientiously to her little bed. Hermother came to hear her prayers and to turn out the light; and--whenMrs. Baxter had passed out into the hall, after that, Jane heardher speaking to William, who was now conducting what seemed to beexcavations on a serious scale in his own room. 

"Oh, Willie, perhaps I didn't tell you, but--you remember I'd beenmissing papa's evening clothes and looking everywhere for days anddays?"

"Ye--es, " huskily from William. 

"Well, I found them! And where do you suppose I'd put them? I foundthem under your window-seat. Can you think of anything more absurd thanputting them there and then forgetting it? I took them to the tailor'sto have them let out. They were getting too tight for papa, but they'llbe all right for him when the tailor sends them back. "

What the stricken William gathered from this it is impossible to statewith accuracy; probably he mixed some perplexity with his emotions. Certainly he was perplexed the following evening at dinner. 

Jane did not appear at the table. "Poor child! she's sick in bed, " Mrs. Baxter explained to her husband. "I was out, this afternoon, and she atenearly ALL of a five-pound box of candy. "

Both the sad-eyed William and his father were dumfounded. "Where onearth did she get a five-pound box of candy?" Mr. Baxter demanded. 

"I'm afraid Jane has begun her first affair, " said Mrs. Baxter. "Agentleman sent it to her. "

"What gentleman?" gasped William. 

And in his mother's eyes, as they slowly came to rest on his in reply, he was aware of an inscrutability strongly remindful of that inscrutablelook of Jane's. 

"Mr. Parcher, " she said, gently. 

XII

PROGRESS OF THE SYMPTOMS

Mrs. BAXTER'S little stroke of diplomacy had gone straight to the mark, she was a woman of insight. For every reason she was well content tohave her son spend his evenings at home, though it cannot be claimedthat his presence enlivened the household, his condition being one ofstrange, trancelike irascibility. Evening after evening passed, whilehe sat dreaming painfully of Mr. Parcher's porch; but in the daytime, though William did not literally make hay while the sun shone, he atleast gathered a harvest somewhat resembling hay in general character. 

Thus:

One afternoon, having locked his door to secure himself againstintrusion on the part of his mother or Jane, William seated himself athis writing-table, and from a drawer therein took a small cardboard box, which he uncovered, placing the contents in view before him upon thetable. (How meager, how chilling a word is "contents"!) In the box were:

A faded rose. 

Several other faded roses, disintegrated into leaves. 

Three withered "four-leaf clovers. "

A white ribbon still faintly smelling of violets. 

A small silver shoe-buckle. 

A large pearl button. 

A small pearl button. 

A tortoise-shell hair-pin. 

A cross-section from the heel of a small slipper. 

A stringy remnant, probably once an improvised wreath of daisies. 

Four or five withered dandelions. 

Other dried vegetation, of a nature now indistinguishable. 

William gazed reverently upon this junk of precious souvenirs; thenfrom the inner pocket of his coat he brought forth, warm and crumpled, a lumpish cluster of red geranium blossoms, still aromatic and not quitedead, though naturally, after three hours of such intimate confinement, they wore an unmistakable look of suffering. With a tenderness whichhis family had never observed in him since that piteous day in his fifthyear when he tried to mend his broken doll, William laid the geraniumblossoms in the cardboard box among the botanical and other relics. 

His gentle eyes showed what the treasures meant to him, and yet itwas strange that they should have meant so much, because the source ofsupply was not more than a quarter of a mile distant, and practicallyinexhaustible. Miss Pratt had now been a visitor at the Parchers'for something less than five weeks, but she had made no mention ofprospective departure, and there was every reason to suppose that shemeant to remain all summer. And as any foliage or anything whatever thatshe touched, or that touched her, was thenceforth suitable for William'smuseum, there appeared to be some probability that autumn might see itso enlarged as to lack that rarity in the component items which is theunderlying value of most collections. 

William's writing-table was beside an open window, through which came aninsistent whirring, unagreeable to his mood; and, looking down upon thesunny lawn, he beheld three lowly creatures. One was Genesis; he wascutting the grass. Another was Clematis; he had assumed a transientattitude, curiously triangular, in order to scratch his ear, the whilehis anxious eyes never wavered from the third creature. 

This was Jane. In one hand she held a little stack of sugar-sprinkledwafers, which she slowly but steadily depleted, unconscious of theincreasingly earnest protest, at last nearing agony, in the eyes ofClematis. Wearing unaccustomed garments of fashion and festivity, Jane stood, in speckless, starchy white and a blue sash, watchingthe lawn-mower spout showers of grass as the powerful Genesis easilypropelled it along over lapping lanes, back and forth, across the yard. 

From a height of illimitable loftiness the owner of the cardboardtreasury looked down upon the squat commonplaceness of those threelives. The condition of Jane and Genesis and Clematis seemed almostlaughably pitiable to him, the more so because they were unaware of it. They breathed not the starry air that William breathed, but what did itmatter to them? The wretched things did not even know that they meantnothing to Miss Pratt!

Clematis found his ear too pliable for any great solace from his foot, but he was not disappointed; he had expected little, and his thoughtswere elsewhere. Rising, he permitted his nose to follow his troubledeyes, with the result that it touched the rim of the last wafer inJane's external possession. 

This incident annoyed William. "Look there!" he called from the window. "You mean to eat that cake after the dog's had his face on it?"

Jane remained placid. "It wasn't his face. "

"Well, if it wasn't his face, I'd like to know what--"

"It wasn't his face, " Jane repeated. "It was his nose. It wasn't all ofhis nose touched it, either. It was only a little outside piece of hisnose. "

"Well, are you going to eat that cake, I ask you?"

Jane broke off a small bit of the wafer. She gave the bit to Clematisand slowly ate what remained, continuing to watch Genesis and apparentlyunconscious of the scorching gaze from the window. 

"I never saw anything as disgusting as long as I've lived!" Williamannounced. "I wouldn't 'a' believed it if anybody'd told me a sister ofmine would eat after--"

"I didn't, " said Jane. "I like Clematis, anyway. "

"Ye gods!" her brother cried. "Do you think that makes it any better?And, BY the WAY, " he continued, in a tone of even greater severity, "I'da like to know where you got those cakes. Where'd you get 'em, I'd justlike to inquire?"

"In the pantry. " Jane turned and moved toward the house. "I'm goin' infor some more, now. "

William uttered a cry; these little cakes were sacred. His mother, growing curious to meet a visiting lady of whom (so to speak) she hadheard much and thought more, had asked May Parcher to bring her guestfor iced tea, that afternoon. A few others of congenial age had beeninvited: there was to be a small matinee, in fact, for the honor andpleasure of the son of the house, and the cakes of Jane's onslaughtwere part of Mrs. Baxter's preparations. There was no telling whereJane would stop; it was conceivable that Miss Pratt herself might gowaferless. 

William returned the cardboard box to its drawer with reverent haste;then, increasing the haste, but dropping the reverence, he hied himselfto the pantry with such advantage of longer legs that within the minutehe and the wafers appeared in conjunction before his mother, who wasarranging fruit and flowers upon a table in the "living-room. "

William entered in the stained-glass attitude of one bearing gifts. Overhead, both hands supported a tin pan, well laden with smallcakes and wafers, for which Jane was silently but repeatedly andsystematically jumping. Even under the stress of these efforts herexpression was cool and collected; she maintained the self-possessionthat was characteristic of her. 

Not so with William; his cheeks were flushed, his eyes indignant. "Yousee what this child is doing?" he demanded. "Are you going to let herruin everything?"

"Ruin?" Mrs. Baxter repeated, absently, refreshing with fair water abowl of flowers upon the table. "Ruin?"

"Yes, ruin!" William was hotly emphatic, "If you don't do something withher it 'll all be ruined before Miss Pr-- before they even get here!"

Mrs. Baxter laughed. "Set the pan down, Willie. "

"Set it DOWN?" he echoed, incredulously "With that child in the room andgrabbing like--"

"There!" Mrs. Baxter took the pan from him, placed it upon a chair, andwith the utmost coolness selected five wafers and gave them to Jane. "I'd already promised her she could have five more. You know the doctorsaid Jane's digestion was the finest he'd ever misunderstood. They won'thurt her at all, Willie. "

This deliberate misinterpretation of his motives made it difficult forWilliam to speak. "Do YOU think, " he began, hoarsely, "do you THINK--"

"They're so small, too, " Mrs. Baxter went on. "SHE probably wouldn't besick if she ate them all. "

"My heavens!" he burst forth. "Do you think I was worrying about--" Hebroke off, unable to express himself save by a few gestures of despair. Again finding his voice, and a great deal of it, he demanded: "Do yourealize that Miss PRATT will be here within less than half an hour? Whatdo you suppose she'd think of the people of this town if she was invitedout, expecting decent treatment, and found two-thirds of the cakes eatenup before she got there, and what was left of 'em all mauled and pawedover and crummy and chewed-up lookin' from some wretched CHILD?" HereWilliam became oratorical, but not with marked effect, since Janeregarded him with unmoved eyes, while Mrs. Baxter continued to be mildlypreoccupied in arranging the table. In fact, throughout this episodein controversy the ladies' party had not only the numerical but theemotional advantage. Obviously, the approach of Miss Pratt was not tothem what it was to William. "I tell you, " he declaimed;--"yes, I tellyou that it wouldn't take much of this kind of thing to make Miss Prattthink the people of this town were--well, it wouldn't take much to makeher think the people of this town hadn't learned much of how tobehave in society and were pretty uncilivized!" He corrected himself. "Uncivilized! And to think Miss Pratt has to find that out in MY house!To think--"

"Now, Willie, " said Mrs. Baxter, gently, "you'd better go up and brushyour hair again before your friends come. You mustn't let yourself getso excited. "

"'Excited!'" he cried, incredulously. "Do you think I'm EXCITED?Ye gods!" He smote his hands together and, in his despair of herintelligence, would have flung himself down upon a chair, but wasarrested half-way by simultaneous loud outcries from his mother andJane. 

"Don't sit on the CAKES!" they both screamed. 

Saving himself and the pan of wafers by a supreme contortion at the lastinstant, William decided to remain upon his feet. "What do I care forthe cakes?" he demanded, contemptuously, beginning to pace the floor. "It's the question of principle I'm talking about! Do you think it'sright to give the people of this town a poor name when strangers likeMiss PRATT come to vis--"

"Willie!" His mother looked at him hopelessly. "Do go and brush yourhair. If you could see how you've tousled it you would. "

He gave her a dazed glance and strode from the room. 

Jane looked after him placidly. "Didn't he talk funny!" she murmured. 

"Yes, dear, " said Mrs. Baxter. She shook her head and uttered theenigmatic words, "They do. "

"I mean Willie, mamma, " said Jane. "If it's anything about Miss Pratt. He always talks awful funny. Don't you think Willie talks awful funny ifit's anything about Miss Pratt, mamma?"

"Yes, but--"

"What, mamma?" Jane asked as her mother paused. 

"Well--it happens. People do get like that at his age, Jane. "

"Does everybody?"

"No, I suppose not everybody. Just some. "

Jane's interest was roused. "Well, do those that do, mamma, " sheinquired, "do they all act like Willie?"

"No, " said Mrs. Baxter. "That's the trouble; you can't tell what'scoming. "

Jane nodded. "I think I know, " she said. "You mean Willie--"

William himself interrupted her. He returned violently to the doorway, his hair still tousled, and, standing upon the threshold, said, sternly:

"What is that child wearing her best dress for?"

"Willie!" Mrs. Baxter cried. "Go brush your hair!"

"I wish to know what that child is all dressed up for?" he insisted. 

"To please you! Don't you want her to look her best at your tea?"

"I thought that was it!" he cried, and upon this confirmation of hisworst fears he did increased violence to his rumpled hair. "I suspectedit, but I wouldn't 'a' believed it! You mean to let this child--youmean to let--" Here his agitation affected his throat and his utterancebecame clouded. A few detached phrases fell from him: "--Invite MYfriends--children's party--ye gods!--think Miss Pratt plays dolls--"

"Jane will be very good, " his mother said. "I shouldn't think of nothaving her, Willie, and you needn't bother about your friends; they'llbe very glad to see her. They all know her, except Miss Pratt, perhaps, and--" Mrs. Baxter paused; then she asked, absently: "By the way, haven't I heard somewhere that she likes pretending to be a little girl, herself?"

"WHAT!"

"Yes, " said Mrs. Baxter, remaining calm; "I'm sure I've heard somewherethat she likes to talk 'baby-talk. '"

Upon this a tremor passed over William, after which he became rigid. "You ask a lady to your house, " he began, "and even before she getshere, before you've even seen her, you pass judgment upon one ofthe--one of the noblest--"

"Good gracious! _I_ haven't 'passed judgment. ' If she does talk'baby-talk, ' I imagine she does it very prettily, and I'm sure I'veno objection. And if she does do it, why should you be insulted by mymentioning it?"

"It was the way you said it, " he informed her, icily. 

"Good gracious! I just said it!" Mrs. Baxter laughed, and then, probably a little out of patience with him, she gave way to that innatemischievousness in such affairs which is not unknown to her sex. "Yousee, Willie, if she pretends to be a cunning little girl, it will behelpful to Jane to listen and learn how. "

William uttered a cry; he knew that he was struck, but he was not surehow or where. He was left with a blank mind and no repartee. Again hedashed from the room. 

In the hall, near the open front door, he came to a sudden halt, and Mrs. Baxter and Jane heard him calling loudly to the industriousGenesis:

"Here! You go cut the grass in the back yard, and for Heaven's sake, take that dog with you!"

"Grass awready cut roun' back, " responded the amiable voice of Genesis, while the lawnmower ceased not to whir. "Cut all 'at back yod 'smawnin'. "

"Well, you can't cut the front yard now. Go around in the back yard andtake that dog with you. "

"Nemmine 'bout 'at back yod! Ole Clem ain' trouble nobody. "

"You hear what I tell you?" William shouted. "You do what I say and youdo it quick!"

Genesis laughed gaily. "I got my grass to cut!"

"You decline to do what I command you?" William roared. 

"Yes, indeedy! Who pay me my wages? 'At's MY boss. You' ma say, 'Genesis, you git all 'at lawn mowed b'fo' sundown. ' No, suh! Nee'n'was'e you' bref on me, 'cause I'm got all MY time good an' took up!"

Once more William presented himself fatefully to his mother and Jane. "May I just kindly ask you to look out in the front yard?"

"I'm familiar with it, Willie, " Mrs. Baxter returned, a little wearily. 

"I mean I want you to look at Genesis. "

"I'm familiar with his appearance, too, " she said. "Why in the world doyou mind his cutting the grass?"

William groaned. "Do you honestly want guests coming to this houseto see that awful old darky out there and know that HE'S the kind ofservants we employ? Ye gods!"

"Why, Genesis is just a neighborhood outdoors darky, Willie; he worksfor half a dozen families besides us. Everybody in this part of townknows him. "

"Yes, " he cried, "but a lady that didn't live here wouldn't. Ye gods!What do you suppose she WOULD think? You know what he's got on!"

"It's a sort of sleeveless jersey he wears, Willie, I think. "

"No, you DON'T think that!" he cried, with great bitterness. "You knowit's not a jersey! You know perfectly well what it is, and yet youexpect to keep him out there when--when one of the one of the nobl--whenmy friends arrive! And they'll think that's our DOG out there, won'tthey? When intelligent people come to a house and see a dog sitting outin front, they think it's the family in the house's dog, don't they?"William's condition becoming more and more disordered, he paced theroom, while his agony rose to a climax. "Ye gods! What do you think MissPratt will think of the people of this town, when she's invited to meeta few of my friends and the first thing she sees is a nigger in hisundershirt? What 'll she think when she finds that child's eaten up halfthe food, and the people have to explain that the dog in the frontyard belongs to the darky--" He interrupted himself with a groan: "Andprob'ly she wouldn't believe it. Anybody'd SAY they didn't own a doglike that! And that's what you want her to see, before she even getsinside the house! Instead of a regular gardener in livery like we oughtto have, and a bulldog or a good Airedale or a fox-hound, or something, the first things you want intelligent people from out of town to see arethat awful old darky and his mongrel scratchin' fleas and like as notlettin' 'em get on other people! THAT'd be nice, wouldn't it? Go out totea expecting decent treatment and get fl--"

"WILLIE!"

Mrs. Baxter managed to obtain his attention. "If you'll go and brushyour hair I'll send Genesis and Clematis away for the rest of theafternoon. And then if you 'll sit down quietly and try to keep cooluntil your friends get here, I'll--"

"'Quietly'!" he echoed, shaking his head over this mystery. "I'm theonly one that IS quiet around here. Things 'd be in a fine condition toreceive guests if I didn't keep pretty cool, I guess!"

"There, there, " she said, soothingly. "Go and brush your hair. Andchange your collar, Willie; it's all wilted. I'll send Genesis away. "

His wandering eye failed to meet hers with any intelligence. "Collar, "he muttered, as if in soliloquy. "Collar. "

"Change it!" said Mrs. Baxter, raising her voice. "It's WILTED. "

He departed in a dazed manner. 

Passing through the hall, he paused abruptly, his eye having fallenwith sudden disapproval upon a large, heavily framed, glass-coveredengraving, "The Battle of Gettysburg, " which hung upon the wall, nearthe front door. Undeniably, it was a picture feeble in decorativequality; no doubt, too, William was right in thinking it as unworthy ofMiss Pratt, as were Jane and Genesis and Clematis. He felt that she mustnever see it, especially as the frame had been chipped and had a cornerbroken, but it was more pleasantly effective where he found it thanwhere (in his nervousness) he left it. A few hasty jerks snapped theelderly green cords by which it was suspended; then he laid the pictureupon the floor and with his handkerchief made a curious labyrinthof avenues in the large oblong area of fine dust which this removaldisclosed upon the wall. Pausing to wipe his hot brow with the sameimplement, he remembered that some one had made allusions to his collarand hair, whereupon he sprang to the stairs, mounted two at a time, rushed into his own room, and confronted his streaked image in themirror. 

XIII

AT HOME TO HIS FRIENDS

After ablutions, he found his wet hair plastic, and easily obtained thelong, even sweep backward from the brow, lacking which no male person, unless bald, fulfilled his definition of a man of the world. Butthere ensued a period of vehemence and activity caused by a bentcollar-button, which went on strike with a desperation that wasdownright savage. The day was warm and William was warmer; moisturebedewed him afresh. Belated victory no sooner arrived than he perceiveda fatal dimpling of the new collar, and was forced to begin theoperation of exchanging it for a successor. Another exchange, however, he unfortunately forgot to make: the handkerchief with which he hadwiped the wall remained in his pocket. 

Voices from below, making polite laughter, warned him that already someof the bidden party had arrived, and, as he completed the fastening ofhis third consecutive collar, an ecstasy of sound reached him throughthe open window--and then, Oh then! his breath behaved in an abnormalmanner and he began to tremble. It was the voice of Miss Pratt, no less!

He stopped for one heart-struck look from his casement. All in fluffywhite and heliotrope she was--a blonde rapture floating over thesidewalk toward William's front gate. Her little white cottony dog, witha heliotrope ribbon round his neck, bobbed his head over her cuddlingarm; a heliotrope parasol shielded her infinitesimally from the amoroussun. Poor William!

Two youths entirely in William's condition of heart accompanied theglamorous girl and hung upon her rose-leaf lips, while Miss Parcherappeared dimly upon the outskirts of the group, the well-known penaltyfor hostesses who entertain such radiance. Probably it serves themright. 

To William's reddening ear Miss Pratt's voice came clearly as thechiming of tiny bells, for she spoke whimsically to her little dog inthat tinkling childlike fashion which was part of the spell she cast. 

"Darlin' Flopit, " she said, "wake up! Oo tummin' to tea-potty wiz all dedrowed-ups. P'eshus Flopit, wake up!"

Dizzy with enchantment, half suffocated, his heart melting within him, William turned from the angelic sounds and fairy vision of the window. He ran out of the room, and plunged down the front stairs. And the nextmoment the crash of breaking glass and the loud thump-bump of a heavilyfalling human body resounded through the house. 

Mrs. Baxter, alarmed, quickly excused herself from the tea-table, roundwhich were gathered four or five young people, and hastened to the fronthall, followed by Jane. Through the open door were seen Miss Pratt, MissParcher, Mr. Johnnie Watson and Mr. Joe Bullitt coming leisurely up thesunny front walk, laughing and unaware of the catastrophe which had justoccurred within the shadows of the portal. And at a little distance fromthe foot of the stairs William was seated upon the prostrate "Battle ofGettysburg. "

"It slid, " he said, hoarsely. "I carried it upstairs with me"--hebelieved this--"and somebody brought it down and left it lying flat onthe floor by the bottom step on purpose to trip me! I stepped on it andit slid. " He was in a state of shock: it seemed important to impressupon his mother the fact that the picture had not remained firmly inplace when he stepped upon it. "It SLID, I tell you!"

"Get up, Willie!" she urged, under her breath, and as he summonedenough presence of mind to obey, she beheld ruins other than the wreckedengraving. She stifled a cry. "WILLIE! Did the glass cut you?"

He felt himself. "No'm. "

"It did your trousers! You'll have to change them. Hurry!"

Some of William's normal faculties were restored to him by one hastyglance at the back of his left leg, which had a dismantled appearance. Along blue strip of cloth hung there, with white showing underneath. 

"HURRY!" said Mrs. Baxter. And hastily gathering some fragments ofglass, she dropped them upon the engraving, pushed it out of the way, and went forward to greet Miss Pratt and her attendants. 

As for William, he did not even pause to close his mouth, but fled withit open. Upward he sped, unseen, and came to a breathless halt upon thelanding at the top of the stairs. 

As it were in a dream he heard his mother's hospitable greetings at thedoor, and then the little party lingered in the hall, detained by MissPratt's discovery of Jane. 

"Oh, tweetums tootums ickle dirl!" he heard the ravishing voice exclaim. "Oh, tootums ickle blue sash!"

"It cost a dollar and eighty-nine cents, " said Jane. "Willie sat on thecakes. "

"Oh no, he didn't, " Mrs. Baxter laughed. "He didn't QUITE!"

"He had to go up-stairs, " said Jane. And as the stricken listener abovesmote his forehead, she added placidly, "He tore a hole in his clo'es. "

She seemed about to furnish details, her mood being communicative, butMrs. Baxter led the way into the "living-room"; the hall was vacated, and only the murmur of voices and laughter reached William. Whatdescriptive information Jane may have added was spared his hearing, which was a mercy. 

And yet it may be that he could not have felt worse than he did; forthere IS nothing worse than to be seventeen and to hear one of theNoblest girls in the world told by a little child that you sat on thecakes and tore a hole in your clo'es. 

William leaned upon the banister railing and thought thoughts aboutJane. For several long, seething moments he thought of her exclusively. Then, spurred by the loud laughter of rivals and the agony of knowingthat even in his own house they were monopolizing the attention of oneof the Noblest, he hastened into his own, room and took account of hisreverses. 

Standing with his back to the mirror, he obtained over his shouldera view of his trousers which caused him to break out in a freshperspiration. Again he wiped his forehead with the handkerchief, and theresult was instantly visible in the mirror. 

The air thickened with sounds of frenzy, followed by a torrential roarand great sputterings in a bath-room, which tumult subsiding, Williamreturned at a tragic gallop to his room and, having removed histrousers, began a feverish examination of the garments hanging in aclothes-closet. There were two pairs of flannel trousers which wouldprobably again be white and possible, when cleaned and pressed, but aglance showed that until then they were not to be considered as eventhe last resort of desperation. Beside them hung his "last year's summersuit" of light gray. 

Feverishly he brought it forth, threw off his coat, and then--deflectedby another glance at the mirror--began to change his collar again. This was obviously necessary, and to quicken the process he decidedto straighten the bent collar-button. Using a shoe-horn as a lever, he succeeded in bringing the little cap or head of the button into itsproper plane, but, unfortunately, his final effort dislodged the capfrom the rod between it and the base, and it flew off malignantlyinto space. Here was a calamity; few things are more useless than adecapitated collar-button, and William had no other. He had madesure that it was his last before he put it on, that day; also hehad ascertained that there was none in, on, or about his father'sdressing-table. Finally, in the possession of neither William nor hisfather was there a shirt with an indigenous collar. 

For decades, collar-buttons have been on the hand-me-down shelves ofhumor; it is a mistake in the catalogue. They belong to pathos. Theyhave done harm in the world, and there have been collar-buttons thatfailed when the destinies of families hung upon them. There havebeen collar-buttons that thwarted proper matings. There have beencollar-buttons that bore last hopes, and, falling to the floor, NEVER were found! William's broken collar-button was really the onlycollar-button in the house, except such as were engaged in serving hismale guests below. 

At first he did not realize the extent of his misfortune. How could he?Fate is always expected to deal its great blows in the grand manner. But our expectations are fustian spangled with pinchbeck; we look fortragedy to be theatrical. Meanwhile, every day before our eyes, fateworks on, employing for its instruments the infinitesimal, the ignobleand the petty--in a word, collar-buttons. 

Of course William searched his dressing-table and his father's, althoughhe had been thoroughly over both once before that day. Next he wentthrough most of his mother's and Jane's accessories to thetoilette; through trinket-boxes, glove-boxes, hairpin-boxes, handkerchief-cases--even through sewing-baskets. Utterly he convincedhimself that ladies not only use no collar-buttons, but also never pickthem up and put them away among their own belongings. How much time heconsumed in this search is difficult to reckon;--it is almost impossibleto believe that there is absolutely no collar-button in a house. 

And what William's state of mind had become is matter for exorbitantconjecture. Jane, arriving at his locked door upon an errand, was biddenby a thick, unnatural voice to depart. 

"Mamma says, 'What in mercy's name is the matter?'" Jane called. "Shewhispered to me, 'Go an' see what in mercy's name is the matter withWillie; an' if the glass cut him, after all; an' why don't he comedown'; an' why don't you, Willie? We're all havin' the nicest time!"

"You g'way!" said the strange voice within the room. "G'way!"

"Well, did the glass cut you?"

"No! Keep quiet! G'way!"

"Well, are you EVER comin' down to your party?"

"Yes, I am! G'way!"

Jane obeyed, and William somehow completed the task upon which he wasengaged. Genius had burst forth from his despair; necessity had becomea mother again, and William's collar was in place. It was tied there. Under his necktie was a piece of string. 

He had lost count of time, but he was frantically aware of its passage;agony was in the thought of so many rich moments frittered away;up-stairs, while Joe Bullitt and Johnnie Watson made hay below. Andthere was another spur to haste in his fear that the behavior of Mrs. Baxter might not be all that the guest of honor would naturally expectof William's mother. As for Jane, his mind filled with dread; shiverspassed over him at intervals. 

It was a dismal thing to appear at a "party" (and that his own) in "lastsummer's suit, " but when he had hastily put it on and faced the mirror, he felt a little better--for three or four seconds. Then he turned tosee how the back of it looked. 

And collapsed in a chair, moaning. 

XIV

TIME DOES FLY

He remembered now what he had been too hurried to remember earlier. Hehad worn these clothes on the previous Saturday, and, returning from aglorified walk with Miss Pratt, he had demonstrated a fact to which hisnear-demolition of the wafers, this afternoon, was additional testimony. This fact, roughly stated, is that a person of seventeen, in love, isliable to sit down anywhere. William had dreamily seated himself upona tabouret in the library, without noticing that Jane had left her openpaint-box there. Jane had just been painting sunsets; naturally all thelittle blocks of color were wet, and the effect upon William's pale-graytrousers was marvelous--far beyond the capacity of his coat to conceal. Collar-buttons and children's paint-boxes--those are the trolls that liein wait!

The gray clothes and the flannel trousers had been destined for theprofessional cleaner, and William, rousing himself from a brief stupor, made a piteous effort to substitute himself for that expert so faras the gray trousers were concerned. He divested himself of them andbrought water, towels, bath-soap, and a rubber bath-sponge to the brightlight of his window; and; there, with touching courage and persistence, he tried to scrub the paint out of the cloth. He obtained cloud studiesand marines which would have interested a Post-Impressionist, but upontrousers they seemed out of place. 

There came one seeking and calling him again; raps sounded upon thedoor, which he had not forgotten to lock. 

"Willie, " said a serious voice, "mamma wants to know what in mercy'sname is the matter! She wants to know if you know for mercy's name whattime it is! She wants to know what in mercy's name you think they're allgoin' to think! She says--"

"G'WAY!"

"Well, she said I had to find out what in mercy's name you're doin', Willie. "

"You tell her, " he shouted, hoarsely--"tell her I'm playin' dominoes!What's she THINK I'm doin'?"

"I guess"--Jane paused, evidently to complete the swallowing ofsomething--"I guess she thinks you're goin' crazy. I don't like MissPratt, but she lets me play with that little dog. It's name's Flopit!"

"You go 'way from that door and stop bothering me, " said William. "I gotenough on my mind!"

"Mamma looks at Miss Pratt, " Jane remarked. "Miss Pratt puts cakes inthat Mr. Bullitt's mouth and Johnnie Watson's mouth, too. She's awful. "

William made it plain that these bulletins from the party found no favorwith him. He bellowed, "If you don't get away from that DOOR--"

Jane was interested in the conversation, but felt that it would bebetter to return to the refreshment-table. There she made use of her ownconception of a whisper to place before her mother a report which wasconsidered interesting and even curious by every one present; though, such was the courtesy of the little assembly, there was a generalpretense of not hearing. 

"I told him, " thus whispered Jane, "an' he said, 'You g'way from thatdoor or I'll do somep'm'--he didn't say what, mamma. He said, 'What youthink I'm doin'? I'm playin' dominoes. ' He didn't mean he WAS playin'dominoes, mamma. He just said he was. I think maybe he was just lookin'in the lookin'-glass some more. "

Mrs. Baxter was becoming embarrassed. She resolved to go to William'sroom herself at the first opportunity; but for some time herconscientiousness as a hostess continued to occupy her at the table, and then, when she would have gone, Miss Pratt detained her by a roguishappeal to make Mr. Bullitt and Mr. Watson behave. Both refused allnourishment except such as was placed in their mouths by the delicatehand of one of the Noblest, and the latter said that really she wantedto eat a little tweetie now and then herself, and not to spend her wholetime feeding the Men. For Miss Pratt had the same playfulness with olderpeople that she had with those of her own age; and she elaborated herpretended quarrel with the two young gentlemen, taking others of thedazzled company into her confidence about it, and insisting upon "MammaBatster's" acting formally as judge to settle the difficulty. However, having thus arranged matters, Miss Pratt did not resign the center ofinterest, but herself proposed a compromise: she would continue to feedMr. Bullitt and Mr. Watson "every other tweetie"--that is, each mustagree to eat a cake "all by him own self, " after every cake fed to him. So the comedietta went on, to the running accompaniment of laughter, with Mr. Bullitt and Mr. Watson swept by such gusts of adoration theywere like to perish where they sat. But Mrs. Baxter's smiling approvalwas beginning to be painful to the muscles of her face, for it washypocritical. And if William had known her thoughts about one of theNoblest, he could only have attributed them to that demon of groundlessprejudice which besets all females, but most particularly andoutrageously the mothers and sisters of Men. 

A colored serving-maid entered with a laden tray, and, having disposedof its freight of bon-bons among the guests, spoke to Mrs. Baxter in alow voice. 

"Could you manage step in the back hall a minute, please, ma'am?"

Mrs. Baxter managed and, having closed the door upon the laughingvoices, asked, quickly--"What is it, Adelia? Have you seen Mr. William?Do you know why he doesn't come down?"

"Yes'm, " said Adelia. "He gone mighty near out his head, Miz Baxter. "

"What!"

"Yes'm. He come floppin' down the back stairs in his baf-robe li'l'while ago. He jes' gone up again. He 'ain't got no britches, MizBaxter. "

"No WHAT?"

"No'm, " said Adelia. "He 'ain't got no britches at all. "

A statement of this kind is startling under Almost any circumstances, and it is unusually so when made in reference to a person for whom aparty is being given. Therefore it was not unreasonable of Mrs. Baxterto lose her breath. 

"But--it can't BE!" she gasped. "He has! He has plenty!"

"No'm, he 'ain't, " Adelia assured her. "An' he's carryin' on so I don'tscarcely think he knows much what he's doin', Miz Baxter. He brung downsome gray britches to the kitchen to see if I couldn' press an' clean'em right quick: they was the ones Miss Jane, when she's paintin' allthem sunsets, lef' her paint-box open, an' one them sunsets got on thesehere gray britches, Miz Baxter; an' hones'ly, Miz Baxter, he's fixed 'emin a condishum, tryin' to git that paint out, I don't believe it 'll beno use sendin' 'em to the cleaner. 'Clean 'em an' press 'em QUICK?' Isays. 'I couldn' clean 'em by Resurreckshum, let alone pressin' 'em!'No'm! Well, he had his blue britches, too, but they's so ripped an' torean' kind o' shredded away in one place, the cook she jes' hollered whenhe spread 'em out, an' he didn' even ast me could I mend 'em. An' he hadtwo pairs o' them white flannen britches, but hones'ly, Miz Baxter, I don't scarcely think Genesis would wear 'em, the way they is now!'Well, ' I says, 'ain't but one thing lef' to do _I_ can see, ' I says. 'Why don't you go put on that nice black suit you had las' winter?'"

"Of course!" Mrs. Baxter cried. "I'll go and--"

"No'm, " said Adelia. "You don' need to. He's up in the attic now, r'arin' roun' 'mongs' them trunks, but seem to me like I remember youput that suit away under the heavy blankets in that big cedar ches' withthe padlock. If you jes' tell me where is the key, I take it up to him. "

"Under the bureau in the spare room, " said Mrs. Baxter. "HURRY!"

Adelia hurried; and, fifteen minutes later, William, for the last timethat afternoon, surveyed himself in his mirror. His face showed thestrain that had been upon him and under which he still labored; theblack suit was a map of creases, and William was perspiring more freelythan ever under the heavy garments. But at least he was clothed. 

He emptied his pockets, disgorging upon the floor a multitude of smallwhite spheres, like marbles. Then, as he stepped out into the hall, hediscovered that their odor still remained about him; so he stoppedand carefully turned his pockets inside out, one after the other, butfinding that he still smelled vehemently of the "moth-balls, " though notone remained upon him, he went to his mother's room and sprinkled violettoilet-water upon his chest and shoulders. He disliked such odors, butthat left by the moth-balls was intolerable, and, laying hands upon acanister labeled "Hyacinth, " he contrived to pour a quantity of scentedpowder inside his collar, thence to be distributed by the force ofgravity so far as his dampness permitted. 

Lo, William was now ready to go to his party! Moist, wilted, smellingindeed strangely, he was ready. 

But when he reached the foot of the stairs he discovered that there wasone thing more to be done. Indignation seized him, and also a creepingfear chilled his spine, as he beheld a lurking shape upon the porch, stealthily moving toward the open door. It was the lowly Clematis, dogunto Genesis. 

William instantly divined the purpose of Clematis. It was debatablewhether Clematis had remained upon the premises after the departure ofGenesis, or had lately returned thither upon some errand of his own, but one thing was certain, and the manner of Clematis--his attitude, his every look, his every gesture--made it as clear as day. Clematishad discovered, by one means or another, the presence of Flopit in thehouse, and had determined to see him personally. 

Clematis wore his most misleading expression; a stranger would havethought him shy and easily turned from his purpose--but William was notdeceived. He knew that if Clematis meant to see Flopit, a strong will, a ready brain, and stern action were needed to thwart him; but at allcosts that meeting must be prevented. Things had been awful enough, without that!

He was well aware that Clematis could not be driven away, excepttemporarily, for nothing was further fixed upon Clematis than his habitof retiring under pressure, only to return and return again. True, thedoor could have been shut in the intruder's face, but he would havesought other entrance with possible success, or, failing that, wouldhave awaited in the front yard the dispersal of the guests and Flopit'sconsequent emerging. This was a contretemps not to be endured. 

The door of the living-room was closed, muffling festal noises andpermitting safe passage through the hall. William cast a hunted lookover his shoulder; then he approached Clematis. 

"Good ole doggie, " he said, huskily. "Hyuh, Clem! Hyuh, Clem!"

Clematis moved sidelong, retreating with his head low and his taildenoting anxious thoughts. 

"Hyuh, Clem!" said William, trying, with only fair success, to keep hisvoice from sounding venomous. "Hyuh, Clem!"

Clematis continued his deprecatory retreat. 

Thereupon William essayed a ruse--he pretended to nibble at something, and then extended his hand as if it held forth a gift of food. "Look, Clem, " he said. "Yum-yum! Meat, Clem! Good meat!"

For once Clematis was half credulous. He did not advance, but heelongated himself to investigate the extended hand, and the next instantfound himself seized viciously by the scruff of the neck. He submittedto capture in absolute silence. Only the slightest change of countenancebetrayed his mortification at having been found so easy a gull; thispassed, and a look of resolute stoicism took its place. 

He refused to walk, but offered merely nominal resistance, as a formalprotest which he wished to be of record, though perfectly understandingthat it availed nothing at present. William dragged him through the longhall and down a short passageway to the cellar door. This he opened, thrust Clematis upon the other side of it, closed and bolted it. 

Immediately a stentorian howl raised blood-curdling echoes and resoundedhorribly through the house. It was obvious that Clematis intended tomake a scene, whether he was present at it or not. He lifted his voicein sonorous dolor, stating that he did not like the cellar and wouldcontinue thus to protest as long as he was left in it alone. He addedthat he was anxious to see Flopit and considered it an unexampledoutrage that he was withheld from the opportunity. 

Smitten with horror, William reopened the door and charged down thecellar stairs after Clematis, who closed his caitiff mouth and gave wayprecipitately. He fled from one end of the cellar to the other and back, while William pursued; choking, and calling in low, ferocious tones:"Good doggie! Good ole doggie! Hyuh, Clem! Meat, Clem, meat--"

There was dodging through coal-bins; there was squirming betweenbarrels; there was high jumping and broad jumping, and there was a finalaspiring but baffled dash for the top of the cellar stairs, where thedoor, forgotten by William, stood open. But it was here that Clematis, after a long and admirable exhibition of ingenuity, no less thanagility, submitted to capture. That is to say, finding himselfhopelessly pinioned, he resumed the stoic. 

Grimly the panting and dripping William dragged him through the kitchen, where the cook cried out unintelligibly, seeming to summon Adelia, whowas not present. Through the back yard went captor and prisoner, thelatter now maintaining a seated posture--his pathetic conception ofdignity under duress. Finally, into a small shed or tool-house, behindMrs. Baxter's flower-beds, went Clematis in a hurried and spasmodicmanner. The instant the door slammed he lifted his voice--and was biddento use it now as much as he liked. 

Adelia, with a tray of used plates, encountered the son of the house ashe passed through the kitchen on his return, and her eyes were those ofone who looks upon miracles. 

William halted fiercely. 

"What's the matter?" he demanded. "Is my face dirty?"

"You mean, are it too dirty to go in yonduh to the party?" Adelia asked, slowly. "No, suh; you look all right to go in there. You lookin' jes'fine to go in there now, Mist' Willie!"

Something in her tone struck him as peculiar, even as ominous, but hisblood was up--he would not turn back now. He strode into the hall andopened the door of the "living-room. "

Jane was sitting on the floor, busily painting sunsets in a largeblank-book which she had obtained for that exclusive purpose. 

She looked up brightly as William appeared in the doorway, and in answerto his wild gaze she said:

"I got a little bit sick, so mamma told me to keep quiet a while. She'slookin' for you all over the house. She told papa she don't know what inmercy's name people are goin' to think about you, Willie. "

The distraught youth strode to her. "The party--" he choked. "WHERE--"

"They all stayed pretty long, " said Jane, "but the last ones said theyhad to go home to their dinners when papa came, a little while ago. Johnnie Watson was carryin' Flopit for that Miss Pratt. "

William dropped into the chair beside which Jane had established herselfupon the floor. Then he uttered a terrible cry and rose. 

Again Jane had painted a sunset she had not intended. 

XV

ROMANCE OF STATISTICS

On a warm morning, ten days later, William stood pensively among hismother's flowerbeds behind the house, his attitude denoting a low stateof vitality. Not far away, an aged negro sat upon a wheelbarrow in thehot sun, tremulously yet skilfully whittling a piece of wood into theshape of a boat, labor more to his taste, evidently, than that which hehad abandoned at the request of Jane. Allusion to this preference fora lighter task was made by Genesis, who was erecting a trellis on theborder of the little garden. 

"Pappy whittle all day, " he chuckled. "Whittle all night, too! Pappy, Ithought you 'uz goin' to git 'at long bed all spade' up fer me by noon. Ain't 'at what you tole me?"

"You let him alone, Genesis, " said Jane, who sat by the old man's side, deeply fascinated. "There's goin' to be a great deal of rain in the nextfew days maybe, an' I haf to have this boat ready. "

The aged darky lifted his streaky and diminished eyes to the burnishedsky, and laughed. "Rain come some day, anyways, " he said. "We git deboat ready 'fo' she fall, dat sho. " His glance wandered to William andrested upon him with feeble curiosity. "Dat ain' yo' pappy, is it?" heasked Jane. 

"I should say it isn't!" she exclaimed. "It's Willie. He was onlyseventeen about two or three months ago, Mr. Genesis. " This was not theold man's name, but Jane had evolved it, inspired by respect for one soaged and so kind about whittling. He was the father of Genesis, and thelatter, neither to her knowledge nor to her imagination, possessed asurname. 

"I got cat'rack in my lef' eye, " said Mr. Genesis, "an' de right one, she kine o' tricksy, too. Tell black man f'um white man, little f'umbig. "

"I'd hate it if he was papa, " said Jane, confidentially. "He's alwayscross about somep'm, because he's in love. " She approached her mouth toher whittling friend's ear and continued in a whisper: "He's in love ofMiss Pratt. She's out walkin' with Joe Bullitt. I was in the front yardwith Willie, an' we saw 'em go by. He's mad. "

William did not hear her. Moodily, he had discovered that there wassomething amiss with the buckle of his belt, and, having ungirdedhimself, he was biting the metal tongue of the buckle in orderto straighten it. This fell under the observation of Genesis, whoremonstrated. 

"You break you' teef on 'at buckle, " he said. 

"No, I won't, either, " William returned, crossly. 

"Ain' my teef, " said Genesis. "Break 'em, you want to!"

The attention of Mr. Genesis did not seem to be attracted to thespeakers; he continued his whittling in a craftsman-like manner, whichbrought praise from Jane. 

"You can see to whittle, Mr. Genesis, " she said. "You whittle betterthan anybody in the world. "

"I speck so, mebbe, " Mr. Genesis returned, with a little complacency. "How ole yo' pappy?"

"Oh, he's OLD!" Jane explained. 

William deigned to correct her. "He's not old, he's middle-aged. "

"Well, suh, " said Mr. Genesis, "I had three chillum 'fo' I 'uz twenty. Ihad two when I 'uz eighteem. "

William showed sudden interest. "You did!" he exclaimed. "How old wereyou when you had the first one?"

"I 'uz jes' yo' age, " said the old man. "I 'uz seventeem. "

"By George!" cried William. 

Jane seemed much less impressed than William, seventeen being a long wayfrom ten, though, of course, to seventeen itself hardly any informationcould be imagined as more interesting than that conveyed by the wordsof the aged Mr. Genesis. The impression made upon William was obviouslyprofound and favorable. 

"By George!" he cried again. 

"Genesis he de youngis' one, " said the old man. "Genesis he 'uz bawnwhen I 'uz sixty-one. "

William moved closer. "What became of the one that was born when youwere seventeen?" he asked. 

"Well, suh, " said Mr. Genesis, "I nev' did know. "

At this, Jane's interest equaled William's. Her eyes consented to leavethe busy hands of the aged darky, and, much enlarged, rose to his face. After a little pause of awe and sympathy she inquired:

"Was it a boy or a girl?"

The old man deliberated within himself. "Seem like it mus' been a boy. "

"Did it die?" Jane asked, softly. 

"I reckon it mus' be dead by now, " he returned, musingly. "Good many of'em dead: what I KNOWS is dead. Yes'm, I reckon so. "

"How old were you when you were married?" William asked, with a mannerof peculiar earnestness;--it was the manner of one who addresses acolleague. 

"Me? Well, suh, dat 'pen's. " He seemed to search his memory. "Irickalect I 'uz ma'ied once in Looavle, " he said. 

Jane's interest still followed the first child. "Was that where it wasborn, Mr. Genesis?" she asked. 

He looked puzzled, and paused in his whittling to rub his deeplycorrugated forehead. "Well, suh, mus' been some bawn in Looavle. Genesis, " he called to his industrious son, "whaih 'uz YOU bawn?"

"Right 'n 'is town, " laughed Genesis. "You fergit a good deal, pappy, but I notice you don' fergit come to meals!"

The old man grunted, resuming his whittling busily. "Hain' much use, "he complained. "Cain' eat nuff'm 'lessen it all gruelly. Man cain' eatnuff'm 'lessen he got teef. Genesis, di'n' I hyuh you tellin' dis whitegemmun take caih his teef--not bite on no i'on?"

William smiled in pity. "I don't need to bother about that, I guess, " hesaid. "I can crack nuts with my teeth. "

"Yes, suh, " said the old man. "You kin now. Ev'y nut you crac' now goin'cos' you a yell when you git 'long 'bout fawty an' fifty. You crack nutsnow an' you'll holler den!"

"Well, I guess I won't worry myself much now about what won't happentill I'm forty or fifty, " said William. "My teeth 'll last MY time, Iguess. "

That brought a chuckle from Mr. Genesis. "Jes' listen!" he exclaimed. "Young man think he ain' nev' goin' be ole man. Else he think, 'Datole man what I'm goin' to be, dat ain' goin' be me 'tall--dat goin' besomebody else! What I caih 'bout dat ole man? I ain't a-goin' take caiho' no teef fer HIM!' Yes, suh, an' den when he GIT to be ole man, hesay, 'What become o' dat young man I yoosta be? Where is dat young managone to? He 'uz a fool, dat's what--an' _I_ ain' no fool, so he mus'been somebody else, not me; but I do jes' wish I had him hyuh 'bout twominutes--long enough to lam him fer not takin' caih o' my teef fer me!'Yes, suh!"

William laughed; his good humor was restored and he found theconversation of Mr. Genesis attractive. He seated himself upon anupturned bucket near the wheelbarrow, and reverted to a former theme. "Well, I HAVE heard of people getting married even younger 'n you were, "he said. "You take India, for instance. Why, they get married in Indiawhen they're twelve, and even seven and eight years old. "

"They do not!" said Jane, promptly. "Their mothers and fathers wouldn'tlet 'em, an' they wouldn't want to, anyway. "

"I suppose you been to India and know all about it!" William retorted. "For the matter o' that, there was a young couple got married inPennsylvania the other day; the girl was only fifteen, and the man wassixteen. It was in the papers, and their parents consented, and said itwas a good thing. Then there was a case in Fall River, Massachusetts, where a young man eighteen years old married a woman forty-one yearsold; it was in the papers, too. And I heard of another case somewhere inIowa--a boy began shaving when he was thirteen, and shaved every day forfour years, and now he's got a full beard, and he's goin' to get marriedthis year--before he's eighteen years old. Joe Bullitt's got a cousin inIowa that knows about this case--he knows the girl this fellow with thebeard is goin' to marry, and he says he expects it 'll turn out thebest thing could have happened. They're goin' to live on a farm. There'shunderds of cases like that, only you don't hear of more'n just a fewof 'em. People used to get married at sixteen, seventeen, eighteen--anywhere in there--and never think anything of it at all. Right up to about a hunderd years ago there were more people married atthose ages than there were along about twenty-four and twenty-five, theway they are now. For instance, you take Shakespeare--"

William paused. 

Mr. Genesis was scraping the hull of the miniature boat with a piece ofbroken glass, in lieu of sandpaper, but he seemed to be following hisyoung friend's remarks with attention. William had mentioned Shakespeareimpulsively, in the ardor of demonstrating his point; however, uponsecond thought he decided to withdraw the name. 

"I mean, you take the olden times, " he went on; "hardly anybody gotmarried after they were nineteen or twenty years old, unless they werewidowers, because they were all married by that time. And right here inour own county, there were eleven couples married in the last six monthsunder twenty-one years of age. I've got a friend named Johnnie Watson;his uncle works down at the court-house and told him about it, so itcan't be denied. Then there was a case I heard of over in--"

Mr. Genesis uttered a loud chuckle. "My goo'ness!" he exclaimed. "Howyou c'leck all' dem fac's? Lan' name! What puzzlin' ME is how you'member 'em after you done c'leck 'em. Ef it uz me I couldn't c'leck 'emin de firs' place, an' ef I could, dey wouldn' be no use to me, 'cause Icouldn't rickalect 'em!"

"Well, it isn't so hard, " said William, "if you kind of get the hangof it. " Obviously pleased, he plucked a spear of grass and placed itbetween his teeth, adding, "I always did have a pretty good memory. "

"Mamma says you're the most forgetful boy she ever heard of, " said Jane, calmly. "She says you can't remember anything two minutes. "

William's brow darkened. "Now look here--" he began, with severity. 

But the old darky intervened. "Some folks got good rickaleckshuman' some folks got bad, " he said, pacifically. "Young white germmunrickalect mo' in two minute dan what I kin in two years!"

Jane appeared to accept this as settlement of the point at issue, whileWilliam bestowed upon Mr. Genesis a glance of increased favor. William'sexpression was pleasant to see; in fact, it was the pleasantestexpression Jane had seen him wearing for several days. Almost always, lately, he was profoundly preoccupied, and so easily annoyed thatthere was no need to be careful of his feelings, because--as his motherobserved--he was "certain to break out about every so often, no matterwhat happened!"

"I remember pretty much everything, " he said, as if in modestexplanation of the performance which had excited the aged man'sadmiration. "I can remember things that happened when I was four yearsold. "

"So can I, " said Jane. "I can remember when I was two. I had a kittenfell down the cistern and papa said it hurt the water. "

"My goo'ness!" Mr. Genesis exclaimed. "An' you 'uz on'y two year ole, honey! Bes' _I_ kin do is rickalect when I 'uz 'bout fifty. "

"Oh no!" Jane protested. "You said you remembered havin' a baby when youwere seventeen, Mr. Genesis. "

"Yes'm, " he admitted. "I mean rickalect good like you do 'bout yo' li'l'cat an' all how yo' pappy tuck on 'bout it. I kin rickalect SOME, but Icain' rickalect GOOD. "

William coughed with a certain importance. "Do you remember, " he asked, "when you were married, how did you feel about it? Were you kind ofnervous, or anything like that, beforehand?"

Mr. Genesis again passed a wavering hand across his troubled brow. 

"I mean, " said William, observing his perplexity, "were you sort ofshaky--f'rinstance, as if you were taking an important step in life?"

"Lemme see. " The old man pondered for a moment. "I felt mighty shakyonce, I rickalect; dat time yalla m'latta man shootin' at me f 'umbehime a snake-fence. "

"Shootin' at you!" Jane cried, stirred from her accustomed placidity. "Mr. Genesis! What DID he do that for?"

"Nuff'm!" replied Mr. Genesis, with feeling. "Nuff'm in de wide worl'!He boun' to shoot SOMEbody, an' pick on me 'cause I 'uz de handies'. "

He closed his knife, gave the little boat a final scrape with the brokenglass, and then a soothing rub with the palm of his hand. "Dah, honey, "he said--and simultaneously factory whistles began to blow. "Dahyo' li'l' steamboat good as I kin git her widout no b'iler ner nosmokestack. I reckon yo' pappy 'll buy 'em fer you. "

Jane was grateful. "It's a beautiful boat, Mr. Genesis. I do thank you!"

Genesis, the son, laid aside his tools and approached. "Pappy finishwhittlin' spang on 'em noon whistles, " he chuckled. "Come 'long, pappy. I bet you walk fas' 'nuff goin' todes dinnuh. I hear fry-cakes ploppin'in skillet!"

Mr. Genesis laughed loudly, his son's words evidently painting a merryand alluring picture; and the two, followed by Clematis, moved awayin the direction of the alley gate. William and Jane watched the briskdeparture of the antique with sincere esteem and liking. 

"He must have been sixteen, " said William, musingly. 

"When?" Jane asked. 

William, in deep thought, was still looking after Mr. Genesis; hewas almost unconscious that he had spoken aloud and he replied, automatically:

"When he was married. "

Then, with a start, he realized into how great a condescension he hadbeen betrayed, and hastily added, with pronounced hauteur, "Things youdon't understand. You run in the house. "

Jane went into the house, but she did not carry her obedience to thepoint of running. She walked slowly, and in that state of profoundreverie which was characteristic of her when she was immersed in theserious study of William's affairs. 

XVI

THE SHOWER

She continued to be thoughtful until after lunch, when, upon thesun's disappearance behind a fat cloud, Jane and the heavens exchangeddispositions for the time--the heavens darkened and Jane brightened. Shewas in the front hall, when the sunshine departed rather abruptly, andshe jumped for joy, pointing to the open door. "Look! Looky there!" shecalled to her brother. Richly ornamented, he was descending the frontstairs, his embellishments including freshly pressed white trousers, anew straw hat, unusual shoes, and a blasphemous tie. "I'm goin' to getto sail my boat, " Jane shouted. "It's goin' to rain. "

"It is not, " said William, irritated. "It's not going to anything likerain. I s'pose you think it ought to rain just to let you sail thatchunk of wood!"

"It's goin' to rain--it's goin' to rain!" (Jane made a little singsongchant of it. ) "It's goin' to rain--it gives Willie a pain--it's goin' torain--it gives Willie a pain--it's goin' to--"

He interrupted her sternly. "Look here! You're old enough to knowbetter. I s'pose you think there isn't anything as important in theworld as your gettin' the chance to sail that little boat! I s'poseyou think business and everything else has got to stop and get ruined, maybe, just to please you!" As he spoke he walked to an umbrella-standin the hall and deliberately took therefrom a bamboo walking-stick ofhis father's. Indeed, his denunciation of Jane's selfishness aboutthe weather was made partly to reassure himself and settle his nerves, strained by the unusual procedure he contemplated, and partly to divertJane's attention. In the latter effort he was unsuccessful; her eyesbecame strange and unbearable. 

She uttered a shriek:

"Willie's goin' to carry a CANE!"

"You hush up!" he said, fiercely, and hurried out through the frontdoor. She followed him to the edge of the porch; she stood there whilehe made his way to the gate, and she continued to stand there as hewent down the street, trying to swing the cane in an accustomed andunembarrassed manner. 

Jane made this difficult. 

"Willie's got a CANE!" she screamed. "He's got papa's CANE!"Then, resuming her little chant, she began to sing: "It's goin' torain--Willie's got papa's cane--it's goin' to rain--Willie's got papa'scane!" She put all of her voice into a final effort. "MISS PRATT'LL GETWET IF YOU DON'T TAKE AN UMBERELLER-R-R!"

The attention of several chance pedestrians had been attracted, and theburning William, breaking into an agonized half-trot, disappeared roundthe corner. Then Jane retired within the house, feeling that she haddone her duty. It would be his own fault if he got wet. 

Rain was coming. Rain was in the feel of the air--and in Jane's hope. 

She was not disappointed. Mr. Genesis, so secure of fair weather in themorning, was proved by the afternoon to be a bad prophet. The fat cloudwas succeeded by others, fatter; a corpulent army assailed the vaultof heaven, heavy outriders before a giant of evil complexion anddevastating temper. 

An hour after William had left the house, the dust in the streets andall loose paper and rubbish outdoors rose suddenly to a considerableheight and started for somewhere else. The trees had colic; everythingbecame as dark as winter twilight; streaks of wildfire ran miles in asecond, and somebody seemed to be ripping up sheets of copper and tinthe size of farms. The rain came with a swish, then with a rattle, andthen with a roar, while people listened at their garret doorways andmarveled. Window-panes turned to running water;--it poured. 

Then it relented, dribbled, shook down a few last drops; and passed onto the countryside. Windows went up; eaves and full gutters plashed andgurgled; clearer light fell; then, in a moment, sunshine rushed uponshining green trees and green grass; doors opened--and out came thechildren!

Shouting, they ran to the flooded gutters. Here were rivers, lakes, andoceans for navigation; easy pilotage, for the steersman had but to wadebeside his craft and guide it with a twig. Jane's timely boat was one ofthe first to reach the water. 

Her mother had been kind, and Jane, with shoes and stockings left behindher on the porch, was a happy sailor as she waded knee-deep along thebrimming curbstones. At the corner below the house of the Baxters, thestreet was flooded clear across, and Jane's boat, following the current, proceeded gallantly onward here, sailed down the next block, and wasthoughtlessly entering a sewer when she snatched it out of the water. Looking about her, she perceived a gutter which seemed even lovelierthan the one she had followed. It was deeper and broader and perhaps alittle browner, wherefore she launched her ship upon its dimpled bosomand explored it as far as the next sewer-hole or portage. Thus thevoyage continued for several blocks with only one accident--which mighthave happened to anybody. It was an accident in the nature of a fall, caused by the sliding of Jane's left foot on some slippery mud. This treacherous substance, covered with water, could not have beenanticipated; consequently Jane's emotions were those of indignationrather than of culpability. Upon rising, she debated whether or notshe should return to her dwelling, inclining to the opinion that theauthorities there would have taken the affirmative; but as she waswet not much above the waist, and the guilt lay all upon the mud, she decided that such an interruption of her journey would be a grossinjustice to herself. Navigation was reopened. 

Presently the boat wandered into a miniature whirlpool, grooved in aspiral and pleasant to see. Slowly the water went round and round, andso did the boat without any assistance from Jane. Watching this movementthoughtfully, she brought forth from her drenched pocket some soddenwhitish disks, recognizable as having been crackers, and began to eatthem. Thus absorbed, she failed at first to notice the approach of twoyoung people along the sidewalk. 

They were the entranced William and Miss Pratt; and their appearanceoffered a suggestive contrast in relative humidity. In charming andtender-colored fabrics, fluffy and cool and summery, she was specklesslydry; not a drop had touched even the little pink parasol over hershoulder, not one had fallen upon the tiny white doglet drowsing uponher arm. But William was wet--he was still more than merely damp, thoughthey had evidently walked some distance since the rain had ceased tofall. His new hat was a mucilaginous ruin; his dank coat sagged; hisshapeless trousers flopped heavily, and his shoes gave forth marshysounds as he walked. 

No brilliant analyst was needed to diagnose this case. Surely anyobserver must have said: "Here is a dry young lady, and at her sidewalks a wet young gentleman who carries an umbrella in one hand and awalking-stick in the other. Obviously the young lady and gentlemanwere out for a stroll for which the stick was sufficient, and they werecaught by the rain. Before any fell, however, he found her a place ofshelter--such as a corner drug-store and then himself gallantly wentforth into the storm for an umbrella. He went to the young lady's house, or to the house where she may be visiting, for, if he had gone to hisown he would have left his stick. It may be, too, that at his own, hismother would have detained him, since he is still at the age when itis just possible sometimes for mothers to get their sons into the housewhen it rains. He returned with the umbrella to the corner drug-storeat probably about the time when the rain ceased to fall, because hisextreme moistness makes necessary the deduction that he was out in allthe rain that rained. But he does not seem to care. "

The fact was that William did not even know that he was wet. With hishead sidewise and his entranced eyes continuously upon the pretty faceso near, his state was almost somnambulistic. Not conscious of hissoggy garments or of the deluged streets, he floated upon a rosy cloud, incense about him, far-away music enchanting his ears. 

If Jane had not recognized the modeling of his features she might nothave known them to be William's, for they had altered their groupingto produce an expression with which she was totally unfamiliar. To beexplicit, she was unfamiliar with this expression in that place--that isto say, upon William, though she had seen something like it upon otherpeople, once or twice, in church. 

William's thoughts might have seemed to her as queer as his expression, could she have known them. They were not very definite, however, takingthe form of sweet, vague pictures of the future. These pictures were ofmarried life; that is, married life as William conceived it for himselfand Miss Pratt--something strikingly different from that he had observedas led by his mother and father, or their friends and relatives. In hisrapt mind he beheld Miss Pratt walking beside him "through life, " withher little parasol and her little dog--her exquisite face always liftedplayfully toward his own (with admiration underneath the playfulness), and he heard her voice of silver always rippling "baby-talk" throughoutall the years to come. He saw her applauding his triumphs--though theseremained indefinite in his mind, and he was unable to foreshadow thebusiness or profession which was to provide the amazing mansion (mainlyconservatory) which he pictured as their home. Surrounded by flowers, and maintaining a private orchestra, he saw Miss Pratt and himselfgrowing old together, attaining to such ages as thirty and eventhirty-five, still in perfect harmony, and always either dancing inthe evenings or strolling hand in hand in the moonlight. Sometimes theywould visit the nursery, where curly-headed, rosy cherubs played upon awhite-bear rug in the firelight. These were all boys and ready-made, theyoungest being three years old and without a past. 

They would be beautiful children, happy with their luxurious toys on thebear rug, and they would NEVER be seen in any part of the house exceptthe nursery. Their deportment would be flawless, and--

"WILL-EE!"

The aviator struck a hole in the air; his heart misgave him. Then hecame to earth--a sickening drop, and instantaneous. 

"WILL-EE!"

There was Jane, a figurine in a plastic state and altogetherdisgraceful;--she came up out of the waters and stood before them withfeet of clay, indeed; pedestaled upon the curbstone. 

"Who IS that CURIOUS child?" said Miss Pratt, stopping. 

William shuddered. 

"Was she calling YOU?" Miss Pratt asked, incredulously. 

"Willie, I told you you better take an umbereller, " said Jane, "insteadof papa's cane. " And she added, triumphantly, "Now you see!"

Moving forward, she seemed to have in mind a dreadful purpose; therewas something about her that made William think she intended casually toaccompany him and Miss Pratt. 

"You go home!" he commanded, hoarsely. 

Miss Pratt uttered a little scream of surprise and recognition. "It'syour little sister!" she exclaimed, and then, reverting to her favoriteplayfulness of enunciation, "'Oor ickle sissa!" she added, gaily, asa translation. Jane misunderstood it; she thought Miss Pratt meant "OURlittle sister. "

"Go home!" said William. 

"No'ty, no'ty!" said Miss Pratt, shaking her head. "Me 'fraid oo's ano'ty, no'ty ickle dirl! All datie!"

Jane advanced. "I wish you'd let me carry Flopit for you, " she said. 

Giving forth another gentle scream, Miss Pratt hopped prettily backwardfrom Jane's extended hands. "Oo-oo!" she cried, chidingly. "Mustn'ttouch! P'eshus Flopit all soap-water-wash clean. Ickle dirly allmuddy-nassy! Ickle dirly must doe home, det all soap-water-wash cleanlike NICE ickle sissa. Evabody will love 'oor ickle sissa den, " sheconcluded, turning to William. "Tell 'oor ickle sissa MUS' doe home detsoap-water-wash!"

Jane stared at Miss Pratt with fixed solemnity during the delivery ofthese admonitions, and it was to be seen that they made an impressionupon her. Her mouth slowly opened, but she spake not. An extraordinaryidea had just begun to make itself at home in her mind. It was an ideawhich had been hovering in the neighborhood of that domain ever sinceWilliam's comments upon the conversation of Mr. Genesis, in the morning. 

"Go home!" repeated William, and then, as Jane stood motionless andinarticulate, transfixed by her idea, he said, almost brokenly, to hisdainty companion, "I DON'T know what you'll think of my mother! To letthis child--"

Miss Pratt laughed comfortingly as they started on again. "Isn't mamma'sfault, foolish boy Baxter. Ickle dirlies will det datie!"

The profoundly mortified William glanced back over his shoulder, bestowing upon Jane a look in which bitterness was mingled withapprehension. But she remained where she was, and did not follow. That was a little to be thankful for, and he found some additionalconsolation in believing that Miss Pratt had not caught the frightfulwords, "papa's cane, " at the beginning of the interview. He wasencouraged to this belief by her presently taking from his hand thedecoration in question and examining it with tokens of pleasure. "'Oorpitty walk'-'tick, " she called it, with a tact he failed to suspect. Andso he began to float upward again; glamors enveloped him and the earthfell away. 

He was alone in space with Miss Pratt once more. 

XVII

JANE'S THEORY

The pale end of sunset was framed in the dining-room windows, and Mr. And Mrs. Baxter and the rehabilitated Jane were at the table, whenWilliam made his belated return from the afternoon's excursion. Seatinghimself, he waived his mother's references to the rain, his clothes, andprobable colds, and after one laden glance at Jane denoting a grievanceso elaborate that he despaired of setting it forth in a formal complaintto the Powers--he fell into a state of trance. He took nourishmentautomatically, and roused himself but once during the meal, a patheticencounter with his father resulting from this awakening. 

"Everybody in town seemed to be on the streets, this evening, as Iwalked home, " Mr. Baxter remarked, addressing his wife. "I supposethere's something in the clean air after a rain that brings 'em out. Inoticed one thing, though; maybe it's the way they dress nowadays, butyou certainly don't see as many pretty girls on the streets as thereused to be. "

William looked up absently. "I used to think that, too, " he said, withdreamy condescension, "when I was younger. "

Mr. Baxter stared. 

"Well, I'll be darned!" he said. 

"Papa, papa!" his wife called, reprovingly. 

"When you were younger!" Mr. Baxter repeated, with considerableirritation. "How old d' you think you are?"

"I'm going on eighteen, " said William, firmly. "I know plenty ofcases--cases where--" He paused, relapsing into lethargy. 

"What's the matter with him?" Mr. Baxter inquired, heatedly, of hiswife. 

William again came to life. "I was saying that a person's age isdifferent according to circumstances, " he explained, with dignity, ifnot lucidity. "You take Genesis's father. Well, he was married when hewas sixteen. Then there was a case over in Iowa that lots of peopleknow about and nobody thinks anything of. A young man over there in Iowathat's seventeen years old began shaving when he was thirteen and shavedevery day for four years, and now--"

He was interrupted by his father, who was no longer able to containhimself. "And now I suppose he's got WHISKERS!" he burst forth. "There'san ambition for you! My soul!"

It was Jane who took up the tale. She had been listening with growingexcitement, her eyes fixed piercingly upon William. "He's got a beard!"she cried, alluding not to her brother, but to the fabled Iowan. "Iheard Willie tell ole Mr. Genesis about it. "

"It seems to lie heavily on your mind, " Mr. Baxter said to William. "Isuppose you feel that in the face of such an example, your life betweenthe ages of thirteen and seventeen has been virtually thrown away?"

William had again relapsed, but he roused himself feebly. "Sir?" hesaid. 

"What IS the matter with him?" Mr. Baxter demanded. "Half the timelately he seems to be hibernating, and only responds by a slighttwitching when poked with a stick. The other half of the time he eitherbehaves like I-don't-know-what or talks about children growing whiskersin Iowa! Hasn't that girl left town yet?"

William was not so deep in trance that this failed to stir him. He leftthe table. 

Mrs. Baxter looked distressed, though, as the meal was about concluded, and William had partaken of his share in spite of his dreaminess, shehad no anxieties connected with his sustenance. As for Mr. Baxter, hefelt a little remorse, undoubtedly, but he was also puzzled. So plaina man was he that he had no perception of the callous brutality ofthe words "THAT GIRL" when applied to some girls. He referred to hismystification a little later, as he sat with his evening paper in thelibrary. 

"I don't know what I said to that tetchy boy to hurt him, " he began inan apologetic tone. "I don't see that there was anything too rough forhim to stand in a little sarcasm. He needn't be so sensitive on thesubject of whiskers, it seems to me. "

Mrs. Baxter smiled faintly and shook her head. 

It was Jane who responded. She was seated upon the floor, disportingherself mildly with her paint-box. "Papa, I know what's the matter withWillie, " she said. 

"Do you?" Mr. Baxter returned. "Well, if you make it pretty short, you've got just about long enough to tell us before your bedtime. "

"I think he's married, " said Jane. 

"What!" And her parents united their hilarity. 

"I do think he's married, " Jane insisted, unmoved. "I think he's marriedwith that Miss Pratt. "

"Well, " said her father, "he does seem upset, and it may be that hervisit and the idea of whiskers, coming so close together, is more thanmere coincidence, but I hardly think Willie is married, Jane!"

"Well, then, " she returned, thoughtfully, "he's almost married. I knowthat much, anyway. "

"What makes you think so?"

"Well, because! I KIND of thought he must be married, or anywayssomep'm, when he talked to Mr. Genesis this mornin'. He said he knew howsome people got married in Pennsylvania an' India, an' he said they wereonly seven or eight years old. He said so, an' I heard him; an' he saidthere were eleven people married that were only seventeen, an' this boyin Iowa got a full beard an' got married, too. An' he said Mr. Genesiswas only sixteen when HE was married. He talked all about gettin'married when you're seventeen years old, an' he said how people thoughtit was the best thing could happen. So I just KNOW he's almost married!"

Mr. Baxter chuckled, and Mrs. Baxter smiled, but a shade ofthoughtfulness, a remote anxiety, tell upon the face of the latter. 

"You haven't any other reason, have you, Jane?" she asked. 

"Yes'm, " said Jane, promptly. "An' it's a more reason than any! MissPratt calls you 'mamma' as if you were HER mamma. She does it when shetalks to Willie. "

"Jane!"

"Yes m, I HEARD her. An' Willie said, 'I don't know what you'll thinkabout mother. ' He said, 'I don't know what you'll think about mother, 'to Miss Pratt. "

Mrs. Baxter looked a little startled, and her husband frowned. Janemistook their expressions for incredulity. "They DID, mamma, " sheprotested. "That's just the way they talked to each other. I heard 'emthis afternoon, when Willie had papa's cane. "

"Maybe they were doing it to tease you, if you were with them, " Mr. Baxter suggested. 

"I wasn't with 'em. I was sailin' my boat, an' they came along, an'first they never saw me, an' Willie looked--oh, papa, I wish you'd seenhim!" Jane rose to her feet in her excitement. "His face was so funny, you never saw anything like it! He was walkin' along with it turnedsideways, an' all the time he kept walkin' frontways, he kept his facesideways--like this, papa. Look, papa!" And she gave what she considereda faithful imitation of William walking with Miss Pratt. "Look, papa!This is the way Willie went. He had it sideways so's he could see Miss. Pratt, papa. An' his face was just like this. Look, papa!" She contortedher features in a terrifying manner. "Look, papa!"

"Don't, Jane!" her mother exclaimed. 

"Well, I haf to show papa how Willie looked, don't I?" said Jane, relaxing. "That's just the way he looked. Well, an' then they stoppedan' talked to me, an' Miss Pratt said, 'It's our little sister. '"

"Did she really?" Mrs. Baxter asked, gravely. 

"Yes'm, she did. Soon as she saw who I was, she said, 'Why, it's ourlittle sister!' Only she said it that way she talks--sort of foolish. 'It's our ittle sissy'--somep'm like that, mamma. She said it twice an'told me to go home an' get washed up. An' Miss Pratt told Willie--MissPratt said, 'It isn't mamma's fault Jane's so dirty, ' just like that. She--"

"Are you sure she said 'our little sister'?" said Mrs. Baxter. 

"Why, you can ask Willie! She said it that funny way. 'Our 'ittlesissy'; that's what she said. An' Miss Pratt said, 'Ev'rybody would loveour little sister if mamma washed her in soap an' water!' You can askWillie; that's exackly what Miss Pratt said, an' if you don't believe ityou can ask HER. If you don't want to believe it, why, you can ask--"

"Hush, dear, " said Mrs. Baxter. "All this doesn't mean anything at all, especially such nonsense as Willie's thinking of being married. It'syour bedtime. "

"Well, but MAMMA--"

"Was that all they said?" Mr. Baxter inquired. 

Jane turned to him eagerly. "They said all lots of things like that, papa. They--"

"Nonsense!" Mrs. Baxter in interrupted. "Come, it's bedtime. I'll go upwith you. You mustn't think such nonsense. "

"But, mamma--"

"Come along, Jane!"

Jane was obedient in the flesh, but her spirit was free; her opinionswere her own. Disappointed in the sensation she had expected to produce, she followed her mother out of the room wearing the expression of aperson who says, "You'll SEE--some day when everything's ruined!"

Mr. Baxter, left alone, laughed quietly, lifted his neglected newspaperto obtain the light at the right angle, and then allowed it to languishupon his lap again. Frowning, he began to tap the floor with his shoe. 

He was trying to remember what things were in his head when he wasseventeen, and it was difficult. It seemed to him that he had been asteady, sensible young fellow--really quite a man--at that age. Lookingbackward at the blur of youthful years, the period from sixteen totwenty-five appeared to him as "pretty much all of a piece. " He couldnot recall just when he stopped being a boy; it must have been at aboutfifteen, he thought. 

All at once he sat up stiffly in his chair, and the paper slid from hisknee. He remembered an autumn, long ago, when he had decided to abandonthe educational plans of his parents and become an actor. He had locatedthis project exactly, for it dated from the night of his seventeenthbirthday, when he saw John McCullough play "Virginius. "

Even now Mr. Baxter grew a little red as he remembered the remarkableletter he had written, a few weeks later, to the manager of a passingtheatrical company. He had confidently expected an answer, and had madehis plans to leave town quietly with the company and afterward reassurehis parents by telegraph. In fact, he might have been on the stage atthis moment, if that manager had taken him. Mr. Baxter began to looknervous. 

Still, there is a difference between going on the stage and gettingmarried. "I don't know, though!" Mr. Baxter thought. "And Willie'scertainly not so well balanced in a GENERAL way as I was. " He wishedhis wife would come down and reassure him, though of course it was allnonsense. 

But when Mrs. Baxter came down-stairs she did not reassure him. "Ofcourse Jane's too absurd!" she said. "I don't mean that she 'made itup'; she never does that, and no doubt this little Miss Pratt did sayabout what Jane thought she said. But it all amounts to nothing. "

"Of course!"

"Willie's just going through what several of the other boys about hisage are going through--like Johnnie Watson and Joe Bullitt and WallaceBanks. They all seem to be frantic over her. "

"I caught a glimpse of her the day you had her to tea. She's ratherpretty. "

"Adorably! And perhaps Willie has been just a LITTLE bit more franticthan the others. "

"He certainly seems in a queer state!"

At this his wife's tone became serious. "Do you think he WOULD do ascrazy a thing as that?"

Mr. Baxter laughed. "Well, I don't know what he'd do it ON! I don'tsuppose he has more than a dollar in his possession. "

"Yes, he has, " she returned, quickly. "Day before yesterday there wasa second-hand furniture man here, and I was too busy to see him, butI wanted the storeroom in the cellar cleared out, and I told Willie hecould have whatever the man would pay him for the junk in there, if he'dwatch to see that they didn't TAKE anything. They found some old piecesthat I'd forgotten, underneath things, and altogether the man paidWillie nine dollars and eighty-five cents. "

"But, mercy-me!" exclaimed Mr. Baxter, "the girl may be an idiot, butshe wouldn't run away and marry a boy just barely seventeen on ninedollars and eighty-five cents!"

"Oh no!" said Mrs. Baxter. "At least, I don't THINK so. Of course girlsdo as crazy things as boys sometimes--in their way. I was thinking--"She paused. "Of COURSE there couldn't be anything in it, but it did seema little strange. "

"What did?"

"Why, just before I came down-stairs, Adelia came for the laundry; andI asked her if she'd seen Willie; and she said he'd put on his darksuit after dinner, and he went out through the kitchen, carrying hissuit-case. "

"He did?"

"Of course, " Mrs. Baxter went on, slowly, "I COULDN'T believe he'd dosuch a thing, but he really is in a PREPOSTEROUS way over this littleMiss Pratt, and he DID have that money--"

"By George!" Mr. Baxter got upon his feet. "The way he talked at dinner, I could come pretty near believing he hasn't any more brains LEFT thanto get married on nine dollars and eighty-five cents! I wouldn't put itpast him! By George, I wouldn't!"

"Oh, I don't think he would, " she remonstrated, feebly. "Besides, thelaw wouldn't permit it. "

Mr. Baxter paced the floor. "Oh, I suppose they COULD manage it. Theycould go to some little town and give false ages and--" He broke off. "Adelia was sure he had his suit-case?"

She nodded. "Do you think we'd better go down to the Parchers'? We'djust say we came to call, of course, and if--"

"Get your hat on, " he said. "I don't think there's anything in it atall, but we'd just as well drop down there. It can't HURT anything. "

"Of course, I don't think--" she began. 

"Neither do I, " he interrupted, irascibly. "But with a boy of his agecrazy enough to think he's in love, how do WE know what 'll happen?We're only his parents! Get your hat on. "

But when the uneasy couple found themselves upon the pavement beforethe house of the Parchers, they paused under the shade-trees in thedarkness, and presently decided that it was not necessary to go in. Suddenly their uneasiness had fallen from them. From the porch camethe laughter of several young voices, and then one silvery voice, whichpretended to be that of a tiny child. 

"Oh, s'ame! S'ame on 'oo, big Bruvva Josie-Joe! Mus' be polite to JohnnyJump-up, or tant play wiv May and Lola!"

"That's Miss Pratt, " whispered Mrs. Baxter. "She's talking to JohnnieWatson and Joe Bullitt and May Parcher. Let's go home; it's all right. Of course I knew it would be. "

"Why, certainly, " said Mr. Baxter, as they turned. "Even if Willie wereas crazy as that, the little girl would have more sense. I wouldn't havethought anything of it, if you hadn't told me about the suit-case. Thatlooked sort of queer. "

She agreed that it did, but immediately added that she had thoughtnothing of it. What had seemed more significant to her was William'sinterest in the early marriage of Genesis's father, and in the Iowabeard story, she said. Then she said that it WAS curious about thesuit-case. 

And when they came to their own house again, there was William sittingalone and silent upon the steps of the porch. 

"I thought you'd gone out, Willie, " said his mother, as they pausedbeside him. 

"Ma'am?"

"Adelia said you went out, carrying your suit-case. "

"Oh yes, " he said, languidly. "If you leave clothes at Schwartz's in theevening they have 'em pressed in the morning. You said I looked damp atdinner, so I took 'em over and left 'em there. "

"I see. " Mrs. Baxter followed her husband to the door, but she stoppedon the threshold and called back:

"Don't sit there too long, Willie. "

"Ma'am?"

"The dew is falling and it rained so hard to-day--I'm afraid it might bedamp. "

"Ma'am?"

"Come on, " Mr. Baxter said to his wife. "He's down on the Parchers'porch, not out in front here. Of course he can't hear you. It's threeblocks and a half. "

But William's father was mistaken. Little he knew! William was not uponthe porch of the Parchers, with May Parcher and Joe Bullitt and JohnnieWatson to interfere. He was far from there, in a land where time wasnot. Upon a planet floating in pink mist, and uninhabited--unless oldMr. Genesis and some Hindoo princes and the diligent Iowan may haveestablished themselves in its remoter regions--William was alone withMiss Pratt, in the conservatory. And, after a time, they went together, and looked into the door of a room where an indefinite number of littleboys--all over three years of age--were playing in the firelight upon awhite-bear rug. For, in the roseate gossamer that boys' dreams are madeof, William had indeed entered the married state. 

His condition was growing worse, every day. 

XVIII

THE BIG, FAT LUMMOX

In the morning sunshine, Mrs. Baxter stood at the top of the steps ofthe front porch, addressing her son, who listened impatiently and edgedhimself a little nearer the gate every time he shifted his weight fromone foot to the other. 

"Willie, " she said, "you must really pay some attention to the laws ofhealth, or you'll never live to be an old man. "

"I don't want to live to be an old man, " said William, earnestly. "I'drather do what I please now and die a little sooner. "

"You talk very foolishly, " his mother returned. "Either come back andput on some heavier THINGS or take your overcoat. "

"My overcoat!" William groaned. "They'd think I was a lunatic, carryingan overcoat in August!"

"Not to a picnic, " she said. 

"Mother, it isn't a picnic, I've told you a hunderd times! You thinkit's one those ole-fashion things YOU used to go to--sit on the dampground and eat sardines with ants all over 'em? This isn't anything likethat; we just go out on the trolley to this farm-house and have noondinner, and dance all afternoon, and have supper, and then come home onthe trolley. I guess we'd hardly of got up anything as out o' date as apicnic in honor of Miss PRATT!"

Mrs. Baxter seemed unimpressed. 

"It doesn't matter whether you call it a picnic or not, Willie. It willbe cool on the open trolleycar coming home, especially with only thosewhite trousers on--"

"Ye gods!" he cried. "I've got other things on besides my trousers! Iwish you wouldn't always act as if I was a perfect child! Good heavens!isn't a person my age supposed to know how much clothes to wear?"

"Well, if he is, " she returned, "it's a mere supposition and not foundedon fact. Don't get so excited, Willie, please; but you'll either have togive up the picnic or come in and ch--"

"Change my 'things'!" he wailed. "I can't change my 'things'! I've gotjust twenty minutes to get to May Parcher's--the crowd meets there, andthey're goin' to take the trolley in front the Parchers' at exactly aquarter after 'leven. PLEASE don't keep me any longer, mother--I GOT togo!"

She stepped into the hall and returned immediately. "Here's yourovercoat, Willie. "

His expression was of despair. "They'll think I'm a lunatic and they'llsay so before everybody--and I don't blame 'em! Overcoat on a hot daylike this! Except me, I don't suppose there was ever anybody lived inthe world and got to be going on eighteen years old and had to carry hissilly old overcoat around with him in August--because his mother madehim!"

"Willie, " said Mrs. Baxter, "you don't know how many thousands andthousands of mothers for thousands and thousands of years have kepttheir sons from taking thousands and thousands of colds--just this way!"

He moaned. "Well, and I got to be called a lunatic just because you'renervous, I s'pose. All right!"

She hung it upon his arm, kissed him; and he departed in a desperatemanner. 

However, having worn his tragic face for three blocks, he halted beforea corner drug-store, and permitted his expression to improve as hegazed upon the window display of My Little Sweetheart All-Tobacco CubanCigarettes, the Package of Twenty for Ten Cents. William was not asmoker--that is to say, he had made the usual boyhood experiments, finding them discouraging; and though at times he considered ithumorously man-about-town to say to a smoking friend, "Well, _I_'lltackle one o' your ole coffin-nails, " he had never made a purchaseof tobacco in his life. But it struck him now that it would be ratherdebonair to disport himself with a package of Little Sweethearts uponthe excursion. 

And the name! It thrilled him inexpressibly, bringing a tenderness intohis eyes and a glow into his bosom. He felt that when he should smokea Little Sweetheart it would be a tribute to the ineffable visitor forwhom this party was being given--it would bring her closer to him. Hisyoung brow grew almost stern with determination, for he made up hismind, on the spot, that he would smoke oftener in the future--he wouldbecome a confirmed smoker, and all his life he would smoke My LittleSweetheart All-Tobacco Cuban Cigarettes. 

He entered and managed to make his purchase in a matter-of-fact way, asif he were doing something quite unemotional; then he said to the clerk:

"Oh, by the by--ah--"

The clerk stared. "Well, what else?"

"I mean, " said William, hurriedly, "there's something I wanted to 'tendto, now I happen to be here. I was on my way to take this overcoatto--to get something altered at the tailor's for next winter. 'CourseI wouldn't want it till winter, but I thought I might as well get itDONE. " He paused, laughing carelessly, for greater plausibility. "Ithought he'd prob'ly want lots of time on the job--he's a slow worker, I've noticed--and so I decided I might just as well go ahead and let himget at it. Well, so I was on my way there, but I just noticed I onlygot about six minutes more to get to a mighty important engagement I gotthis morning, and I'd like to leave it here and come by and get it on myway home, this evening. "

"Sure, " said the clerk. "Hang it on that hook inside thep'scription-counter. There's one there already, b'longs to your friend, that young Bullitt fella. He was in here awhile ago and said he wantedto leave his because he didn't have time to take it to be pressed intime for next winter. Then he went on and joined that crowd in Mr. Parcher's yard, around the corner, that's goin' on a trolley-party. Isays, 'I betcher mother maje carry it, ' and he says, 'Oh no. Oh no, ' hesays. 'Honest, I was goin' to get it pressed!' You can hang yours on thesame nail. "

The clerk spoke no more, and went to serve another customer, whileWilliam stared after him a little uneasily. It seemed that here was aman of suspicious nature, though, of course, Joe Bullitt's shallow talkabout getting an overcoat pressed before winter would not have imposedupon anybody. However, William felt strongly that the private life ofthe customers of a store should not be pried into and speculated aboutby employees, and he was conscious of a distaste for this clerk. 

Nevertheless, it was with a lighter heart that he left his overcoatbehind him and stepped out of the side door of the drug-store. Thatbrought him within sight of the gaily dressed young people, about thirtyin number, gathered upon the small lawn beside Mr. Parcher's house. 

Miss Pratt stood among them, in heliotrope and white, Flopit nestling inher arms. She was encircled by girls who were enthusiastically caressingthe bored and blinking Flopit; and when William beheld this charminggroup, his breath became eccentric, his knee-caps became cold andconvulsive, his neck became hot, and he broke into a light perspiration. 

She saw him! The small blonde head and the delirious little fluffy hatabove it shimmered a nod to him. Then his mouth fell unconsciously open, and his eyes grew glassy with the intensity of meaning he put intothe silent response he sent across the picket fence and through theinterstices of the intervening group. Pressing with his elbow upon thepackage of cigarettes in his pocket, he murmured, inaudibly, "My LittleSweetheart, always for you!"--a repetition of his vow that, come whatmight, he would forever remain a loyal smoker of that symbolic brand. Infact, William's mental condition had never shown one moment's turn forthe better since the fateful day of the distracting visitor's arrival. 

Mr. Johnnie Watson and Mr. Joe Bullitt met him at the gate and offeredhim hearty greeting. All bickering and dissension among these three hadpassed. The lady was so wondrous impartial that, as time went on, thesufferers had come to be drawn together, rather than thrust asunder, bytheir common feeling. It had grown to be a bond uniting them; theywere not so much rivals as ardent novices serving a single altar, eachworshiping there without visible gain over the other. Each had even cometo possess, in the eyes of his two fellows, almost a sacredness as asharer in the celestial glamor; they were tender one with another. Theywere in the last stages. 

Johnnie Watson had with him to-day a visitor of his own--a vastlyovergrown person of eighteen, who, at Johnnie's beckoning, abandoneda fair companion of the moment and came forward as William entered thegate. 

"I want to intradooce you to two of my most int'mut friends, George, "said Johnnie, with the anxious gravity of a person about to do somethingimportant and unfamiliar. "Mr. Baxter, let me intradooce my cousin, Mr. Crooper. Mr. Crooper, this is my friend, Mr. Baxter. "

The gentlemen shook hands solemnly, saying, "'M very glad to meet you, " and Johnnie turned to Joe Bullitt. "Mr. Croo--I mean, Mr. Bullitt, let me intradooce my friend, Mr. Crooper--Imean my cousin, Mr. Crooper. Mr. Crooper is a cousin of mine. "

"Glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Crooper, " said Joe. "I supposeyou're a cousin of Johnnie's, then?"

"Yep, " said Mr. Crooper, becoming more informal. "Johnnie wrote meto come over for this shindig, so I thought I might as well come. "He laughed loudly, and the others laughed with the same heartiness. "Yessir, " he added, "I thought I might as well come, 'cause I'm prettyapt to be on hand if there's anything doin'!"

"Well, that's right, " said William, and while they all laughed again, Mr. Crooper struck his cousin a jovial blow upon the back. 

"Hi, ole sport!" he cried, "I want to meet that Miss Pratt before westart. The car'll be along pretty soon, and I got her picked for thegirl I'm goin' to sit by. "

The laughter of William and Joe Bullitt, designed to express cordiality, suddenly became flaccid and died. If Mr. Crooper had been a sensitiveperson he might have perceived the chilling disapproval in theirglances, for they had just begun to be most unfavorably impressed withhim. The careless loudness--almost the notoriety--with which he haduttered Miss Pratt's name, demanding loosely to be presented to her, regardless of the well-known law that a lady must first express somewish in such matters--these were indications of a coarse nature sureto be more than uncongenial to Miss Pratt. Its presence might make thewhole occasion distasteful to her--might spoil her day. Both William andJoe Bullitt began to wonder why on earth Johnnie Watson didn't haveany more sense than to invite such a big, fat lummox of a cousin to theparty. 

This severe phrase of theirs, almost simultaneous in the two minds, wasnot wholly a failure as a thumb-nail sketch of Mr. George Crooper. Andyet there was the impressiveness of size about him, especially abouthis legs and chin. At seventeen and eighteen growth is still going on, sometimes in a sporadic way, several parts seeming to have sproutedfaster than others. Often the features have not quite settled downtogether in harmony, a mouth, for instance, appearing to have gainedsuch a lead over the rest of a face, that even a mother may fear itcan never be overtaken. Voices, too, often seem misplaced; one hears, outside the door, the bass rumble of a sinister giant, and a mild boy, thin as a cricket, walks in. The contrary was George Crooper's case;his voice was an unexpected piping tenor, half falsetto and frequentlygirlish--as surprising as the absurd voice of an elephant. 

He had the general outwardness of a vast and lumpy child. His chin hadso distanced his other features that his eyes, nose, and brow seemedalmost baby-like in comparison, while his mountainous legs were thegreat part of the rest of him. He was one of those huge, bottle-shapedboys who are always in motion in spite of their cumbersomeness. Hisgestures were continuous, though difficult to interpret as bearingupon the subject of his equally continuous conversation; and under allcircumstances he kept his conspicuous legs incessantly moving, whetherhe was going anywhere or remaining in comparatively one spot. 

His expression was pathetically offensive, the result of his blandconfidence in the audible opinions of a small town whereof his fatherwas the richest inhabitant--and the one thing about him, even moreobvious than his chin, his legs, and his spectacular taste in flannels, was his perfect trust that he was as welcome to every one as he was tohis mother. This might some day lead him in the direction of great pain, but on the occasion of the "subscription party" for Miss Pratt it gavehim an advantage. 

"When do I get to meet that cutie?" he insisted, as Johnnie Watson movedbackward from the cousinly arm, which threatened further flailing. "Youintradooced me to about seven I can't do much FOR, but I want to get thehowdy business over with this Miss Pratt, so I and she can get thingsstarted. I'm goin' to keep her busy all day!"

"Well, don't be in such a hurry, " said Johnnie, uneasily. "You can meether when we get out in the country--if I get a chance, George. "

"No, sir!" George protested, jovially. "I guess you're sad birds over inthis town, but look out! When I hit a town it don't take long till theyall hear there's something doin'! You know how I am when I getstarted, Johnnie!" Here he turned upon William, tucking his fat armaffectionately through William's thin one. "Hi, sport! Ole Johnnie's soslow, YOU toddle me over and get me fixed up with this Miss Pratt, andI'll tell her you're the real stuff--after we get engaged!"

He was evidently a true cloud-compeller, this horrible George. 

XIX

"I DUNNO WHY IT IS"

William extricated his arm, huskily muttering words which were lost inthe general outcry, "Car's coming!" The young people poured out throughthe gate, and, as the car stopped, scrambled aboard. For a momenteverything was hurried and confused. William struggled anxiously to pushthrough to Miss Pratt and climb up beside her, but Mr. George Croopermade his way into the crowd in a beaming, though bull-like manner, and afat back in a purple-and-white "blazer" flattened William's nose, whileponderous heels damaged William's toes; he was shoved back, and justmanaged to clamber upon the foot-board as the car started. The friendlyhand of Joe Bullitt pulled him to a seat, and William found himselfrubbing his nose and sitting between Joe and Johnnie Watson, directlybehind the dashing Crooper and Miss Pratt. Mr. Crooper had already takenFlopit upon his lap. 

"Dogs are always crazy 'bout me, " they heard him say, for his high voicewas but too audible over all other sounds. "Dogs and chuldren. I dunnowhy it is, but they always take to me. My name's George Crooper, Third, Johnnie Watson's cousin. He was tryin' to intradooce me before the carcame along, but he never got the chance. I guess as this shindig'sfor you, and I'm the only other guest from out o' town, we'll have tointradooce ourselves--the two guests of honor, as it were. "

Miss Pratt laughed her silvery laugh, murmured politely, and turned nofreezing glance upon her neighbor. Indeed, it seemed that she was farfrom regarding him with the distaste anticipated by William and JoeBullitt. "Flopit look so toot an' tunnin', " she was heard to remark. "Flopit look so 'ittle on dray, big, 'normous man's lap. "

Mr. Crooper laughed deprecatingly. "He does look kind of small comparedwith the good ole man that's got charge of him, now! Well, I always wasa good deal bigger than the fellas I went with. I dunno why it is, butI was always kind of quicker, too, as it were--and the strongest in anycrowd I ever got with. I'm kind of musclebound, I guess, but I don't letthat interfere with my quickness any. Take me in an automobile, now--Igot a racin'-car at home--and I keep my head better than most people do, as it were. I can kind of handle myself better; I dunno why it is. Mybrains seem to work better than other people's, that's all it is. Idon't mean that I got more sense, or anything like that; it's just theway my brains work; they kind of put me at an advantage, as it were. Well, f'rinstance, if I'd been livin' here in this town and joined inwith the crowd to get up this party, well, it would of been done a gooddeal diff'rent. I won't say better, but diff'rent. That's always theway with me if I go into anything, pretty soon I'm running the wholeshebang; I dunno why it is. The other people might try to run it theirway for a while, but pretty soon you notice 'em beginning to step outof the way for good ole George. I dunno why it is, but that's the way itgoes. Well, if I'd been running THIS party I'd of had automobiles to goout in, not a trolley-car where you all got to sit together--and I'dof sent over home for my little racer and I'd of taken you out in hermyself. I wish I'd of sent for it, anyway. We could of let the rest goout in the trolley, and you and I could of got off by ourselves: I'dlike you to see that little car. Well, anyway, I bet you'd of seensomething pretty different and a whole lot better if I'd of come over tothis town in time to get up this party for you!"

"For US, " Miss Pratt corrected him, sunnily. 

"Bofe strangers--party for us two--all bofe!" And she gave him one ofher looks. 

Mr. Crooper flushed with emotion; he was annexed; he became serious. "Say, " he said, "that's a mighty smooth hat you got on. " And he touchedthe fluffy rim of it with his forefinger. His fat shoulders leanedtoward her yearningly. 

"We'd cert'nly of had a lot better time sizzin' along in that littleracer I got, " he said. "I'd like to had you see how I handle that littlecar. Girls over home, they say they like to go out with me just to watchthe way I handle her; they say it ain't so much just the ride, but morethe way I handle that little car. I dunno why it is, but that's whatthey say. That's the way I do anything I make up my mind to tackle, though. I don't try to tackle everything--there's lots o' things Iwouldn't take enough interest in 'em, as it were--but just lemme make upmy mind once, and it's all off; I dunno why it is. There was a brakemanon the train got kind of fresh: he didn't know who I was. Well, Ijust put my hand on his shoulder and pushed him down in his seat likethis"--he set his hand upon Miss Pratt's shoulder. "I didn't want to hithim, because there was women and chuldren in the car, so I just shovedmy face up close to him, like this. 'I guess you don't know how muchstock my father's got in this road, ' I says. Did he wilt? Well, youought of seen that brakeman when I got through tellin' him who I was!"

"Nassy ole brateman!" said Miss Pratt, with unfailing sympathy. 

Mr. Crooper's fat hand, as if unconsciously, gave Miss Pratt's delicateshoulder a little pat in reluctant withdrawal. "Well, that's the waywith me, " he said. "Much as I been around this world, nobody ever triedto put anything over on me and got away with it. They always come outthe little end o' the horn; I dunno why it is. Say, that's a mightysmooth locket you got on the end o' that chain, there. " And againstretching forth his hand, in a proprietor-like way, he began to examinethe locket. 

Three hot hearts, just behind, pulsated hatred toward him; for JohnnieWatson had perceived his error, and his sentiments were now linkedto those of Joe Bullitt and William. The unhappiness of these threehelpless spectators was the more poignant because not only were theywitnesses of the impression of greatness which George Crooper wasobviously producing upon Miss Pratt, but they were unable to preventthemselves from being likewise impressed. 

They were not analytical; they dumbly accepted George at his own rating, not even being able to charge him with lack of modesty. Did he notalways accompany his testimonials to himself with his deprecatingfalsetto laugh and "I dunno why it is, " an official disclaimer of merit, "as it were"? Here was a formidable candidate, indeed--a traveler, a manof the world, with brains better and quicker than other people's brains;an athlete, yet knightly--he would not destroy even a brakeman in thepresence of women and children--and, finally, most enviable and deadly, the owner and operator of a "little racer"! All this glitter was not farshort of overpowering; and yet, though accepting it as fact, the woefulthree shared the inconsistent belief that in spite of everything Georgewas nothing but a big, fat lummox. For thus they even rather loudlywhispered of him--almost as if hopeful that Miss Pratt, and mayhapGeorge himself, might overhear. 

Impotent their seething! The overwhelming Crooper pursued his conqueringway. He leaned more and more toward the magnetic girl, his growingtenderness having that effect upon him, and his head inclining sofar that his bedewed brow now and then touched the fluffy hat. He wasconstitutionally restless, but his movements never ended by placing agreater distance between himself and Miss Pratt, though they sometimesdiscommoded Miss Parcher, who sat at the other side of him--a side ofhim which appeared to be without consciousness. He played naively withMiss Pratt's locket and with the filmy border of her collar; he flickedhis nose for some time with her little handkerchief, loudly sniffing itsscent; and finally he became interested in a ring she wore, removed it, and tried unsuccessfully to place it upon one of his own fingers. 

"I've worn lots o' girls' rings on my watch-fob. I'd let 'em wear mineon a chain or something. I guess they like to do that with me, " he said. "I dunno why it is. "

At this subtle hint the three unfortunates held their breath, and thenlost it as the lovely girl acquiesced in the horrible exchange. As forWilliam, life was of no more use to him. Out of the blue heaven of thatbright morning's promise had fallen a pall, draping his soul in blackand purple. He had been horror-stricken when first the pudgy finger ofGeorge Crooper had touched the fluffy edge of that sacred little hat;then, during George's subsequent pawings and leanings, William felt thathe must either rise and murder or go mad. But when the exchange of ringswas accomplished, his spirit broke and even resentment oozed away. For atime there was no room in him for anything except misery. 

Dully, William's eyes watched the fat shoulders hitching and twitching, while the heavy arms flourished in gesture and in further pawings. Again and again were William's ears afflicted with, "I dunno why it is, "following upon tribute after tribute paid by Mr. Crooper to himself, andreceived with little cries of admiration and sweet child-words on thepart of Miss Pratt. It was a long and accursed ride. 

XX

SYDNEY CARTON

At the farm-house where the party were to dine, Miss Pratt with joydiscovered a harmonium in the parlor, and, seating herself, with all thegirls, Flopit, and Mr. George Crooper gathered around her, she playedan accompaniment, while George, in a thin tenor of detestable sweetness, sang "I'm Falling in Love with Some One. "

His performance was rapturously greeted, especially by the accompanist. "Oh, wunnerfulest Untle Georgiecums!" she cried, for that was now thegentleman's name. "If Johnnie McCormack hear Untle Georgiecums hego shoot umself dead--Bang!" She looked round to where three figureshovered morosely in the rear. "Tum on, sin' chorus, Big BruvvaJosie-Joe, Johnny Jump-up, an' Ickle Boy Baxter. All over adain, UntleGeorgiecums! Boys an' dirls all sin' chorus. Tummence!"

And so the heartrending performance continued until it was stopped byWallace Banks, the altruistic and perspiring youth who had charge ofthe subscription-list for the party, and the consequent collection ofassessments. This entitled Wallace to look haggard and to act as masterof ceremonies. He mounted a chair. 

"Ladies and gentlemen, " he bellowed, "I want to say--that is--ah--I amrequested to announce t that before dinner we're all supposed to take awalk around the farm and look at things, as this is supposed to be kindof a model farm or supposed to be something like that. There's a Swedishlady named Anna going to show us around. She's out in the yard waiting, so please follow her to inspect the farm. "

To inspect a farm was probably the least of William's desires. He wishedonly to die in some quiet spot and to have Miss Pratt told about it inwords that would show her what she had thrown away. But he followedwith the others, in the wake of the Swedish lady named Anna, and as theystood in the cavernous hollow of the great barn he found his conditionsuddenly improved. 

Miss Pratt turned to him unexpectedly and placed Flopit in his arms. "Keep p'eshus Flopit cozy, " she whispered. "Flopit love ole friendsbest!"

William's heart leaped, while a joyous warmth spread all over him. Andthough the execrable lummox immediately propelled Miss Pratt forward--byher elbow--to hear the descriptive remarks of the Swedish lady namedAnna, William's soul remained uplifted and entranced. She had not said"like"; she had said, "Flopit LOVE ole friends best"! William pressedforward valiantly, and placed himself as close as possible upon theright of Miss Pratt, the lummox being upon her left. A moment later, William wished that he had remained in the rear. 

This was due to the unnecessary frankness of the Swedish ladynamed Anna, who was briefly pointing out the efficiency of variousagricultural devices. Her attention being diverted by some effusions ofpride on the part of a passing hen, she thought fit to laugh and say:

"She yust laid egg. "

William shuddered. This grossness in the presence of Miss Pratt wasunthinkable. His mind refused to deal with so impossible a situation; hecould not accept it as a fact that such words had actually been utteredin such a presence. And yet it was the truth; his incredulous earsstill sizzled. "She yust laid egg!" His entire skin became flushed; hisaverted eyes glazed themselves with shame. 

He was not the only person shocked by the ribaldry of the Swedish ladynamed Anna. Joe Bullitt and Johnnie Watson, on the outskirts of thegroup, went to Wallace Banks, drew him aside, and, with feverisheloquence, set his responsibilities before him. It was his duty, theyurged, to have an immediate interview with this free-spoken Anna andinstruct her in the proprieties. Wallace had been almost as horrified asthey by her loose remark, but he declined the office they proposed forhim, offering, however, to appoint them as a committee with authorityin the matter--whereupon they retorted with unreasonable indignation, demanding to know what he took them for. 

Unconscious of the embarrassment she had caused in these severalmasculine minds, the Swedish lady named Anna led the party onward, continuing her agricultural lecture. William walked mechanically, hiseyes averted and looking at no one. And throughout this agony he wasburningly conscious of the blasphemed presence of Miss Pratt beside him. 

Therefore, it was with no little surprise, when the party came out ofthe barn, that William beheld Miss Pratt, not walking at his side, buton the contrary, sitting too cozily with George Crooper upon a fallentree at the edge of a peach-orchard just beyond the barn-yard. It wasMiss Parcher who had been walking beside him, for the truant couple hadmade their escape at the beginning of the Swedish lady's discourse. 

In vain William murmured to himself, "Flopit love ole friends best. "Purple and black again descended upon his soul, for he could notdisguise from himself the damnatory fact that George had flitted withthe lady, while he, wretched William, had been permitted to take care ofthe dog!

A spark of dignity still burned within him. He strode to the barn-yardfence, and, leaning over it, dropped Flopit rather brusquely at hismistress's feet. Then, without a word even without a look--Williamwalked haughtily away, continuing his stern progress straight throughthe barn-yard gate, and thence onward until he found himself in solitudeupon the far side of a smoke-house, where his hauteur vanished. 

Here, in the shade of a great walnut-tree which sheltered the littlebuilding, he gave way--not to tears, certainly, but to faint murmuringsand little heavings under impulses as ancient as young love itself. Itis to be supposed that William considered his condition a lonely one, but if all the seventeen-year-olds who have known such halfhours couldhave shown themselves to him then, he would have fled from the merehorror of billions. Alas! he considered his sufferings a new inventionin the world, and there was now inspired in his breast a monologue soeloquently bitter that it might deserve some such title as A PassionBeside the Smoke-house. During the little time that William spent inthis sequestration he passed through phases of emotion which would havekept an older man busy for weeks and left him wrecked at the end ofthem. 

William's final mood was one of beautiful resignation with a kick init; that is, he nobly gave her up to George and added irresistibly thatGeorge was a big, fat lummox! Painting pictures, such as the billionsof other young sufferers before him have painted, William saw himselfa sad, gentle old bachelor at the family fireside, sometimes making thesacrifice of his reputation so that SHE and the children might neverknow the truth about George; and he gave himself the solace of a fiercescene or two with George: "Remember, it is for them, not you--youTHING!"

After this human little reaction he passed to a higher field of romance. He would die for George and then she would bring the little boy she hadnamed William to the lonely headstone--Suddenly William saw himself inhis true and fitting character--Sydney Carton! He had lately read A Taleof Two Cities, immediately re-reading until, as he would have said, he "knew it by heart"; and even at the time he had seen resemblancesbetween himself and the appealing figure of Carton. Now that thesympathy between them was perfected by Miss Pratt's preference foranother, William decided to mount the scaffold in place of GeorgeCrooper. The scene became actual to him, and, setting one foot upon atin milk-pail which some one had carelessly left beside the smoke-house, he lifted his eyes to the pitiless blue sky and unconsciously assumedthe familiar attitude of Carton on the steps of the guillotine. He spokealoud those great last words:

"It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is afar, far better rest that I go to--"

A whiskered head on the end of a long, corrugated red neck protrudedfrom the smokehouse door. 

"What say?" it inquired, huskily. 

"Nun-nothing!" stammered William. 

Eyes above whiskers became fierce. "You take your feet off thatmilk-bucket. Say! This here's a sanitary farm. 'Ain't you got any moresense 'n to go an'--"

But William had abruptly removed his foot and departed. 

He found the party noisily established in the farm-house at two longtables piled with bucolic viands already being violently depleted. Johnnie Watson had kept a chair beside himself vacant for William. Johnnie was in no frame of mind to sit beside any "chattering girl, "and he had protected himself by Joe Bullitt upon his right and the emptyseat upon his left. William took it, and gazed upon the nearer foodswith a slight renewal of animation. 

He began to eat; he continued to eat; in fact, he did well. So did histwo comrades. Not that the melancholy of these three was dispersed--farfrom it! With ineffaceable gloom they ate chicken, both white meat anddark, drumsticks, wishbones, and livers; they ate corn-on-the-cob, manyears, and fried potatoes and green peas and string-beans; they ate peachpreserves and apricot preserves and preserved pears; they ate biscuitswith grape jelly and biscuits with crabapple jelly; they ate apple sauceand apple butter and apple pie. They ate pickles, both cucumber picklesand pickles made of watermelon rind; they ate pickled tomatoes, pickledpeppers, also pickled onions. They ate lemon pie. 

At that, they were no rivals to George Crooper, who was a real eater. Love had not made his appetite ethereal to-day, and even the attendingSwedish lady named Anna felt some apprehension when it came to Georgeand the gravy, though she was accustomed to the prodigies performed inthis line by the robust hands on the farm. George laid waste his sectionof the table, and from the beginning he allowed himself scarce timeto say, "I dunno why it is. " The pretty companion at his side at firstgazed dumfounded; then, with growing enthusiasm for what promised to bea really magnificent performance, she began to utter little ejaculationsof wonder and admiration. With this music in his ears, George outdidhimself. He could not resist the temptation to be more and moreastonishing as a heroic comedian, for these humors sometimes come uponvain people at country dinners. 

George ate when he had eaten more than he needed; he ate long afterevery one understood why he was so vast; he ate on and on sheerly asa flourish--as a spectacle. He ate even when he himself began tounderstand that there was daring in what he did, for his was a toreadorspirit so long as he could keep bright eyes fastened upon him. 

Finally, he ate to decide wagers made upon his gorging, though at timesduring this last period his joviality deserted him. Anon his damp browwould be troubled, and he knew moments of thoughtfulness. 

XXI

MY LITTLE SWEETHEARTS

When George did stop, it was abruptly, during one of these intervals ofsobriety, and he and Miss Pratt came out of the house together ratherquietly, joining one of the groups of young people chatting withafter-dinner languor under the trees. However, Mr. Crooper began torevive presently, in the sweet air of outdoors, and, observing someof the more flashing gentlemen lighting cigarettes, he was moved tolaughter. He had not smoked since his childhood--having then been bondedthrough to twenty-one with a pledge of gold--and he feared that thesesmoking youths might feel themselves superior. Worse, Miss Pratt mightbe impressed, therefore he laughed in scorn, saying:

"Burnin' up ole trash around here, I expect!" He sniffed searchingly. "Somebody's set some ole rags on fire. " Then, as in discovery, he cried, "Oh no, only cigarettes!"

Miss Pratt, that tactful girl, counted four smokers in the group abouther, and only one abstainer, George. She at once defended the smokers, for it is to be feared that numbers always had weight with her. "Oh, butcigarettes is lubly smell!" she said. "Untle Georgiecums maybe be too'ittle boy for smokings!"

This archness was greeted loudly by the smokers, and Mr. Crooper wasput upon his mettle. He spoke too quickly to consider whether or no thefacts justified his assertion. "Me? I don't smoke paper and ole carpets. I smoke cigars!"

He had created the right impression, for Miss Pratt clapped her hands. "Oh, 'plendid! Light one, Untle Georgiecums! Light one ever 'n' ever soquick! P'eshus Flopit an' me we want see dray, big, 'normous man smokedray, big, 'normous cigar!"

William and Johnnie Watson, who had been hovering morbidly, unable toresist the lodestone, came nearer, Johnnie being just in time to hearhis cousin's reply. 

"I--I forgot my cigar-case. "

Johnnie's expression became one of biting skepticism. "What you talkin'about, George? Didn't you promise Uncle George you'd never smoke tillyou're of age, and Uncle George said he'd give you a thousand dollars onyour twenty-first birthday? What 'd you say about your 'cigar-case'?"

George felt that he was in a tight place, and the lovely eyes of MissPratt turned upon him questioningly. He could not flush, for he wasalready so pink after his exploits with unnecessary nutriment that morepinkness was impossible. He saw that the only safety for him lay inboisterous prevarication. "A thousand dollars!" he laughed loudly. "Ithought that was real money when I was ten years old! It didn't stand inMY way very long, I guess! Good ole George wanted his smoke, and he wentafter it! You know how I am, Johnnie, when I go after anything. I beensmokin' cigars I dunno how long!" Glancing about him, his eye becamereassured; it was obvious that even Johnnie had accepted this airystatement as the truth, and to clinch plausibility he added: "When Ismoke, I smoke! I smoke cigars straight along--light one right on thestub of the other. I only wish I had some with me, because I miss 'emafter a meal. I'd give a good deal for something to smoke right now! Idon't mean cigarettes; I don't want any paper--I want something that'sall tobacco!"

William's pale, sad face showed a hint of color. With a pang heremembered the package of My Little Sweetheart All-Tobacco CubanCigarettes (the Package of Twenty for Ten Cents) which still reposed, untouched, in the breast pocket of his coat. His eyes smarted a littleas he recalled the thoughts and hopes that had accompanied the purchase;but he thought, "What would Sydney Carton do?"

William brought forth the package of My Little Sweetheart All-TobaccoCuban Cigarettes and placed it in the large hand of George Crooper. Andthis was a noble act, for William believed that George really wished tosmoke. "Here, " he said, "take these; they're all tobacco. I'm goin' toquit smokin', anyway. " And, thinking of the name, he added, gently, witha significance lost upon all his hearers, "I'm sure you ought to have'em instead of me. "

Then he went away and sat alone upon the fence. 

"Light one, light one!" cried Miss Pratt. "Ev'ybody mus' be happy, an'dray, big, 'normous man tan't be happy 'less he have his all-tobattosmote. Light it, light it!"

George drew as deep a breath as his diaphragm, strangely oppressed sincedinner, would permit, and then bravely lit a Little Sweetheart. Theremust have been some valiant blood in him, for, as he exhaled the smoke, he covered a slight choking by exclaiming, loudly: "THAT'S good! That'sthe ole stuff! That's what I was lookin' for!"

Miss Pratt was entranced. "Oh, 'plendid!" she cried, watching him withfascinated eyes. "Now take dray, big, 'normous puffs! Take dray, big, 'NORMOUS puffs!"

George took great, big, enormous puffs. 

She declared that she loved to watch men smoke, and William's heart, ashe sat on the distant fence, was wrung and wrung again by the vision ofher playful ecstasies. But when he saw her holding what was left of thefirst Little Sweetheart for George to light a second at its expiringspark, he could not bear it. He dropped from the fence and moped away tobe out of sight once more. This was his darkest hour. 

Studiously avoiding the vicinity of the smokehouse, he sought the littleorchard where he had beheld her sitting with George; and there he sathimself in sorrowful reverie upon the selfsame fallen tree. How longhe remained there is uncertain, but he was roused by the sound of musicwhich came from the lawn before the farmhouse. Bitterly he smiled, remembering that Wallace Banks had engaged Italians with harp, violin, and flute, promising great things for dancing on a fresh-clipped lawn--aturf floor being no impediment to seventeen's dancing. Music! To see herwhirling and smiling sunnily in the fat grasp of that dancing bear! Hewould stay in this lonely orchard; SHE would not miss him. 

But though he hated the throbbing music and the sound of the laughingvoices that came to him, he could not keep away--and when he reached thelawn where the dancers were, he found Miss Pratt moving rhythmically inthe thin grasp of Wallace Banks. Johnnie Watson approached, and spoke ina low tone, tinged with spiteful triumph. 

"Well, anyway, ole fat George didn't get the first dance with her! She'sthe guest of honor, and Wallace had a right to it because he did all thework. He came up to 'em and ole fat George couldn't say a thing. Wallacejust took her right away from him. George didn't say anything at all, but I s'pose after this dance he'll be rushin' around again and nobodyelse 'll have a chance to get near her the rest of the afternoon. Mymother told me I ought to invite him over here, out I had no businessto do it; he don't know the first principles of how to act in a town hedon't live in!"

"Where'd he go?" William asked, listlessly, for Mr. Crooper was nowherein sight. 

"I don't know--he just walked off without sayin' anything. But he'll beback, time this dance is over, never you fear, and he'll grab her againand--What's the matter with Joe?"

Joseph Bullitt had made his appearance at a corner of the house, somedistance from where they stood. His face was alert under the impulse ofstrong excitement, and he beckoned fiercely. "Come here!" And, when theyhad obeyed, "He's around back of the house by a kind of shed, " said Joe. "I think something's wrong. Come on, I'll show him to you. "

But behind the house, whither they followed him in vague, strange hope, he checked them. "LOOK THERE!" he said. 

His pointing finger was not needed. Sounds of paroxysm drew theirattention sufficiently--sounds most poignant, soul-rending, andlugubrious. William and Johnnie perceived the large person of Mr. Crooper; he was seated upon the ground, his back propped obliquelyagainst the smoke-house, though this attitude was not maintainedconstantly. 

Facing him, at a little distance, a rugged figure in homely garmentsstood leaning upon a hoe and regarding George with a cold interest. Theapex of this figure was a volcanic straw hat, triangular in profile andconed with an open crater emitting reddish wisps, while below thehat were several features, but more whiskers, at the top of a long, corrugated red neck of sterling worth. A husky voice issued from thewhiskers, addressing George. 

"I seen you!" it said. "I seen you eatin'! This here farm is supposed tobe a sanitary farm, and you'd ought of knew better. Go it, doggone you!Go it!"

George complied. And three spectators, remaining aloof, but watchingzealously, began to feel their lost faith in Providence returning intothem; their faces brightened slowly, and without relapse. It was avisible thing how the world became fairer and better in their eyesduring that little while they stood there. And William saw that hisLittle Sweethearts had been an inspired purchase, after all; they haddelivered the final tap upon a tottering edifice. George's deeds atdinner had unsettled, but Little Sweethearts had overthrown--and nowthere was awful work among the ruins, to an ironical accompaniment ofmusic from the front yard, where people danced in heaven's sunshine!

This accompaniment came to a stop, and Johnnie Watson jumped. He seizedeach of his companions by a sleeve and spoke eagerly, his eyes glowingwith a warm and brotherly light. "Here!" he cried. "We better get aroundthere--this looks like it was goin' to last all afternoon. Joe, youget the next dance with her, and just about time the music slows up youdance her around so you can stop right near where Bill will be standin', so Bill can get her quick for the dance after that. Then, Bill, you dothe same for me, and I'll do the same for Joe again, and then, Joe, youdo it for Bill again, and then Bill for me--and so on. If we go in rightnow and work together we can crowd the rest out, and there won't anybodyelse get to dance with her the whole day! Come on quick!"

United in purpose, the three ran lightly to the dancing-lawn, and Mr. Bullitt was successful, after a little debate, in obtaining the nextdance with the lovely guest of the day. "I did promise big UntleGeorgiecums, " she said, looking about her. 

"Well, I don't think he'll come, " said Joe. "That is, I'm pretty sure hewon't. "

A shade fell upon the exquisite face. "No'ty. Bruvva Josie-Joe! The MenALWAYS tum when Lola promises dances. Mustn't be rude!"

"Well--" Joe began, when he was interrupted by the Swedish lady namedAnna, who spoke to them from the steps of the house. Of the merrymakersthey were the nearest. 

"Dot pick fella, " said Anna, "dot one dot eats--we make him in apetroom. He holler! He tank he neet some halp. "

"Does he want a doctor?" Joe asked. 

"Doctor? No! He want make him in a amyoulance for hospital!"

"I'll go look at him, " Johnnie Watson volunteered, running up. "He's mycousin, and I guess I got to take the responsibility. "

Miss Pratt paid the invalid the tribute of one faintly commiseratingglance toward the house. "Well, " she said, "if people would rather eattoo much than dance!" She meant "dance with ME!" though she thoughtit prettier not to say so. "Come on, Bruvva Josie-Joe!" she cried, joyously. 

And a little later Johnnie Watson approached her where she stood witha restored and refulgent William, about to begin the succeeding dance. Johnnie dropped into her hand a ring, receiving one in return. "Ithought I better GET it, " he said, offering no further explanation. "I'll take care of his until we get home. He's all right, " said Johnnie, and then perceiving a sudden advent of apprehension upon the sensitivebrow of William, he went on reassuringly: "He's doin' as well as anybodycould expect; that is--after the crazy way he DID! He's always beenconsidered the dumbest one in all our relations--never did know howto act. I don't mean he's exactly not got his senses, or ought to bewatched, anything like that--and of course he belongs to an awfulgood family--but he's just kind of the black sheep when it comes tointelligence, or anything like that. I got him as comfortable as aperson could be, and they're givin' him hot water and mustard and stuff, but what he needs now is just to be kind of quiet. It'll do him a lot o'good, " Johnnie concluded, with a spark in his voice, "to lay there therest of the afternoon and get quieted down, kind of. "

"You don't think there's any--" William began, and, after a pause, continued--"any hope--of his getting strong enough to come out and danceafterwhile?"

Johnnie shook his head. "None in the world!" he said, conclusively. "Thebest we can do for him is to let him entirely alone till after supper, and then ask nobody to sit on the back seat of the trolley-car goin'home, so we can make him comfortable back there, and let him kind ofstretch out by himself. "

Then gaily tinkled harp, gaily sang flute and violin! Over thegreensward William lightly bore his lady, while radiant was the clearedsky above the happy dancers. William's fingers touched those delicatefingers; the exquisite face smiled rosily up to him; undreamablesweetness beat rhythmically upon his glowing ears; his feet moved in arhapsody of companionship with hers. They danced and danced and danced!

Then Joe danced with her, while William and Johnnie stood with handsupon each other's shoulders and watched, mayhap with longing, butwithout spite; then Johnnie danced with her while Joe and Williamwatched--and then William danced with her again. 

So passed the long, ineffable afternoon away--ah, Seventeen!

". .. 'Jav a good time at the trolley-party?" the clerk in the cornerdrug-store inquired that evening. 

"Fine!" said William, taking his overcoat from the hook where he hadleft it. 

"How j' like them Little Sweethearts I sold you?"

"FINE!" said William. 

XXII

FORESHADOWINGS

Now the last rose had blown; the dandelion globes were long since on thewind; gladioli and golden-glow and salvia were here; the season movedtoward asters and the goldenrod. This haloed summer still idled onits way, yet all the while sped quickly; like some languid lady in anelevator. 

There came a Sunday--very hot. 

Mr. And Mrs. Baxter, having walked a scorched half-mile from church, drooped thankfully into wicker chairs upon their front porch, thoughJane, who had accompanied them, immediately darted away, swinging herhat by its ribbon and skipping as lithesomely as if she had just comeforth upon a cool morning. 

"I don't know how she does it!" her father moaned, glancing after herand drying his forehead temporarily upon a handkerchief. "That wouldmerely kill me dead, after walking in this heat. "

Then, for a time, the two were content to sit in silence, noddingto occasional acquaintances who passed in the desultory after-churchprocession. Mr. Baxter fanned himself with sporadic little bursts ofenergy which made his straw hat creak, and Mrs. Baxter sighed with theheat, and gently rocked her chair. 

But as a group of five young people passed along the other side of thestreet Mr. Baxter abruptly stopped fanning himself, and, following thedirection of his gaze, Mrs. Baxter ceased to rock. In half-completedattitudes they leaned slightly forward, sharing one of those pauses ofparents who unexpectedly behold their offspring. 

"My soul!" said William's father. "Hasn't that girl gone home YET?"

"He looks pale to me, " Mrs. Baxter murmured, absently. "I don't think heseems at all well, lately. "

During seventeen years Mr. Baxter had gradually learned not to protestanxieties of this kind, unless he desired to argue with no prospectof ever getting a decision. "Hasn't she got any HOME?" he demanded, testily. "Isn't she ever going to quit visiting the Parchers and letpeople have a little peace?"

Mrs. Baxter disregarded this outburst as he had disregarded her remarkabout William's pallor. "You mean Miss Pratt?" she inquired, dreamily, her eyes following the progress of her son. "No, he really doesn't lookwell at all. "

"Is she going to visit the Parchers all summer?" Mr. Baxter insisted. 

"She already has, about, " said Mrs. Baxter. 

"Look at that boy!" the father grumbled. "Mooning along with those othermoon-calves--can't even let her go to church alone! I wonder how manyweeks of time, counting it out in hours, he's wasted that way thissummer?"

"Oh, I don't know! You see, he never goes there in the evening. "

"What of that? He's there all day, isn't he? What do they find to talkabout? That's the mystery to me! Day after day; hours and hours--Mysoul! What do they SAY?"

Mrs. Baxter laughed indulgently. "People are always wondering that aboutthe other ages. Poor Willie! I think that a great deal of the time theirconversation would be probably about as inconsequent as it is now. Yousee Willie and Joe Bullitt are walking one on each side of Miss Pratt, and Johnnie Watson has to walk behind with May Parcher. Joe and Johnnieare there about as much as Willie is, and, of course, it's often histurn to be nice to May Parcher. He hasn't many chances to be tete-a-tetewith Miss Pratt. "

"Well, she ought to go home. I want that boy to get back into hissenses. He's in an awful state. "

"I think she is going soon, " said Mrs. Baxter. "The Parchers are to havea dance for her Friday night, and I understand there's to be a floorlaid in the yard and great things. It's a farewell party. "

"That's one mercy, anyhow!"

"And if you wonder what they say, " she resumed, "why, probably they'reall talking about the party. And when Willie IS alone with her--well, what does anybody say?" Mrs. Baxter interrupted herself to laugh. "Jane, for instance--she's always fascinated by that darky, Genesis, when he'sat work here in the yard, and they have long, long talks; I've seen themfrom the window. What on earth do you suppose they talk about? That'swhere Jane is now. She knew I told Genesis I'd give him something ifhe'd come and freeze the ice-cream for us to-day, and when we got hereshe heard the freezer and hopped right around there. If you went out tothe back porch you'd find them talking steadily--but what on earth aboutI couldn't guess to save my life!"

And yet nothing could have been simpler: as a matter of fact, Jane andGenesis (attended by Clematis) were talking about society. That is tosay, their discourse was not sociologic; rather it was of the frivolousand elegant. Watteau prevailed with them over John Stuart Mill--in aword, they spoke of the beau monde. 

Genesis turned the handle of the freezer with his left hand, allowinghis right the freedom of gesture which was an intermittent necessitywhen he talked. In the matter of dress, Genesis had always been amongthe most informal of his race, but to-day there was a change almostunnerving to the Caucasian eye. He wore a balloonish suit of purple, strangely scalloped at pocket and cuff, and more strangely decoratedwith lines of small parasite buttons, in color blue, obviously buttonsof leisure. His bulbous new shoes flashed back yellow fire at theembarrassed sun, and his collar (for he had gone so far) sent forthother sparkles, playing upon a polished surface over an inner grainingof soot. Beneath it hung a simple, white, soiled evening tie, draped ina manner unintended by its manufacturer, and heavily overburdened by agreen glass medallion of the Emperor Tiberius, set in brass. 

"Yesm, " said Genesis. "Now I'm in 'at Swim--flyin' roun' ev'y night wifall lem blue-vein people--I say, 'Mus' go buy me some blue-vein clo'es!Ef I'm go'n' a START, might's well start HIGH!' So firs', I buy methishere gol' necktie pin wi' thishere lady's face carved out o' greendi'mon', sittin' in the middle all 'at gol'. 'Nen I buy me pair RoyalKing shoes. I got a frien' o' mine, thishere Blooie Bowers; he say RoyalKing shoes same kine o' shoes HE wear, an' I walk straight in 'at sto'where they keep 'em at. 'Don' was'e my time showin' me no ole-timeshoes, ' I say. 'Run out some them big, yella, lump-toed Royal Kingsbefo' my eyes, an' firs' pair fit me I pay price, an' wear 'em right offon me!' 'Nen I got me thishere suit o' clo'es--OH, oh! Sign on 'em inwindow: 'Ef you wish to be bes'-dress' man in town take me home fer sixdolluhs ninety-sevum cents. ' ''At's kine o' suit Genesis need, ' I say. 'Ef Genesis go'n' a start dressin' high, might's well start top!'"

Jane nodded gravely, comprehending the reasonableness of this view. "What made you decide to start, Genesis?" she asked, earnestly. "I mean, how did it happen you began to get this way?"

"Well, suh, 'tall come 'bout right like kine o' slidin' into it 'stido' hoppin' an' jumpin'. I'z spen' the even' at 'at lady's house, Fanny, what cook nex' do', las' year. Well, suh, 'at lady Fanny, she quitprivut cookin', she kaytliss--"

"She's what?" Jane asked. "What's that mean, Genesis--kaytliss?"

"She kaytuhs, " he explained. "Ef it's a man you call him kaytuh; ef it'sa lady, she's a kaytliss. She does kaytun fer all lem blue-vein fam'liesin town. She make ref'eshmuns, bring waituhs--'at's kaytun. You' mawgive big dinnuh, she have Fanny kaytuh, an' don't take no trouble 'tallherself. Fanny take all 'at trouble. "

"I see, " said Jane. "But I don't see how her bein' a kaytliss startedyou to dressin' so high, Genesis. "

"Thishere way. Fanny say, 'Look here, Genesis, I got big job t'morranight an' I'm man short, 'count o' havin' to have a 'nouncer. '"

"A what?"

"Fanny talk jes' that way. Goin' be big dinnuh-potty, an' thishereblue-vein fam'ly tell Fanny they want whole lot extry sploogin'; tellher put fine-lookin' cullud man stan' by drawin'-room do'--ask ev'ybodyname an' holler out whatever name they say, jes' as they walk in. Thishere fam'ly say they goin' show what's what, 'nis town, an' theyboun' Fanny go git 'em a 'nouncer. 'Well, what's mattuh YOU doin' 'at'nouncin'?' Fanny say. 'Who--me?' I tell her. 'Yes, you kin, too!' shesay, an' she say she len' me 'at waituh suit yoosta b'long ole HenryGimlet what die' when he owin' Fanny sixteen dolluhs--an' Fanny tuckan' keep 'at waituh suit. She use 'at suit on extry waituhs when she gotsome on her hands what 'ain't got no waituh suit. 'You wear 'at suit, 'Fanny say, 'an' you be good 'nouncer, 'cause you' a fine, big man, an'got a big, gran' voice; 'nen you learn befo' long be a waituh, Genesis, an' git dolluh an' half ev'y even' you waitin ', 'sides all 'at moneyyou make cuttin' grass daytime. ' Well, suh, I'z stan' up doin' 'at'nouncin' ve'y nex' night. White lady an' ge'lmun walk todes my do', Istep up to 'em--I step up to 'em thisaway. "

Here Genesis found it pleasant to present the scene with someelaboration. He dropped the handle of the freezer, rose, assumed astately, but ingratiating, expression, and "stepped up" to the imaginedcouple, using a pacing and rhythmic gait--a conservative prance, whichplainly indicated the simultaneous operation of an orchestra. Thenbending graciously, as though the persons addressed were of dwarfishstature, "'Scuse me, " he said, "but kin I please be so p'lite as to'quiah you' name?" For a moment he listened attentively, then nodded, and, returning with the same aristocratic undulations to an imaginarydoorway near the freezer, "Misto an' Missuz Orlosko Rinktum!" heproclaimed, sonorously. 

"WHO?" cried Jane, fascinated. "Genesis, 'nounce that again, rightaway!"

Genesis heartily complied. 

"Misto an' Missuz Orlosko Rinktum!" he bawled. 

"Was that really their names?" she asked, eagerly. 

"Well, I kine o' fergit, " Genesis admitted, resuming his work with thefreezer. "Seem like I rickalect SOMEBODY got name good deal like what Isay, 'cause some mighty blue-vein names at 'at dinnuh-potty, yessuh! ButI on'y git to be 'nouncer one time, 'cause Fanny tellin' me nex' fam'lyhave dinnuh-potty make heap o' fun. Say I done my 'nouncin' GOOD, butsay what's use holler'n' names jes' fer some the neighbors or they ownaunts an' uncles to walk in, when ev'ybody awready knows 'em? So Fannypummote me to waituh, an' I roun' right in amongs' big doin's mos' ev'ynight. Pass ice-cream, lemonade, lemon-ice, cake, samwitches. 'Lemmehan' you li'l' mo' chicken salad, ma'am'--' 'Low me be so kine as to gityou f'esh cup coffee, suh'--'S way ole Genesis talkin' ev'y even' 'esedays!"

Jane looked at him thoughtfully. "Do you like it better than cuttin'grass, Genesis?" she asked. 

He paused to consider. "Yes'm--when ban' play all lem TUNES! Mygoo'ness, do soun' gran'!"

"You can't do it to-night, though, Genesis, " said Jane. "You haf to bequiet on Sunday nights, don't you?"

"Yes'm. 'Ain' got no mo' kaytun till nex' Friday even'. "

"Oh, I bet that's the party for Miss Pratt at Mr. Parcher's!" Janecried. "Didn't I guess right?"

"Yes'm. I reckon I'm a-go'n' a see one you' fam'ly 'at night; see himdancin'--wait on him at ref'eshmuns. "

Jane's expression became even more serious than usual. "Willie? I don'tknow whether he's goin', Genesis. "

"Lan' name!" Genesis exclaimed. "He die ef he don' git INvite to 'atball!"

"Oh, he's invited, " said Jane. "Only I think maybe he won't go. "

"My goo'ness! Why ain' he goin'?"

Jane looked at her friend studiously before replying. "Well, it's asecret, " she said, finally, "but it's a very inter'sting one, an' I'lltell you if you never tell. "

"Yes'm, I ain' tellin' nobody. "

Jane glanced round, then stepped a little closer and told the secretwith the solemnity it deserved. "Well, when Miss Pratt first came tovisit Miss May Parcher, Willie used to keep papa's evening clo'es inhis window-seat, an' mamma wondered what HAD become of 'em. Then, afterdinner, he'd slip up there an' put 'em on him, an' go out through thekitchen an' call on Miss Pratt. Then mamma found 'em, an' she thought heoughtn't to do that, so she didn't tell him or anything, an' she didn'teven tell papa, but she had the tailor make 'em ever an' ever so muchbigger, 'cause they were gettin' too tight for papa. An' well, so afterthat, even if Willie could get 'em out o' mamma's clo'es-closet whereshe keeps 'em now, he'd look so funny in 'em he couldn't wear 'em. Well, an' then he couldn't go to pay calls on Miss Pratt in the evening sincethen, because mamma says after he started to go there in that suit hecouldn't go without it, or maybe Miss Pratt or the other ones that's inlove of her would think it was pretty queer, an' maybe kind of expeck itwas papa's all the time. Mamma says she thinks Willie must have worrieda good deal over reasons to say why he'd always go in the daytime afterthat, an' never came in the evening, an' now they're goin' to have thisparty, an' she says he's been gettin' paler and paler every day sincehe heard about it. Mamma says he's pale SOME because Miss Pratt's goin'away, but she thinks it's a good deal more because, well, if he wouldwear those evening clo'es just to go CALLIN', how would it be to go tothat PARTY an' not have any! That's what mamma thinks--an', Genesis, youpromised you'd never tell as long as you live!"

"Yes'm. _I_ ain' tellin', " Genesis chuckled. "I'm a-go'n' agit me onenem waituh suits befo' long, myse'f, so's I kin quit wearin' 'at oleHenry Gimlet suit what b'long to Fanny, an' have me a privut suit o'my own. They's a secon'-han' sto' ovuh on the avynoo, where they gotswallertail suits all way f'um sevum dolluhs to nineteem dolluhs an'ninety-eight cents. I'm a--"

Jane started, interrupting him. "'SH!" she whispered, laying a fingerwarningly upon her lips. 

William had entered the yard at the back gate, and, approaching over thelawn, had arrived at the steps of the porch before Jane perceivedhim. She gave him an apprehensive look, but he passed into the houseabsent-mindedly, not even flinching at sight of Clematis--and Mrs. Baxter was right, William did look pale. 

"I guess he didn't hear us, " said Jane, when he had disappeared into theinterior. "He acks awful funny!" she added, thoughtfully. "First when hewas in love of Miss Pratt, he'd be mad about somep'm almost every minutehe was home. Couldn't anybody say ANYthing to him but he'd just behaveas if it was frightful, an' then if you'd see him out walkin' with MissPratt, well, he'd look like--like--" Jane paused; her eye fell uponClematis and by a happy inspiration she was able to complete her similewith remarkable accuracy. "He'd look like the way Clematis looks atpeople! That's just EXACTLY the way he'd look, Genesis, when he waswalkin' with Miss Pratt; an' then when he was home he got so quiet hecouldn't answer questions an' wouldn't hear what anybody said to himat table or anywhere, an' papa 'd nearly almost bust. Mamma 'n' papa 'dtalk an' talk about it, an'"--she lowered her voice--"an' I knew whatthey were talkin' about. Well, an' then he'd hardly ever get mad anymore; he'd just sit in his room, an' sometimes he'd sit in there withoutany light, or he'd sit out in the yard all by himself all evening, maybe; an' th'other evening after I was in bed I heard 'em, an' papasaid--well, this is what papa told mamma. " And again lowering hervoice, she proffered the quotation from her father in atone somewhatawe-struck: "Papa said, by Gosh! if he ever 'a' thought a son of hiscould make such a Word idiot of himself he almost wished we'd both beengirls!"

Having completed this report in a violent whisper, Jane noddedrepeatedly, for emphasis, and Genesis shook his head to show that he wasas deeply impressed as she wished him to be. "I guess, " she added, aftera pause "I guess Willie didn't hear anything you an' I talked about him, or clo'es, or anything. "

She was mistaken in part. William had caught no reference to himself, but he had overheard something and he was now alone in his room, thinking about it almost feverishly. "A secon'-han' sto' ovuh on theavynoo, where they got swaller-tail suits all way f'um sevum dolluhs tonineteem dolluhs an' ninety-eight cents. "

. .. Civilization is responsible for certain longings in the breastof man--artificial longings, but sometimes as poignant as hunger andthirst. Of these the strongest are those of the maid for the bridalveil, of the lad for long trousers, and of the youth for a tailed coatof state. To the gratification of this last, only a few of the earlyjoys in life are comparable. Indulged youths, too rich, can know, to theunctuous full, neither the longing nor the gratification; but one suchas William, in "moderate circumstances, " is privileged to pant for hisfirst evening clothes as the hart panteth after the water-brook--andsometimes, to pant in vain. Also, this was a crisis in William'slife: in addition to his yearning for such apparel, he was racked by apassionate urgency. 

As Jane had so precociously understood, unless he should somehow manageto obtain the proper draperies he could not go to the farewell dancefor Miss Pratt. Other unequipped boys could go in their ordinary "bestclothes, " but William could not; for, alack! he had dressed too well toosoon!

He was in desperate case. 

The sorrow of the approaching great departure was but the heavierbecause it had been so long deferred. To William it had seemed that thisflower-strewn summer could actually end no more than he could actuallydie, but Time had begun its awful lecture, and even Seventeen waslistening. 

Miss Pratt, that magic girl, was going home. 

XXIII

FATHERS FORGET

To the competent twenties, hundreds of miles suggesting noimpossibilities, such departures may be rending, but not tragic. Implacable, the difference to Seventeen! Miss Pratt was going home, andSeventeen could not follow; it could only mourn upon the lonely shore, tracing little angelic footprints left in the sand. 

To Seventeen such a departure is final; it is a vanishing. 

And now it seemed possible that William might be deprived even of thelast romantic consolations: of the "last waltz together, " of the last, last "listening to music in the moonlight together"; of all those sacredlasts of the "last evening together. "

He had pleaded strongly for a "dress-suit" as a fitting recognitionof his seventeenth birthday anniversary, but he had been denied byhis father with a jocularity more crushing than rigor. Since then--inparticular since the arrival of Miss Pratt--Mr. Baxter's temper had beengrowing steadily more and more even. That is, as affected by William'ssocial activities, it was uniformly bad. Nevertheless, after heavybrooding, William decided to make one final appeal before he resorted tomeasures which the necessities of despair had caused him to contemplate. 

He wished to give himself every chance for a good effect; therefore, hedid not act hastily, but went over what he intended to say, rehearsingit with a few appropriate gestures, and even taking some pleasure in thepathetic dignity of this performance, as revealed by occasionalglances at the mirror of his dressing-table. In spite of these littlealleviations, his trouble was great and all too real, for, unhappily, the previous rehearsal of an emotional scene does not prove the emotioninsincere. 

Descending, he found his father and mother still sitting upon the frontporch. Then, standing before them, solemn-eyed, he uttered a preludingcough, and began:

"Father, " he said in a loud voice, "I have come to--"

"Dear me!" Mrs. Baxter exclaimed, not perceiving that she wasinterrupting an intended oration. "Willie, you DO look pale! Sit down, poor child; you oughtn't to walk so much in this heat. "

"Father, " William repeated. "Fath--"

"I suppose you got her safely home from church, " Mr. Baxter said. "Shemight have been carried off by footpads if you three boys hadn't beenalong to take care of her!"

But William persisted heroically. "Father--" he said. "Father, I havecome to--"

"What on earth's the matter with you?" Mr. Baxter ceased to fan himself;Mrs. Baxter stopped rocking, and both stared, for it had dawned uponthem that something unusual was beginning to take place. 

William backed to the start and tried it again. "Father, I have cometo--" He paused and gulped, evidently expecting to be interrupted, but both of his parents remained silent, regarding him with puzzledsurprise. "Father, " he began once more, "I have come--I have cometo--to place before you something I think it's your duty as my fatherto undertake, and I have thought over this step before laying it beforeyou. "

"My soul!" said Mr. Baxter, under his breath. "My soul!"

"At my age, " William continued, swallowing, and fixing his earnest eyesupon the roof of the porch, to avoid the disconcerting stare of hisfather--"at my age there's some things that ought to be done and somethings that ought not to be done. If you asked me what I thought OUGHTto be done, there is only one answer: When anybody as old as I am hasto go out among other young men his own age that already got one, likeanyway half of them HAVE, who I go with, and their fathers have alreadytaken such a step, because they felt it was the only right thing todo, because at my age and the young men I go with's age, it IS the onlyright thing to do, because that is something nobody could deny, at myage--" Here William drew a long breath, and, deciding to abandon thatsentence as irrevocably tangled, began another: "I have thought overthis step, because there comes a time to every young man when they mustlay a step before their father before something happens that they wouldbe sorry for. I have thought this undertaking over, and I am certain itwould be your honest duty--"

"My soul!" gasped Mr. Baxter. "I thought I knew you pretty well, but youtalk like a stranger to ME! What is all this? What you WANT?"

"A dress-suit!" said William. 

He had intended to say a great deal more before coming to the point, but, although through nervousness he had lost some threads of hisrehearsed plea, it seemed to him that he was getting along well andputting his case with some distinction and power. He was surprised andhurt, therefore, to hear his father utter a wordless shout in a tone ofwondering derision. 

"I have more to say--" William began. 

But Mr. Baxter cut him off. "A dress-suit!" he cried. "Well, I'm gladyou were talking about SOMETHING, because I honestly thought it must betoo much sun!"

At this, the troubled William brought his eyes down from the porch roofand forgot his rehearsal. He lifted his hand appealingly. "Father, " hesaid, "I GOT to have one!"

"'Got to'!" Mr. Baxter laughed a laugh that chilled the supplicantthrough and through. "At your age I thought I was lucky if I had ANYsuit that was fit to be seen in. You're too young, Willie. I don't wantyou to get your mind on such stuff, and if I have my way, you won't havea dress-suit for four years more, anyhow. "

"Father, I GOT to have one. I got to have one right away!" The urgencyin William's voice was almost tearful. "I don't ask you to have it made, or to go to expensive tailors, but there's plenty of good ready-madeones that only cost about forty dollars; they're advertised in thepaper. Father, wouldn't you spend just forty dollars? I'll pay it backwhen I'm in business; I'll work--"

Mr. Baxter waved all this aside. "It's not the money. It's the principlethat I'm standing for, and I don't intend--"

"Father, WON'T you do it?"

"No, I will not!"

William saw that sentence had been passed and all appeals for a newtrial denied. He choked, and rushed into the house without more ado. 

"Poor boy!" his mother said. 

"Poor boy nothing!" fumed Mr. Baxter. "He's about lost his mind overthat Miss Pratt. Think of his coming out here and starting a regulardebating society declamation before his mother and father! Why, I neverheard anything like it in my life! I don't like to hurt his feelings, and I'd give him anything I could afford that would do him any good, but all he wants it for now is to splurge around in at this party beforethat little yellow-haired girl! I guess he can wear the kind of clothesmost of the other boys wear--the kind _I_ wore at parties--and neverthought of wearing anything else. What's the world getting to belike? Seventeen years old and throws a fit because he can't have adress-suit!"

Mrs. Baxter looked thoughtful. "But--but suppose he felt he couldn't goto the dance unless he wore one, poor boy--"

"All the better, " said Mr. Baxter, firmly. "Do him good to keep away andget his mind on something else. "

"Of course, " she suggested, with some timidity, "forty dollars isn't agreat deal of money, and a ready-made suit, just to begin with--"

Naturally, Mr. Baxter perceived whither she was drifting. "Forty dollarsisn't a thousand, " he interrupted, "but what you want to throw it awayfor? One reason a boy of seventeen oughtn't to have evening clothesis the way he behaves with ANY clothes. Forty dollars! Why, only thissummer he sat down on Jane's open paint-box, twice in one week!"

"Well--Miss Pratt IS going away, and the dance will be her last night. I'm afraid it would really hurt him to miss it. I remember once, beforewe were engaged--that evening before papa took me abroad, and you--"

"It's no use, mamma, " he said. "We were both in the twenties--why, _I_was six years older than Willie, even then. There's no comparison atall. I'll let him order a dress-suit on his twenty-first birthday andnot a minute before. I don't believe in it, and I intend to see thathe gets all this stuff out of his system. He's got to learn some hardsense!"

Mrs. Baxter shook her head doubtfully, but she said no more. Perhaps sheregretted a little that she had caused Mr. Baxter's evening clothes tobe so expansively enlarged--for she looked rather regretful. She alsolooked rather incomprehensible, not to say cryptic, during the longsilence which followed, and Mr. Baxter resumed his rocking, unaware ofthe fixity of gaze which his wife maintained upon him--a thing the mostloyal will do sometimes. 

The incomprehensible look disappeared before long; but the regretfulone was renewed in the mother's eyes whenever she caught glimpses of herson, that day, and at the table, where William's manner was gentle--eventoward his heartless father. 

Underneath that gentleness, the harried self of William was no longerdebating a desperate resolve, but had fixed upon it, and on thefollowing afternoon Jane chanced to be a witness of some resultantactions. She came to her mother with an account of them. 

"Mamma, what you s'pose Willie wants of those two ole market-basketsthat were down cellar?"

"Why, Jane?"

"Well, he carried 'em in his room, an' then he saw me lookin'; an' hesaid, 'G'way from here!' an' shut the door. He looks so funny! What's hewant of those ole baskets, mamma?"

"I don't know. Perhaps he doesn't even know, himself, Jane. "

But William did know, definitely. He had set the baskets upon chairs, and now, with pale determination, he was proceeding to fill them. Whenhis task was completed the two baskets contained:

One "heavy-weight winter suit of clothes. "

One "light-weight summer suit of clothes. "

One cap. 

One straw hat. 

Two pairs of white flannel trousers. 

Two Madras shirts. 

Two flannel shirts. 

Two silk shirts. 

Seven soft collars. 

Three silk neckties. 

One crocheted tie. 

Eight pairs of socks. 

One pair of patent-leather shoes. 

One pair of tennis-shoes. 

One overcoat. 

Some underwear. 

One two-foot shelf of books, consisting of several sterling worksupon mathematics, in a damaged condition; five of Shakespeare's plays, expurgated for schools and colleges, and also damaged; a work uponpolitical economy, and another upon the science of physics; Webster'sCollegiate Dictionary; How to Enter a Drawing-Room and Five HundredOther Hints; Witty Sayings from Here and There; Lorna Doone; QuentinDurward; The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, a very old copy of Moths, and a small Bible. 

William spread handkerchiefs upon the two over-bulging cargoes, thattheir nature might not be disclosed to the curious, and, after listeninga moment at his door, took the baskets, one upon each arm, then wentquickly down the stairs and out of the house, out of the yard, and intothe alley--by which route he had modestly chosen to travel. 

. .. After an absence of about two hours he returned empty-handedand anxious. "Mother, I want to speak to you, " he said, addressing MrsBaxter in a voice which clearly proved the strain of these racking days. "I want to speak to you about something important. "

"Yes, Willie?"

"Please send Jane away. I can't talk about important things with a childin the room. "

Jane naturally wished to stay, since he was going to say somethingimportant. "Mamma, do I HAF to go?"

"Just a few minutes, dear. "

Jane walked submissively out of the door, leaving it open behind her. Then, having gone about six feet farther, she halted and, preserving abreathless silence, consoled herself for her banishment by listening towhat was said, hearing it all as satisfactorily as if she had remainedin the room. Quiet, thoughtful children, like Jane, avail themselves ofthese little pleasures oftener than is suspected. 

"Mother, " said William, with great intensity, "I want to ask you pleaseto lend me three dollars and sixty cents. "

"What for, Willie?"

"Mother, I just ask you to lend me three dollars and sixty cents. "

"But what FOR?"

"Mother, I don't feel I can discuss it any; I simply ask you: Will youlend me three dollars and sixty cents?"

Mrs. Baxter laughed gently. "I don't think I could, Willie, butcertainly I should want to know what for. "

"Mother, I am going on eighteen years of age, and when I ask for asmall sum of money like three dollars and sixty cents I think I might betrusted to know how to use it for my own good without having to answerquestions like a ch--"

"Why, Willie, " she exclaimed, "you ought to have plenty of money of yourown!"

"Of course I ought, " he agreed, warmly. "If you'd ask father to give mea regular allow--"

"No, no; I mean you ought to have plenty left out of that old junk andfurniture I let you sell last month. You had over nine dollars!'

"That was five weeks ago, " William explained, wearily. 

"But you certainly must have some of it left. Why, it was MORE than ninedollars, I believe! I think it was nearer ten. Surely you haven't--"

"Ye gods!" cried the goaded William. "A person going on eighteenyears old ought to be able to spend nine dollars in five weeks withouteverybody's acting like it was a crime! Mother, I ask you the simplequestion: Will you PLEASE lend me three dollars and sixty cents?"

"I don't think I ought to, dear. I'm sure your father wouldn't wishme to, unless you'll tell me what you want it for. In fact, I won'tconsider it at all unless you do tell me. "

"You won't do it?" he quavered. 

She shook her head gently. "You see, dear, I'm afraid the reason youdon't tell me is because you know that I wouldn't give it to you if Iknew what you wanted it for. "

This perfect diagnosis of the case so disheartened him that after a fewmonosyllabic efforts to continue the conversation with dignity he gaveit up, and left in such a preoccupation with despondency that he passedthe surprised Jane in the hall without suspecting what she had beendoing. 

That evening, after dinner, he addressed to his father an impassionedappeal for three dollars and sixty cents, laying such stress of pathoson his principal argument that if he couldn't have a dress-suit, atleast he ought to be given three dollars and sixty CENTS (the emphasisis William's) that Mr. Baxter was moved in the direction of consent--butnot far enough. "I'd like to let you have it, Willie, " he said, excusinghimself for refusal, "but your mother felt SHE oughtn't to do it unlessyou'd say what you wanted it for, and I'm sure she wouldn't like me todo it. I can't let you have it unless you get her to say she wants meto. "

Thus advised, the unfortunate made another appeal to his mother the nextday, and, having brought about no relaxation of the situation, againpetitioned his father, on the following evening. So it went; the tornand driven William turning from parent to parent; and surely, since theworld began, the special sum of three dollars and sixty cents has neverbeen so often mentioned in any one house and in the same space of timeas it was in the house of the Baxters during Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday of that oppressive week. 

But on Friday William disappeared after breakfast and did not return tolunch. 

XXIV

CLOTHES MAKE THE MAN

Mrs. Baxter was troubled. During the afternoon she glanced often fromthe open window of the room where she had gone to sew, but the peacefulneighborhood continued to be peaceful, and no sound of the harassedfootsteps of William echoed from the pavement. However, she saw Genesisarrive (in his weekday costume) to do some weeding, and Jane immediatelyskip forth for mingled purposes of observation and conversation. 

"What DO they say?" thought Mrs. Baxter, observing that both Jane andGenesis were unusually animated. But for once that perplexity was to bedispersed. After an exciting half-hour Jane came flying to her mother, breathless. 

"Mamma, " she cried, "I know where Willie is! Genesis told me, 'cause hesaw him, an' he talked to him while he was doin' it. "

"Doing what? Where?"

"Mamma, listen! What you think Willie's doin'? I bet you can't g--"

"Jane!" Mrs Baxter spoke sharply. "Tell me what Genesis said, at once. "

"Yes'm. Willie's sittin' in a lumber-yard that Genesis comes by on hisway from over on the avynoo where all the colored people live--an' he'scountin' knot-holes in shingles. "

"He is WHAT?"

"Yes'm. Genesis knows all about it, because he was thinkin' of doin'it himself, only he says it would be too slow. This is the way it is, mamma. Listen, mamma, because this is just exackly the way it is. Well, this lumber-yard man got into some sort of a fuss because he boughtmillions an' millions of shingles, mamma, that had too many knots in, an' the man don't want to pay for 'em, or else the store where he bought'em won't take 'em back, an' they got to prove how many shingles arebad shingles, or somep'm, an' anyway, mamma, that's what Willie's doin'. Every time he comes to a bad shingle, mamma, he puts it somewheres else, or somep'm like that, mamma, an' every time he's put a thousand badshingles in this other place they give him six cents. He gets the sixcents to keep, mamma--an' that's what he's been doin' all day!"

"Good gracious!"

"Oh, but that's nothing, mamma--just you wait till you hear the rest. THAT part of it isn't anything a TALL, mamma! You wouldn't hardly noticethat part of it if you knew the other part of it, mamma. Why, thatisn't ANYTHING!" Jane made demonstrations of scorn for the insignificantinformation already imparted. 

"Jane!"

"Yes'm?"

"I want to know everything Genesis told you, " said her mother, "and Iwant you to tell it as quickly as you can. "

"Well, I AM tellin' it, mamma!" Jane protested. "I'm just BEGINNING totell it. I can't tell it unless there's a beginning, can I? How couldthere be ANYTHING unless you had to begin it, mamma?"

"Try your best to go on, Jane!"

"Yes'm. Well, Genesis says--Mamma!" Jane interrupted herself with alittle outcry. "Oh! I bet THAT'S what he had those two market-basketsfor! Yes, sir! That's just what he did! An' then he needed the resto' the money an' you an' papa wouldn't give him any, an' so he begancountin' shingles to-day 'cause to-night's the night of the party an' hejust HASS to have it!"

Mrs. Baxter, who had risen to her feet, recalled the episode of thebaskets and sank into a chair. "How did Genesis know Willie wanted fortydollars, and if Willie's pawned something how did Genesis know THAT? DidWillie tell Gen--"

"Oh no, mamma, Willie didn't want forty dollars--only fourteen!"

"But he couldn't get even the cheapest readymade dress-suit for fourteendollars. "

"Mamma, you're gettin' it all mixed up!" Jane cried. "Listen, mamma!Genesis knows all about a second-hand store over on the avynoo; an' itkeeps 'most everything, an' Genesis says it's the nicest store! It keepswaiter suits all the way up to nineteen dollars and ninety-nine cents. Well, an' Genesis wants to get one of those suits, so he goes in thereall the time, an' talks to the man an' bargains an' bargains with him, 'cause Genesis says this man is the bargainest man in the wide worl', mamma! That's what Genesis says. Well, an' so this man's name is One-eyeBeljus, mamma. That's his name, an' Genesis says so. Well, an' so thisman that Genesis told me about, that keeps the store--I mean One-eyeBeljus, mamma--well, One-eye Beljus had Willie's name written down in abook, an' he knew Genesis worked for fam'lies that have boys like Williein 'em, an' this morning One-eye Beljus showed Genesis Willie's namewritten down in this book, an' One-eye Beljus asked Genesis if he knewanybody by that name an' all about him. Well, an' so at first Genesispretended he was tryin' to remember, because he wanted to find out whatWillie went there for. Genesis didn't tell any stories, mamma; hejust pretended he couldn't remember, an' so, well, One-eye Beljus kepttalkin' an' pretty soon Genesis found out all about it. One-eye Beljussaid Willie came in there an' tried on the coat of one of those waitersuits--"

"Oh no!" gasped Mrs. Baxter. 

"Yes'm, an' One-eye Beljus said it was the only one that would fitWillie, an' One-eye Beljus told Willie that suit was worth fourteendollars, an' Willie said he didn't have any money, but he'd like totrade something else for it. Well, an' so One-eye Beljus said this wasan awful fine suit an' the only one he had that had b'longed to a whitegentleman. Well, an' so they bargained, an' bargained, an' bargained, an' BARGAINED! An' then, well, an' so at last Willie said he'd go an'get everything that b'longed to him, an' One-eye Beljus could pick outenough to make fourteen dollars' worth, an' then Willie could havethe suit. Well, an' so Willie came home an' put everything he had thatb'longed to him into those two baskets, mamma--that's just what hedid, 'cause Genesis says he told One-eye Beljus it was everything thatb'longed to him, an' that would take two baskets, mamma. Well, then, an' so he told One-eye Beljus to pick out fourteen dollars' worth, an'One-eye Beljus ast Willie if he didn't have a watch. Well, Willie tookout his watch an' One-eye Beljus said it was an awful bad watch, but hewould put it in for a dollar; an' he said, 'I'll put your necktie pinin for forty cents more, ' so Willie took it out of his necktie an' thenOne-eye Beljus said it would take all the things in the baskets to makeI forget how much, mamma, an' the watch would be a dollar more, an' thepin forty cents, an' that would leave just three dollars an' sixty centsmore for Willie to pay before he could get the suit. "

Mrs. Baxter's face had become suffused with high color, but she wishedto know all that Genesis had said, and, mastering her feelings with aneffort, she told Jane to proceed--a command obeyed after Jane had takenseveral long breaths. 

"Well, an' so the worst part of it is, Genesis says, it's because thatsuit is haunted. "

"What!"

"Yes'm, " said Jane, solemnly; "Genesis says it's haunted. Genesis sayseverybody over on the avynoo knows all about that suit, an' he saysthat's why One-eye Beljus never could sell it before. Genesis saysOne-eye Beljus tried to sell it to a colored man for three dollars, but the man said he wouldn't put in on for three hunderd dollars, an'Genesis says HE wouldn't, either, because it belonged to a Dago waiterthat--that--" Jane's voice sank to a whisper of unctuous horror. She washaving a wonderful time! "Mamma, this Dago waiter, he lived over on theavynoo, an' he took a case-knife he'd sharpened--AN' HE CUT A LADY'SHEAD OFF WITH IT!"

Mrs. Baxter screamed faintly. 

"An' he got hung, mamma! If you don't believe it, you can ask One-eyeBeljus--I guess HE knows! An' you can ask--"

"Hush!"

"An' he sold this suit to One-eye Beljus when he was in jail, mamma. Hesold it to him before he got hung, mamma. "

"Hush, Jane!"

But Jane couldn't hush now. "An' he had that suit on when he cut thelady's head off, mamma, an' that's why it's haunted. They cleaned it allup excep' a few little spots of bl--"

"JANE!" shouted her mother. "You must not talk about such things, andGenesis mustn't tell, you stories of that sort!"

"Well, how could he help it, if he told me about Willie?" Jane urged, reasonably. 

"Never mind! Did that crazy ch--Did Willie LEAVE the baskets in thatdreadful place?"

"Yes'm--an' his watch an' pin, " Jane informed her, impressively. "An'One-eye Beljus wanted to know if Genesis knew Willie, because One-eyeBeljus wanted to know if Genesis thought Willie could get the threedollars an; sixty cents, an' One-eye Beljus wanted to know if Genesisthought he could get anything more out of him besides that. He toldGenesis he hadn't told Willie he COULD have the suit, after all; he justtold him he THOUGHT he could, but he wouldn't say for certain till hebrought him the three dollars an' sixty cents. So Willie left all histhings there, an' his watch an--"

"That will do!" Mrs. Baxter's voice was sharper than it had ever been inJane's recollection. "I don't need to hear any more--and I don't WANT tohear any more!"

Jane was justly aggrieved. "But, mamma, it isn't MY fault!"

Mrs. Baxter's lips parted to speak, but she checked herself. "Fault?"she said, gravely. "I wonder whose fault it really is!"

And with that she went hurriedly into William's room and made a briefinspection of his clothes-closet and dressing-table. Then, as Janewatched her in awed silence, she strode to the window, and called, loudly:

"Genesis!"

"Yes'm?" came the voice from below. 

"Go to that lumber-yard where Mr. William is at work and bring himhere to me at once. If he declines to come, tell him--" Her voice brokeoddly; she choked, but Jane could not decide with what emotion. "Tellhim--tell him I ordered you to use force if necessary! Hurry!"

"YES'M!"

Jane ran to the window in time to see Genesis departing seriouslythrough the back gate. 

"Mamma--"

"Don't talk to me now, Jane, " Mrs. Baxter said, crisply. "I want you togo down in the yard, and when Willie comes tell him I'm waiting for himhere in his own room. And don't come with him, Jane. Run!"

"Yes, mamma. " Jane was pleased with this appointment; she anxiouslydesired to be the first to see how Willie "looked. "

. .. He looked flurried and flustered and breathless, and there wereblisters upon the reddened palms of his hands. "What on earth's thematter, mother?" he asked, as he stood panting before her. "Genesis saidsomething was wrong, and he said you told him to hit me if I wouldn'tcome. "

"Oh NO!" she cried. "I only meant I thought perhaps you wouldn't obeyany ordinary message--"

"Well, well, it doesn't matter, but please hurry and say what you wantto, because I got to get back and--"

"No, " Mrs. Baxter said, quietly, "you're not going back to count anymore shingles, Willie. How much have you earned?"

He swallowed, but spoke bravely. "Thirty-six cents. But I've beengetting lots faster the last two hours and there's a good deal of timebefore six o'clock. Mother--"

"No, " she said. "You're going over to that horrible place where you'veleft your clothes and your watch and all those other things in the twobaskets, and you're going to bring them home at once. "

"Mother!" he cried, aghast. "Who told you?"

"It doesn't matter. You don't want your father to find out, do you? Thenget those things back here as quickly as you can. They'll have to befumigated after being in that den. "

"They've never been out of the baskets, " he protested, hotly, "exceptjust to be looked at. They're MY things, mother, and I had a right todo what I needed to with 'em, didn't I?" His utterance became difficult. "You and father just CAN'T understand--and you won't do anything to helpme--"

"Willie, you can go to the party, " she said, gently. "You didn't needthose frightful clothes at all. "

"I do!" he cried. "I GOT to have 'em! I CAN'T go in my day clo'es!There's a reason you wouldn't understand why I can't. I just CAN'T!"

"Yes, " she said, "you can go to the party. "

"I can't, either! Not unless you give me three dollars and twenty-fourcents, or unless I can get back to the lumber-yard and earn the restbefore--"

"No!" And the warm color that had rushed over Mrs. Baxter during Jane'ssensational recital returned with a vengeance. Her eyes flashed. "Ifyou'd rather I sent a policeman for those baskets, I'll send one. Ishould prefer to do it--much! And to have that rascal arrested. If youdon't want me to send a policeman you can go for them yourself, butyou must start within ten minutes, because if you don't I'll telephoneheadquarters. Ten minutes, Willie, and I mean it!"

He cried out, protesting. She would make him a thing of scorn foreverand soil his honor, if she sent a policeman. Mr. Beljus was a fairand honest tradesman, he explained, passionately, and had not made theapproaches in this matter. Also, the garments in question, though notentirely new, nor of the highest mode, were of good material and insplendid condition. Unmistakably they were evening clothes, and such abargain at fourteen dollars that William would guarantee to sell themfor twenty after he had worn them this one evening. Mr. Beljus himselfhad said that he would not even think of letting them go at fourteento anybody else, and as for the two poor baskets of worn and uselessarticles offered in exchange, and a bent scarfpin and a worn-out oldsilver watch that had belonged to great-uncle Ben--why, the ten dollarsand forty cents allowed upon them was beyond all ordinary liberality;it was almost charity. There was only one place in town where eveningclothes were rented, and the suspicious persons in charge had insistedthat William obtain from his father a guarantee to insure the return ofthe garments in perfect condition. So that was hopeless. And wasn't itbetter, also, to wear clothes which had known only one previous occupant(as was the case with Mr. Beljus's offering) than to hire what chancehundreds had hired? Finally, there was only one thing to be consideredand this was the fact that William HAD to have those clothes!

"Six minutes, " said Mrs. Baxter, glancing implacably at her watch. "Whenit's ten I'll telephone. "

And the end of it was, of course, victory for the woman--victory bothmoral and physical. Three-quarters of an hour later she was unburdeningthe contents of the two baskets and putting the things back in place, illuminating these actions with an expression of strong distaste--inspite of broken assurances that Mr. Beljus had not more than touched anyof the articles offered to him for valuation. 

. .. At dinner, which was unusually early that evening, Mrs. Baxter didnot often glance toward her son; she kept her eyes from that white faceand spent most of her time in urging upon Mr. Baxter that he shouldbe prompt in dressing for a card-club meeting which he and she wereto attend that evening. These admonitions of hers were continued sopressingly that Mr. Baxter, after protesting that there was no use inbeing a whole hour too early, groaningly went to dress without evenreading his paper. 

William had retired to his own room, where he lay upon his bed in thedarkness. He heard the evening noises of the house faintly through theclosed door: voices and the clatter of metal and china from the far-awaykitchen, Jane's laugh in the hall, the opening and closing of the doors. Then his father seemed to be in distress about something. William heardhim complaining to Mrs. Baxter, and though the words were indistinct, the tone was vigorously plaintive. Mrs. Baxter laughed and appearedto make light of his troubles, whatever they were--and presentlytheir footsteps were audible from the stairway; the front door closedemphatically, and they were gone. 

Everything was quiet now. The open window showed as a greenish oblongset in black, and William knew that in a little while there would comethrough the stillness of that window the distant sound of violins. Thatwas a moment he dreaded with a dread that ached. And as he lay on hisdreary bed he thought of brightly lighted rooms where other boys weredressing eagerly faces and hair shining, hearts beating high--boys whowould possess this last evening and the "last waltz together, " the lastsmile and the last sigh. 

It did not once enter his mind that he could go to the dance in his"best suit, " or that possibly the other young people at the party wouldbe too busy with their own affairs to notice particularly what he wore. It was the unquestionable and granite fact, to his mind, that the wholederisive World would know the truth about his earlier appearances in hisfather's clothes. And that was a form of ruin not to be faced. In theprotective darkness and seclusion of William's bedroom, it is possiblethat smarting eyes relieved themselves by blinking rather energetically;it is even possible that there was a minute damp spot upon the pillow. Seventeen cannot always manage the little boy yet alive under all thecoverings. 

Now arrived that moment he had most painfully anticipated, anddance-music drifted on the night;--but there came a tapping upon hisdoor and a soft voice spoke. 

"Will-ee?"

With a sharp exclamation William swung his legs over the edge of thebed and sat up. Of all things he desired not, he desired no conversationwith, or on the part of, Jane. But he had forgotten to lock hisdoor--the handle turned, and a dim little figure marched in. 

"Willie, Adelia's goin' to put me to bed. "

"You g'way from here, " he said, huskily. "I haven't got time to talk toyou. I'm busy. "

"Well, you can wait a minute, can't you?" she asked, reasonably. "I hafto tell you a joke on mamma. "

"I don't want to hear any jokes!"

"Well, I HAF to tell you this one 'cause she told me to! Oh!" Janeclapped her hand over her mouth and jumped up and down, offering afantastic silhouette against the light of the Open door. "Oh, oh, OH!"

"What's matter?"

"She said I mustn't, MUSTN'T tell that she told me to tell! My goodness!I forgot that! Mamma took me off alone right after dinner, an' she toldme to tell you this joke on her a little after she an' papa had leftthe house, but she said, 'Above all THINGS, ' she said, 'DON'T let Willieknow _I_ said to tell him. ' That's just what she said, an' here that'sthe very first thing I had to go an' do!"

"Well, what of it?"

Jane quieted down. The pangs of her remorse were lost in her love ofsensationalism, and her voice sank to the thrilling whisper which it wasone of her greatest pleasures to use. "Did you hear what a fuss papa wasmakin' when he was dressin' for the card-party?"

"_I_ don't care if--"

"He had to go in his reg'lar clo'es!" whispered Jane, triumphantly. "An' this is the joke on mamma: you know that tailor that let papa'sdress-suit 'way, 'way out; well, Mamma thinks that tailor must thinkshe's crazy, or somep'm 'cause she took papa's dress-suit to him lastMonday to get it pressed for this card-party, an she guesses he must ofunderstood her to tell him to do lots besides just pressin' it. Anyway, he went an' altered it, an' he took it 'way, 'way IN again; an' thisafternoon when it came back it was even tighter 'n what it was in thefirst place, an' papa couldn't BEGIN to get into it! Well, an' so it'sall pressed an' ev'ything, an' she stopped on the way out, an' whisperedto me that she'd got so upset over the joke on her that she couldn'tremember where she put it when she took it out o' papa's room after hegave up tryin' to get inside of it. An' that, " cried Jane--"that'sthe funniest thing of all! Why, it's layin' right on her bed this veryminute!"

In one bound William leaped through the open door. Two seconds sufficedfor his passage through the hall to his mother's bedroom--and there, neatly spread upon the lace coverlet and brighter than coronation robes, fairer than Joseph's holy coat, It lay!

XXV

YOUTH AND MR. PARCHER

As a hurried worldling, in almost perfectly fitting evening clothes, passed out of his father's gateway and hurried toward the place whencefaintly came the sound of dance-music, a child's voice called sweetlyfrom an unidentified window of the darkened house behind him:

"Well, ANYWAY, you try and have a good time, Willie!"

William made no reply; he paused not in his stride. Jane's farewellinjunction, though obviously not ill-intended, seemed in poor taste, anda reply might have encouraged her to believe that, in some measure atleast, he condescended to discuss his inner life with her. He departedrapidly, but with hauteur. The moon was up, but shade-trees were thickalong the sidewalk, and the hauteur was invisible to any human eye;nevertheless, William considered it necessary. 

Jane's friendly but ill-chosen "ANYWAY" had touched doubts alreadyannoying him. He was certain to be late to the party--so late, indeed, that it might prove difficult to obtain a proper number of dances withthe sacred girl in whose honor the celebration was being held. Toomany were steeped in a sense of her sacredness, well he wot! and he wasunable to find room in his apprehensive mind for any doubt that theseothers would be accursedly diligent. 

But as he hastened onward his spirits rose, and he did reply to Jane, after all, though he had placed a hundred yards between them. 

"Yes, and you can bet your bottom dollar I will, too!" he muttered, between his determined teeth. 

The very utterance of the words increased the firmness of his decision, and at the same time cheered him. His apprehensions fell away, and aglamorous excitement took their place, as he turned a corner and themusic burst more loudly upon his tingling ear. For there, not half-wayto the next street, the fairy scene lay spread before him. 

Spellbound groups of uninvited persons, most of them colored, restedtheir forearms upon the upper rail of the Parchers' picket fence, offering to William's view a silhouette like that of a crowd at a fire. Beyond the fence, bright forms went skimming, shimmering, wavering overa white platform, while high overhead the young moon sprayed a thinnerlight down through the maple leaves, to where processions of rosy globeshung floating in the blue night. The mild breeze trembled to the silverpatterings of a harp, to the sweet, barbaric chirping of plucked stringsof violin and 'cello--and swooned among the maple leaves to the rhythmiccrooning of a flute. And, all the while, from the platform came thesounds of little cries in girlish voices, and the cadenced shufflingof young feet, where the witching dancemusic had its way, as ever andforever, with big and little slippers. 

The heart of William had behaved tumultuously the summer long, wheneverhis eyes beheld those pickets of the Parchers' fence, but now it outdidall its previous riotings. He was forced to open his mouth and gaspfor breath, so deep was his draught of that young wine, romance. Yonder--somewhere in the breath-taking radiance--danced his Queen withall her Court about her. Queen and Court, thought William, and nothingless exorbitant could have expressed his feeling. For seventeen needsonly some paper lanterns, a fiddle, and a pretty girl--and Versailles isall there!

The moment was so rich that William crossed the street with a slowerstep. His mood changed: an exaltation had come upon him, though he wasnever for an instant unaware of the tragedy beneath all this worldlyshow and glamor. It was the last night of the divine visit; to-morrowthe town would lie desolate, a hollow shell in the dust, without her. Miss Pratt would be gone--gone utterly--gone away on the TRAIN! Butto-night was just beginning, and to-night he would dance with her; hewould dance and dance with her--he would dance and dance like mad! Heand she, poetic and fated pair, would dance on and on! They would beintoxicated by the lights--the lights, the flowers, and the music. Nay, the flowers might droop, the lights might go out, the music cease anddawn come--she and he would dance recklessly on--on--on!

A sense of picturesqueness--his own picturesqueness--made him walkrather theatrically as he passed through the groups of humble onlookersoutside the picket fence. Many of these turned to stare at the belatedguest, and William was unconscious of neither their low estate nor hisown quality as a patrician man-about-town in almost perfectly fittingevening dress. A faint, cold smile was allowed to appear upon his lips, and a fragment from a story he had read came momentarily to his mind. .. . "Through the gaping crowds the young Augustan noble was borne downfrom the Palatine, scornful in his jeweled litter. .. . "

An admiring murmur reached William's ear. 

"OH, oh, honey! Look attem long-tail suit! 'At's a rich boy, honey!"

"Yessum, SO! Bet he got his pockets pack' full o' twenty-dolluh gol'pieces right iss minute!"

"You right, honey!"

William allowed the coldness of his faint smile to increase to becomescornful. These poor sidewalk creatures little knew what seethed insidethe alabaster of the young Augustan noble! What was it to THEM that thiswas Miss Pratt's last night and that he intended to dance and dance withher, on and on?

Almost sternly he left these squalid lives behind him and passed to thefestal gateway. 

Upon one of the posts of that gateway there rested the elbow of acontemplative man, middleaged or a little worse. Of all persons havingpleasure or business within the bright inclosure, he was, that evening, the least important; being merely the background parent who paid thebills. However, even this unconsidered elder shared a thought in commonwith the Augustan now approaching: Mr. Parcher had just been thinkingthat there was true romance in the scene before him. 

But what Mr. Parcher contemplated as romance arose from the fact thatthese young people were dancing on a spot where their great-grandfathershad scalped Indians. Music was made for them by descendants, it mightwell be, of Romulus, of Messalina, of Benvenuto Cellini, and, aroundbehind the house, waiting to serve the dancers with light foodand drink, lounged and gossiped grandchildren of the Congo, onlya generation or so removed from dances for which a chance strangerfurnished both the occasion and the refreshments. Such, in brief, wasMr. Parcher's peculiar view of what constituted the romantic element. 

And upon another subject preoccupying both Mr. Parcher and William, their two views, though again founded upon one thought, had no realcongeniality. The preoccupying subject was the imminence of Miss Pratt'sdeparture;--neither Mr. Parcher nor William forgot it for an instant. Nomatter what else played upon the surface of their attention, each keptsaying to himself, underneath: "This is the last night--the last night!Miss Pratt is going away--going away to-morrow!"

Mr. Parcher's expression was peaceful. It was more peaceful than it hadbeen for a long time. In fact, he wore the look of a man who had beenthrough the mill but now contemplated a restful and health-restoringvacation. For there are people in this world who have no respect for thememory of Ponce de Leon, and Mr. Parcher had come to be of their number. The elimination of William from his evenings had lightened the burden;nevertheless, Mr. Parcher would have stated freely and openly to anyresponsible party that a yearning for the renewal of his youth had notbeen intensified by his daughter's having as a visitor, all summer long, a howling belle of eighteen who talked baby-talk even at breakfast andspread her suitors all over the small house--and its one veranda--fromeight in the morning until hours of the night long after their mothers(in Mr. Parcher's opinion) should have sent their fathers to march themhome. Upon Mr. Parcher's optimism the effect of so much unavoidableobservation of young love had been fatal; he declared repeatedly thathis faith in the human race was about gone. Furthermore, his physicalconstitution had proved pathetically vulnerable to nightly quartets, quintets, and even octets, on the porch below his bedchamber window, sothat he was wont to tell his wife that never, never could he expect tobe again the man he had been in the spring before Miss Pratt came tovisit May. And, referring to conversations which he almost continuouslyoverheard, perforce, Mr. Parcher said that if this was the way HE talkedat that age, he would far prefer to drown in an ordinary fountain, andbe dead and done with it, than to bathe in Ponce de Leon's. 

Altogether, the summer had been a severe one; he doubted that he couldhave survived much more of it. And now that it was virtually over, at last, he was so resigned to the departure of his daughter's lovelylittle friend that he felt no regret for the splurge with which hervisit was closing. Nay, to speed the parting guest--such was his lavishmood--twice and thrice over would he have paid for the lights, theflowers, the music, the sandwiches, the coffee, the chicken salad, thecake, the lemonade-punch, and the ice-cream. 

Thus did the one thought divide itself between William and Mr. Parcher, keeping itself deep and pure under all their other thoughts. "Miss Prattis going away!" thought William and Mr. Parcher. "Miss PRATT is goingaway--to-morrow!"

The unuttered words advanced tragically toward the gate in the head ofWilliam at the same time that they moved contentedly away in the headof Mr. Parcher; for Mr. Parcher caught sight of his wife just then, andwent to join her as she sank wearily upon the front steps. 

"Taking a rest for a minute?" he inquired. "By George! we're bothentitled to a good LONG rest, after to-night! If we could afford it, we'd go away to a quiet little sanitarium in the hills, somewhere, and--" He ceased to speak and there was the renewal of an old bitternessin his expression as his staring eyes followed the movements of astately young form entering the gateway. "Look at it!" said Mr. Parcherin a whisper. "Just look at it!"

"Look at what?" asked his wife. 

"That Baxter boy!" said Mr. Parcher, as William passed on toward thedancers. "What's he think he's imitating--Henry Irving? Look at hiswalk!"

"He walks that way a good deal, lately, I've noticed, " said Mrs. Parcherin a tired voice. "So do Joe Bullitt and--"

"He didn't even come to say good evening to you, " Mr. Parcherinterrupted. "Talk about MANNERS, nowadays! These young--"

"He didn't see us. "

"Well, we're used to that, " said Mr. Parcher. "None of 'em see us. They've worn holes in all the cane-seated chairs, they've scuffed up thewhole house, and I haven't been able to sit down anywhere down-stairsfor three months without sitting on some dam boy; but they don't evenknow we're alive! Well, thank the Lord, it's over--after to-night!" Hisvoice became reflective. "That Baxter boy was the worst, until he tookto coming in the daytime when I was down-town. I COULDN'T have stood itif he'd kept on coming in the evening. If I'd had to listen to any moreof his talking or singing, either the embalmer or the lunatic-asylumwould have had me, sure! I see he's got hold of his daddy's dress-suitagain for to-night. "

"Is it Mr. Baxter's dress-suit?" Mrs. Parcher inquired. "How do youknow?"

Mr. Parcher smiled. "How I happen to know is a secret, " he said. "Iforgot about that. His little sister, Jane, told me that Mrs. Baxter hadhidden it, or something, so that Willie couldn't wear it, but I guessJane wouldn't mind my telling YOU that she told me especially as they'reletting him use it again to-night. I suppose he feels grander 'n theKing o' Siam!"

"No, " Mrs. Parcher returned, thoughtfully. "I don't think he does, justnow. " Her gaze was fixed upon the dancing-platform, which most ofthe dancers were abandoning as the music fell away to an intervalof silence. In the center of the platform there remained one group, consisting of Miss Pratt and five orators, and of the orators the mostimpassioned and gesticulative was William. 

"They all seem to want to dance with her all the time, " said Mrs. Parcher. "I heard her telling one of the boys, half an hour ago, thatall she could give him was either the twenty-eighth regular dance or thesixteenth 'extra. '"

"The what?" Mr. Parcher demanded, whirling to face her. "Do they thinkthis party's going to keep running till day after to-morrow?" And then, as his eyes returned to the group on the platform, "That boy seems tohave quite a touch of emotional insanity, " he remarked, referring toWilliam. "What IS the matter with him?"

"Oh, nothing, " his wife returned. "Only trying to arrange a dance withher. He seems to be in difficulties. "

XXVI

MISS BOKE

Nothing could have been more evident than William's difficulties. Theycontinued to exist, with equal obviousness, when the group broke up insome confusion, after a few minutes of animated discussion; Mr. WallaceBanks, that busy and executive youth, bearing Miss Pratt triumphantlyoff to the lemonade-punch-bowl, while William pursued Johnnie Watsonand Joe Bullitt. He sought to detain them near the edge of the platform, though they appeared far from anxious to linger in his company; and hewas able to arrest their attention only by clutching an arm of each. Infact, the good feeling which had latterly prevailed among these threeappeared to be in danger of disintegrating. The occasion was toovital; and the watchword for "Miss Pratt's last night" wasDevil-Take-the-Hindmost!

"Now you look here, Johnnie, " William said, vehemently, "and you listen, too, Joe! You both got seven dances apiece with her, anyway, all onaccount of my not getting here early enough, and you got to--"

"It wasn't because of any such reason, " young Mr. Watson protested. "Iasked her for mine two days ago. "

"Well, THAT wasn't fair, was it?" William cried. "Just because I neverthought of sneaking in ahead like that, you go and--"

"Well, you ought to thought of it, " Johnnie retorted, jerking his armfree of William's grasp. "I can't stand here GABBIN' all night!" And hehurried away. 

"Joe, " William began, fastening more securely upon Mr. Bullitt--"Joe, I've done a good many favors for you, and--"

"I've got to see a man, " Mr. Bullitt interrupted. "Lemme go, Silly Bill. There's some body I got to see right away before the next dance begins. I GOT to! Honest I have!"

William seized him passionately by the lapels of his coat. "Listen, Joe. For goodness' sake can't you listen a MINUTE? You GOT to give me--"

"Honest, Bill, " his friend expostulated, backing away as forcefully aspossible, "I got to find a fellow that's here to-night and ask him aboutsomething important before--"

"Ye gods! Can't you wait a MINUTE?" William cried, keeping his grip uponJoe's lapels. "You GOT to give me anyway TWO out of all your dances withher! You heard her tell me, yourself, that she'd be willing if you orJohnnie or--"

"Well, I only got five or six with her, and a couple extras. Johnnie'sgot seven. Whyn't you go after Johnnie? I bet he'd help you out, allright, if you kept after him. What you want to pester ME for, Bill?"

The brutal selfishness of this speech, as well as its cold-bloodedinsincerity, produced in William the impulse to smite. Fortunately, hisonly hope lay in persuasion, and after a momentary struggle with his ownfeatures he was able to conceal what he desired to do to Joe's. 

He swallowed, and, increasing the affectionate desperation of his clutchupon Mr. Bullitt's lapels, "Joe, " he began, huskily--"Joe, if _I_'d gotsix reg'lar and two extras with Miss Pratt her last night here, and yougot here late, and it wasn't your fault--I couldn't help being late, could I? It wasn't my fault I was late, I guess, was it? Well, if Iwas in YOUR place I wouldn't act the way you and Johnnie do--not in athousand years I wouldn't! I'd say, 'You want a couple o' my dances withMiss Pratt, ole man? Why, CERTAINLY--'"

"Yes, you would!" was the cynical comment of Mr. Bullitt, whose avertedface and reluctant shoulders indicated a strong desire to conclude theinterview. "To-night, especially!" he added. 

"Look here, Joe, " said William, desperately, "don't you realize thatthis is the very last night Miss Pratt's going to be in this town?"

"You bet I do!" These words, though vehement, were inaudible; beingformed in the mind of Mr. Bullitt, but, for diplomatic reasons, notprojected upon the air by his vocal organs. 

William continued: "Joe, you and I have been friends ever since you andI were boys. " He spoke with emotion, but Joe had no appearance of beingfavorably impressed. "And when I look back, " said William, "I expectI've done more favors for you than I ever have for any oth--"

But Mr. Bullitt briskly interrupted this appealing reminiscence. "Listen here, Silly Bill, " he said, becoming all at once friendly andencouraging--"Bill, there's other girls here you can get dances with. There's one or two of 'em sittin' around in the yard. You can have abully time, even if you did come late. " And, with the air of discharginghappily all the obligations of which William had reminded him, he added, "I'll tell you THAT much, Bill!"

"Joe, you got to give me anyway ONE da--"

"Look!" said Mr. Bullitt, eagerly. "Look sittin' yonder, over underthat tree all by herself! That's a visiting girl named Miss Boke; she'svisiting some old uncle or something she's got livin' here, and I betyou could--"

"Joe, you GOT to--"

"I bet that Miss Boke's a good dancer, Bill, " Joe continued, warmly. "May Parcher says so. She was tryin' to get me to dance with her myself, but I couldn't, or I would of. Honest, Bill, I would of! Bill, if I wasyou I'd sail right in there before anybody else got a start, and I'd--"

"Ole man, " said William, gently, "you remember the time Miss Pratt and Ihad an engagement to go walkin', and you wouldn't of seen her for a weekon account of your aunt dyin' in Kansas City, if I hadn't let you goalong with us? Ole man, if you--"

But the music sounded for the next dance, and Joe felt that it wasindeed time to end this uncomfortable conversation. "I got to go, Bill, "he said. "I GOT to!"

"Wait just one minute, " William implored. "I want to say just this:if--"

"Here!" exclaimed Mr. Bullitt. "I got to GO!"

"I know it. That's why--"

Heedless of remonstrance, Joe wrenched himself free, for it would havetaken a powerful and ruthless man to detain him longer. "What you takeme for?" he demanded, indignantly. "I got this with Miss PRATT!"

And evading a hand which still sought to clutch him, he departed hotly. 

. .. Mr. Parcher's voice expressed wonder, a little later, as herecommended his wife to turn her gaze in the direction of "that Baxterboy" again. "Just look at him!" said Mr. Parcher. "His face has got moregenuine idiocy in it than I've seen around here yet, and God knows I'vebeen seeing some miracles in that line this summer!"

"He's looking at Lola Pratt, " said Mrs. Parcher. 

"Don't you suppose I can see that?" Mr. Parcher returned, with someirritation. "That's what's the trouble with him. Why don't he QUITlooking at her?"

"I think probably he feels badly because she's dancing with one of theother boys, " said his wife, mildly. 

"Then why can't he dance with somebody else himself?" Mr. Parcherinquired, testily. "Instead of standing around like a calf looking outof the butcher's wagon! By George! he looks as if he was just going toMOO!"

"Of course he ought to be dancing with somebody, " Mrs. Parcher remarked, thoughtfully. "There are one or two more girls than boys here, andhe's the only boy not dancing. I believe I'll--" And, not stopping tocomplete the sentence, she rose and walked across the interval of grassto William. "Good evening, William, " she said, pleasantly. "Don't youwant to dance?"

"Ma'am?" said William, blankly, and the eyes he turned upon here wereglassy with anxiety. He was still determined to dance on and on and onwith Miss Pratt, but he realized that there were great obstacles to beovercome before he could begin the process. He was feverishly awaitingthe next interregnum between dances--then he would show Joe Bullitt andJohnnie Watson and Wallace Banks, and some others who had set themselvesin his way, that he was "abs'lutely not goin' to stand it!"

He couldn't stand it, he told himself, even if he wanted to--notto-night! He had "been through enough" in order to get to the party, hethought, thus defining sufferings connected with his costume, and nowthat he was here he WOULD dance and dance, on and on, with Miss Pratt. Anything else was unthinkable. 

He HAD to!

"Don't you want to dance?" Mrs. Parcher repeated. "Have you lookedaround for a girl without a partner?"

He continued to stare at her, plainly having no comprehension of hermeaning. 

"Girl?" he echoed, in a tone of feeble inquiry. 

She smiled and nodded, taking his arm. "You come with me, " she said. "I'LL fix you up!"

William suffered her to conduct him across the yard. Intenselypreoccupied with what he meant to do as soon as the music paused, hewas somewhat hazy, but when he perceived that he was being led in thedirection of a girl, sitting solitary under one of the maple-trees, thesudden shock of fear aroused his faculties. 

"What--where--" he stammered, halting and seeking to detach himself fromhis hostess. 

"What is it?" she asked. 

"I got--I got to--" William began, uneasily. "I got to--"

His purpose was to excuse himself on the ground that he had to find aman and tell him something important before the next dance, for in theconfusion of the moment his powers refused him greater originality. But the vital part of his intended excuse remained unspoken, beingdisregarded and cut short, as millions of other masculine diplomacieshave been, throughout the centuries, by the decisive action of ladies. 

Miss Boke had been sitting under the mapletree for a long time--so long, indeed, that she was acquiring a profound distaste for forestry and evenfor maple syrup. In fact, her state of mind was as desperate, in itsway, as William's; and when a hostess leads a youth (in almost perfectlyfitting conventional black) toward a girl who has been sitting alonethrough dance after dance, that girl knows what that youth is going tohave to do. 

It must be confessed for Miss Boke that her eyes had been upon Williamfrom the moment Mrs. Parcher addressed him. Nevertheless, as the paircame toward her she looked casually away in an indifferent manner. Andyet this may have been but a seeming unconsciousness, for upon the veryinstant of William's halting, and before he had managed to stammer "Igot to--" for the fourth time, Miss Boke sprang to her feet and met Mrs. Parcher more than halfway. 

"Oh, Mrs. Parcher!" she called, coming forward. 

"I got--" the panic-stricken William again hastily began. "I got to--"

"Oh, Mrs. Parcher, " cried Miss Boke, "I've been SO worried! There's acandle in that Japanese lantern just over your head, and I think it'sgoing out. "

"I'll run and get a fresh one in a minute, " said Mrs. Parcher, smilingbenevolently and retaining William's arm with a little difficulty. "Wewere just coming to find you. I've brought--"

"I got to--I got to find a m--" William made a last, stricken effort. 

"Miss Boke, this is Mr. Baxter, " said Mrs. Parcher, and she added, withwhat seemed to William hideous garrulity, "He and you both came late, dear, and he hasn't any dances engaged, either. So run and dance, andhave a nice time together. "

Thereupon this disastrous woman returned to her husband. Her look wasconscientious; she thought she had done something pleasant!

The full horror of his position was revealed to William in the relieved, confident, proprietor's smile of Miss Boke. For William lived by a codefrom which no previous experience had taught him any means of escape. Mrs. Parcher had made the statement--so needless and so ruinous--thathe had no engagements; and in his dismay he had been unable to deny thisfatal truth; he had been obliged to let it stand. Henceforth, he wascommitted absolutely to Miss Boke until either some one else asked herto dance, or (while yet in her close company) William could obtain anengagement with another girl. The latter alternative presented certaingrave difficulties, also contracting William to dance with the othergirl before once more obtaining his freedom, but undeniably he regardedit from the first as the more hopeful. 

He had to give form to the fatal invitation. "M'av this dance 'thyou?"he muttered, doggedly. 

"Vurry pleased to!" Miss Boke responded, whereupon they walked insilence to the platform, stepped upon its surface, and embraced. 

They made a false start. 

They made another. 

They stood swaying to catch the time; then made another. After that theytried again, and were saved from a fall only by spasmodic and noticeablecontortions. 

Miss Boke laughed tolerantly, as if forgiving William for hisawkwardness, and his hot heart grew hotter with that injustice. She wasa large, ample girl, weighing more than William (this must be definitelyclaimed in his behalf), and she had been spending the summer at alakeside hotel where she had constantly danced "man's part. " To paintWilliam's predicament at a stroke, his partner was a determined ratherthan a graceful dancer--and their efforts to attune themselves to eachother and to the music were in a fair way to attract general attention. 

A coarse chuckle, a half-suppressed snort, assailed William's scarletear, and from the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of Joe Bullittgliding by, suffused; while over Joe's detested shoulder could be seenthe adorable and piquant face of the One girl--also suffused. 

"Doggone it!" William panted. 

"Oh, you mustn't be discouraged with yourself, " said Miss Boke, genially. "I've met lots of Men that had trouble to get started andturned out to be right good dancers, after all. It seems to me we'rekind of workin' against each other. I'll tell you--you kind of let medo the guiding and I'll get you going fine. Now! ONE, two, ONE, two!There!"

William ceased to struggle for dominance, and their efforts to "getstarted" were at once successful. With a muscular power that wassurprising, Miss Boke bore him out into the circling current, swunghim round and round, walked him backward half across the platform, thenswung him round and round and round again. For a girl, she "guided"remarkably well; nevertheless, a series of collisions, varying inintensity, marked the path of the pair upon the rather crowded platform. In such emergencies Miss Boke proved herself deft in swinging Williamto act as a buffer, and he several times found himself heavily strickenfrom the rear; anon his face would be pressed suffocatingly into MissBoke's hair, without the slightest wish on his part for such intimacy. He had a helpless feeling, fully warranted by the circumstances. Also, he soon became aware that Miss Boke's powerful "guiding" was observedby the public; for, after one collision, more severe than others, a lowvoice hissed in his ear:

"SHE WON'T HURT YOU MUCH, SILLY BILL. SHE'S ONLY IN FUN!"

This voice belonged to the dancer with whom he had just been in painfulcontact, Johnnie Watson. However, Johnnie had whirled far upon anotherorbit before William found a retort, and then it was a feeble one. 

"I wish YOU'D try a few dances with her!" he whispered, inaudibly, butwith unprecedented bitterness, as the masterly arm of his partner justsaved him from going over the edge of the platform. "I bet she'd killyou!"

More than once he tried to assert himself and resume his natural placeas guide, but each time he did so he immediately got out of step withhis partner, their knees collided embarrassingly, they staggered andwalked upon each other's insteps--and William was forced to abandon theunequal contest. 

"I just love dancing, " said Miss Boke, serenely. "Don't you, Mr. Baxter?"

"What?" he gulped. "Yeh. "

"It's a beautiful floor for dancing, isn't it?"

"Yeh. "

"I just love dancing, " Miss Boke thought proper to declare again. "Don'tyou love it, Mr. Baxter?"

This time he considered his enthusiasm to be sufficiently indicated by anod. He needed all his breath. 

"It's lovely, " she murmured. "I hope they don't play 'Home, SweetHome' very early at parties in this town. I could keep on like this allnight!"

To the gasping William it seemed that she already had kept on like thisall night, and he expressed himself in one great, frank, agonized moanof relief when the music stopped. "I sh' think those musicians 'd bedead!" he said, as he wiped his brow. And then discovering that MayParcher stood at his elbow, he spoke hastily to her. "M'av the next'thyou?"

But Miss Parcher had begun to applaud the musicians for an encore. Sheshook her head. "Next's the third extra, " she said. "And, anyhow, thisone's going to be encored now. You can have the twenty-second--if thereIS any!" William threw a wild glance about him, looking for other girls, but the tireless orchestra began to play the encore, and Miss Boke, whohad been applauding, instantly cast herself upon his bosom. "Come on!"she cried. "Don't let's miss a second of it; It's just glorious!"

When the encore was finished she seized William's arm, and, mentioningthat she'd left her fan upon the chair under the maple-tree, added, "Come on! Let's go get it QUICK!"

Under the maple-tree she fanned herself and talked of her love fordancing until the music sounded again. "Come on!" she cried, then. "Don't let's miss a second of it! It's just glorious!"

And grasping his arm, she propelled him toward the platform with a merrylittle rush. 

So passed five dances. Long, long dances. 

Likewise five encores. Long encores. 

XXVII

MAROONED

At every possible opportunity William hailed other girls with a hasty"M'av the next 'thyou?" but he was indeed unfortunate to have arrived solate. 

The best he got was a promise of "the nineteenth--if there IS any!"

After each dance Miss Boke conducted him back to the maple-tree, alooffrom the general throng, and William found the intermissions almostequal to his martyrdoms upon the platform. But, as there was a barelyperceptible balance in their favor, he collected some fragments of hisbroken spirit, when Miss Boke would have borne him to the platform forthe sixth time, and begged to "sit this one out, " alleging that he had"kind of turned his ankle, or something, " he believed. 

The cordial girl at once placed him upon the chair and gallantlyprocured another for herself. In her solicitude she sat close to him, looking fondly at his face, while William, though now and then rubbinghis ankle for plausibility's sake, gazed at the platform with anexpression which Gustave Dore would gratefully have found suggestive. William was conscious of a voice continually in action near him, butnot of what it said. Miss Boke was telling him of the dancing "up at thelake" where she had spent the summer, and how much she had loved it, butWilliam missed all that. Upon the many-colored platform the ineffableOne drifted to and fro, back and forth; her little blonde head, in agolden net, glinting here and there like a bit of tinsel blowing acrossa flower-garden. 

And when that dance and its encore were over she went to lean against atree, while Wallace Banks fanned her, but she was so busy with Wallacethat she did not notice William, though she passed near enough to waft abreath of violet scent to his wan nose. A fragment of her silver speechtinkled in his ear:

"Oh, Wallie Banks! Bid pid s'ant have Bruvva Josie-Joe's dance 'less Joesay so. Lola MUS' be fair. Wallie mustn't--"

"That's that Miss Pratt, " observed Miss Boke, following William's gazewith some interest. "You met her yet?"

"Yeh, " said William. 

"She's been visiting here all summer, " Miss Boke informed him. "I was ata little tea this afternoon, and some of the girls said this Miss Prattsaid she'd never DREAM of getting engaged to any man that didn't haveseven hundred and fifty thousand dollars. I don't know if it's true ornot, but I expect so. Anyway, they said they heard her say so. "

William lifted his right hand from his ankle and passed it, time aftertime, across his damp forehead. He did not believe that Miss Pratt couldhave expressed herself in so mercenary a manner, but if she HAD--well, one fact in British history had so impressed him that he rememberedit even after Examination: William Pitt, the younger, had been PrimeMinister of England at twenty-one. 

If an Englishman could do a thing like that, surely a bright, energeticyoung American needn't feel worried about seven hundred and fiftythousand dollars! And although William, at seventeen, had seldompossessed more than seven hundred and fifty cents, four long years mustpass, and much could be done, before he would reach the age at whichWilliam Pitt attained the premiership--coincidentally a good, ripe, marriageable age. Still, seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars isa stiffish order, even allowing four long years to fill it; andundoubtedly Miss Boke's bit of gossip added somewhat to the alreadysufficient anxieties of William's evening. 

"Up at the lake, " Miss Boke chattered on, "we got to use the hoteldining-room for the hops. It's a floor a good deal like this floor isto-night--just about oily enough and as nice a floor as ever I dancedon. We have awf'ly good times up at the lake. 'Course there aren't somany Men up there, like there are here to-night, and I MUST say I AMglad to get a chance to dance with a Man again! I told you you'd danceall right, once we got started, and look at the way it's turned out:our steps just suit exactly! If I must say it, I could scarcely think ofanybody I EVER met I'd rather dance with. When anybody's step suits inwith mine, that way, why, I LOVE to dance straight through an eveningwith one person, the way we're doing. "

Dimly, yet with strong repulsion, William perceived that theirinterminable companionship had begun to affect Miss Boke with a likingfor him. And as she chattered chummily on, revealing this increasingcordiality all the while--though her more obvious topics were dancing, dancing-floors, and "the lake"--the reciprocal sentiment roused in hisbreast was that of Sindbad the Sailor for the Old Man of the Sea. 

He was unable to foresee a future apart from her; and when she informedhim that she preferred his style of dancing to all other styles shownby the Men at this party, her thus singling him out for praise onlyemphasized, in his mind, that point upon which he was the mostembittered. 

"Yes!" he reflected. "It had to be ME!" With all the crowd to choosefrom, Mrs. Parcher had to go and pick on HIM! All, all the others wentabout, free as air, flitting from girl to girl--girls that danced likegirls! All, all except William, danced with Miss PRATT! What Miss Pratthad offered HIM was a choice between the thirty-second dance andthe twenty-first extra. THAT was what he had to look forward to: thethirty-second reg'lar or the twenty-first extra!

Meanwhile, merely through eternity, he was sealed unto Miss Boke. 

The tie that bound them oppressed him as if it had been an ill-omenedmatrimony, and he sat beside her like an unwilling old husband. All thewhile, Miss Boke had no appreciation whatever of her companion's realcondition, and, when little, spasmodic, sinister changes appeared in hisface (as they certainly did from time to time) she attributed them topains in his ankle. However, William decided to discard his ankle, after they had "sat out" two dances on account of it. He decided that hepreferred dancing, and said he guessed he must be better. 

So they danced again--and again. 

When the fourteenth dance came, about half an hour before midnight, theywere still dancing together. 

It was upon the conclusion of this fourteenth dance that Mr. Parchermentioned to his wife a change in his feelings toward William. "I'vebeen watching him, " said Mr. Parcher, "and I never saw true misery showplainer. He's having a really horrible time. By George! I hate him, butI've begun to feel kind of sorry for him! Can't you trot up somebodyelse, so he can get away from that fat girl?"

Mrs. Parcher shook her head in a discouraged way. "I've tried, and I'vetried, and I've tried!" she said. 

"Well, try again. "

"I can't now. " She waved her hand toward the rear of the house. Roundthe corner marched a short procession of negroes, bearing trays; andthe dancers were dispersing themselves to chairs upon the lawn "forrefreshments. "

"Well, do something, " Mr. Parcher urged. "We don't want to find him inthe cistern in the morning!"

Mrs. Parcher looked thoughtful, then brightened. "_I_ know!" she said. "I'll make May and Lola and their partners come sit in this littlecircle of chairs here, and then I'll go and bring Willie and Miss Boketo sit with them. I'll give Willie the seat at Lola's left. You keep thechairs. "

Straightway she sped upon her kindly errand. It proved successful, sosuccessful, indeed, that without the slightest effort--without even ahint on her part--she brought not only William and his constant friendto sit in the circle with Miss Pratt, Miss Parcher and their escorts, but Mr. Bullitt, Mr. Watson, Mr. Banks, and three other young gentlemenas well. Nevertheless, Mrs. Parcher managed to carry out her plan, and after a little display of firmness, saw William satisfactorilyestablished in the chair at Miss Pratt's left. 

At last, at last, he sat beside the fairy-like creature, and filledhis lungs with infinitesimal particles of violet scent. More: he was nosooner seated than the little blonde head bent close to his; the goldennet brushed his cheek. She whispered:

"No'ty ickle boy Batster! Lola's last night, an' ickle boy Batsterfluttin'! Flut all night wif dray bid dirl!"

William made no reply. 

There are occasions, infrequent, of course, when even a bachelor is notflattered by being accused of flirting. William's feelings toward MissBoke had by this time come to such a pass that he, regarded the chargeof flirting with her as little less than an implication of gravemental deficiency. And well he remembered how Miss Pratt, beholding hissubjugated gymnastics in the dance, had grown pink with laughter! Butstill the rose-leaf lips whispered:

"Lola saw! Lola saw bad boy Batster under dray bid tree fluttin' wifdray bid dirl. Fluttin' all night wif dray bid 'normous dirl!"

Her cruelty was all unwitting; she intended to rally him sweetly. Butseventeen is deathly serious at such junctures, and William was in asensitive condition. He made no reply in words. Instead, he drew himselfup (from the waist, that is, because he was sitting) with a kind ofproud dignity. And that was all. 

"Oo tross?" whispered Lola. 

He spake not. 

"'Twasn't my fault about dancing, " she said. "Bad boy! What made youcome so late?"

He maintained his silence and the accompanying icy dignity, whereuponshe made a charming little pout. 

"Oo be so tross, " she said, "Lola talk to nice Man uvver side of her!"

With that she turned her back upon him and prattled merrily to thegentleman of sixteen upon her right. 

Still and cold sat William. Let her talk to the Man at the other sideof her as she would, and never so gaily, William knew that she wasconscious every instant of the reproachful presence upon her left. Andsomehow these moments of quiet and melancholy dignity became the mostsatisfactory he had known that evening. For as he sat, so silent, soaustere, and not yet eating, though a plate of chicken salad had beenplaced upon his lap, he began to feel that there was somewhere abouthim a mysterious superiority which set him apart from other people--andabove them. This quality, indefinable and lofty, had carried him throughtroubles, that very night, which would have wrecked the lives of suchsimple fellows as Joe Bullitt and Johnnie Watson. And although MissPratt continued to make merry with the Man upon her right, it seemedto William that this was but outward show. He had a strange, subtleimpression that the mysterious superiority which set him apart fromothers was becoming perceptible to her--that she was feeling it, too. 

Alas! Such are the moments Fate seizes upon to play the clown!

Over the chatter and laughter of the guests rose a too familiar voice. "Lemme he'p you to nice tongue samwich, lady. No'm? Nice green lettucesamwich, lady?"

Genesis!

"Nice tongue samwich, suh? Nice lettuce samwich, lady?" he could beheard vociferating--perhaps a little too much as if he had sandwichesfor sale. "Lemme jes' lay this nice green lettuce samwich on you' platefer you. "

His wide-spread hand bore the tray of sandwiches high overhead, for hisstyle in waiting was florid, though polished. He walked with a faint, shuffling suggestion of a prance, a lissome pomposity adopted inobedience to the art-sense within him which bade him harmonize himselfwith occasions of state and fashion. His manner was the super-supremeexpression of graciousness, but the graciousness was innocent, being butan affectation and nothing inward--for inwardly Genesis was humble. Hewas only pretending to be the kind of waiter he would like to be. 

And because he was a new waiter he strongly wished to show familiaritywith his duties--familiarity, in fact, with everything and everybody. This yearning, born of self-doubt, and intensified by a slight touch ofgin, was beyond question the inspiration of his painful behavior whenhe came near the circle of chairs where sat Mr. And Mrs. Parcher, MissParcher, Miss Pratt, Miss Boke, Mr. Watson, Mr. Bullitt, others--andWilliam. 

"Nice tongue samwich, lady!" he announced, semi-cake-walking beneath hishigh-borne tray. 

"Nice green lettuce sam--" He came suddenly to a dramatic dead-stop as hebeheld William sitting before him, wearing that strange new dignity andMr. Baxter's evening clothes. "Name o' goo'ness!" Genesis exclaimed, soloudly that every one looked up. "How in the livin' worl' you evuh cometo git here? You' daddy sut'ny mus' 'a' weakened 'way down 'fo' he letyou wear his low-cut ves' an' pants an' long-tail coat! I bet any manfifty cents you gone an' stole 'em out aftuh he done went to bed!"

And he burst into a wild, free African laugh. 

At seventeen such things are not embarrassing; they are catastrophical. But, mercifully, catastrophes often produce a numbness in the victims. More as in a trance than actually William heard the outbreak of hisyoung companions; and, during the quarter of an hour subsequent toGenesis's performance, the oft-renewed explosions of their mirth madebut a kind of horrid buzzing in his ears. Like sounds borne from faraway were the gaspings of Mr. And Mrs. Parcher, striving with all theirstrength to obtain mastery of themselves once more. 

. .. A flourish of music challenged the dancers. Couples appeared uponthe platform. 

The dreadful supper was over. 

The ineffable One, supremely pink, rose from her seat at William'sside and moved toward the platform with the glowing Joe Bullitt. ThenWilliam, roused to action by this sight, sprang to his feet and took astep toward them. But it was only one weak step. 

A warm and ample hand placed itself firmly inside the crook of hiselbow. "Let's get started for this one before the floor gets all crowdedup, " said Miss Boke. 

Miss Boke danced and danced with him; she danced him on--and on--andon----

At half past one the orchestra played "Home, Sweet Home. " As the lastbars sounded, a group of earnest young men who had surrounded the lovelyguest of honor, talking vehemently, broke into loud shouts, embraced oneanother and capered variously over the lawn. Mr. Parcher beheld from adistance these manifestations, and then, with an astonishment even moreprofound, took note of the tragic William, who was running toward him, radiant--Miss Boke hovering futilely in the far background. 

"What's all the hullabaloo?" Mr. Parcher inquired. 

"Miss Pratt!" gasped William. "Miss Pratt!"

"Well, what about her?"

And upon receiving William's reply, Mr. Parcher might well havediscerned behind it the invisible hand of an ironic but recompensingProvidence making things even--taking from the one to give to the other. 

"She's going to stay!" shouted the happy William. "She's promised tostay another week!"

And then, mingling with the sounds of rejoicing, there ascended toheaven the stricken cry of an elderly man plunging blindly into thehouse in search of his wife. 

XXVIII

RANNIE KIRSTED

Observing the monotonously proper behavior of the sun, man had an absurdidea and invented Time. Becoming still more absurd, man said, "So muchshall be a day; such and such shall be a week. All weeks shall be thesame length. " Yet every baby knows better! How long for Johnnie Watson, for Joe Bullitt, for Wallace Banks--how long for William Sylvanus Baxterwas the last week of Miss Pratt? No one can answer. How long was thatweek for Mr. Parcher? Again the mind is staggered. 

Many people, of course, considered it to be a week of average size. Among these was Jane. 

Throughout seven days which brought some tense moments to the Baxterhousehold, Jane remained calm; and she was still calm upon the eighthmorning as she stood in the front yard of her own place of residence, gazing steadily across the street. The object of her grave attention wasan ample brick house, newly painted white after repairs and enlargementsso inspiring to Jane's faculty for suggesting better ways of doingthings, that the workmen had learned to address her, with a slightbitterness, as "Madam President. "

Throughout the process of repair, and until the very last of thepainting, Jane had considered this house to be as much her property asanybody's; for children regard as ownerless all vacant houses and allhouses in course of construction or radical alteration. Nothing short offurniture--intimate furniture in considerable quantity--hints that thepublic is not expected. However, such a hint, or warning, was conveyedto Jane this morning, for two "express wagons" were standing at the curbwith their backs impolitely toward the brick house; and powerful-voicedmen went surging to and fro under fat arm-chairs, mahogany tables, disarticulated bedsteads, and baskets of china and glassware; while aharassed lady appeared in the outer doorway, from time to time, withgestures of lamentation and entreaty. Upon the sidewalk, between thewagons and the gate, was a broad wet spot, vaguely circular, with apartial circumference of broken glass and extinct goldfish. 

Jane was forced to conclude that the brick house did belong to somebody, after all. Wherefore, she remained in her own yard, a steadfastspectator, taking nourishment into her system at regular intervals. This was beautifully automatic: in each hand she held a slice of bread, freely plastered over with butter, apple sauce, and powdered sugar;and when she had taken somewhat from the right hand, that hand slowlydescended with its burden, while, simultaneously, the left began torise, reaching the level of her mouth precisely at the moment when alittle wave passed down her neck, indicating that the route was clear. Then, having made delivery, the left hand sank, while the right began torise again. And, so well had custom trained Jane's members, never oncedid she glance toward either of these faithful hands or the food thatit supported; her gaze was all the while free to remain upon the houseacross the way and the great doings before it. 

After a while, something made her wide eyes grow wider almost to theirutmost. Nay, the event was of that importance her mechanical handsceased to move and stopped stock-still, the right half-way up, the lefthalf-way down, as if because of sudden motor trouble within Jane. Hermouth was equally affected, remaining open at a visible crisis in theperformance of its duty. These were the tokens of her agitation uponbeholding the removal of a dolls' house from one of the wagons. Thisdolls' house was at least five feet high, of proportionate breadth anddepths the customary absence of a facade disclosing an interior of fourluxurious floors, with stairways, fireplaces, and wall-paper. Here was amansion wherein doll-duchesses, no less, must dwell. 

Straightway, a little girl ran out of the open doorway of the brickhouse and, with a self-importance concentrated to the point ofshrewishness, began to give orders concerning the disposal of herpersonal property, which included (as she made clear) not only thedolls' mansion, but also three dolls' trunks and a packing-case of fairsize. She was a thin little girl, perhaps half a year younger than Jane;and she was as soiled, particularly in respect to hands, brow, chin, andthe knees of white stockings, as could be expected of any busybodyishperson of nine or ten whose mother is house-moving. But she wasgifted--if we choose to put the matter in the hopeful, sweeter way--shewas gifted with an unusually loud and shrill voice, and she made herselfheard over the strong-voiced men to such emphatic effect that one of thelatter, with the dolls' mansion upon his back, paused in the gateway toacquaint her with his opinion that of all the bossy little girls he hadever seen, heard, or heard of, she was the bossiest. 

"THE worst!" he added. 

The little girl across the street was of course instantly aware of Jane, though she pretended not to be; and from the first her self-importancewas in large part assumed for the benefit of the observer. After amomentary silence, due to her failure to think of any proper response tothe workman who so pointedly criticized her, she resumed the peremptorydirection of her affairs. She ran in and out of the house, her brow darkwith frowns, her shoulders elevated; and by every means at her disposalshe urged her audience to behold the frightful responsibilities of onewho must keep a thousand things in her head at once, and yet be readyfor decisive action at any instant. 

There may have been one weakness in this strong performance: theartistic sincerity of it was a little discredited by the increasingfrequency with which the artist took note of her effect. During eachof her most impressive moments, she flashed, from the far corner of hereye, two questions at Jane: "How about THAT one? Are you still watchingMe?"

Then, apparently in the very midst of her cares, she suddenly andwithout warning ceased to boss, walked out into the street, halted, andstared frankly at Jane. 

Jane had begun her automatic feeding again. She continued it, meanwhileseriously returning the stare of the new neighbor. For several minutesthis mutual calm and inoffensive gaze was protracted; then Jane, afterswallowing the last morsel of her supplies, turned her head away andlooked at a tree. The little girl, into whose eyes some wistfulness hadcrept, also turned her head and looked at a tree. After a while, sheadvanced to the curb on Jane's side of the street, and, swinging herright foot, allowed it to kick the curbstone repeatedly. 

Jane came out to the sidewalk and began to kick one of thefence-pickets. 

"You see that ole fatty?" asked the little girl, pointing to one of theworkmen, thus sufficiently identified. 

"Yes. "

"That's the one broke the goldfish, " said the little girl. There was apause during which she continued to scuff the curbstone with her shoe, Jane likewise scuffing the fence-picket. "I'm goin' to have papa get himarrested, " added the stranger. 

"My papa got two men arrested once, " Jane said, calmly. "Two or three. "

The little girl's eyes, wandering upward, took note of Jane's papa'shouse, and of a fierce young gentleman framed in an open windowup-stairs. He was seated, wore ink upon his forehead, and tapped histeeth with a red penholder. 

"Who is that?" she asked. 

"It's Willie. "

"Is it your papa?"

"NO-O-O-O!" Jane exclaimed. "It's WILLIE!"

"Oh, " said the little girl, apparently satisfied. 

Each now scuffed less energetically with her shoe; feet slowed down;so did conversation, and, for a time, Jane and the stranger wrappedthemselves in stillness, though there may have been some silentcommuning between them. Then the new neighbor placed her feet far apartand leaned backward upon nothing, curving her front outward and herremarkably flexible spine inward until a profile view of her was grandlysemicircular. 

Jane watched her attentively, but without comment. However, no onecould have doubted that the processes of acquaintance were progressingfavorably. 

"Let's go in our yard, " said Jane. 

The little girl straightened herself with a slight gasp, and acceptedthe invitation. Side by side, the two passed through the open gate, walked gravely forth upon the lawn, and halted, as by common consent. Jane thereupon placed her feet wide apart and leaned backward uponnothing, attempting the feat in contortion just performed by thestranger. 

"Look, " she said. "Look at ME!"

But she lacked the other's genius, lost her balance, and fell. Bornpersistent, she immediately got to her feet and made fresh efforts. 

"No! Look at ME!" the little girl cried, becoming semicircular again. "This is the way. I call it 'puttin' your stummick out o' joint. ' Youhaven't got yours out far enough. "

"Yes, I have, " said Jane, gasping. 

"Well, to do it right, you must WALK that way. As soon as you get yourstummick out o' joint, you must begin an' walk. Look! Like this. " Andthe little girl, having achieved a state of such convexity that herbraided hair almost touched the ground behind her, walked successfullyin that singular attitude. 

"I'm walkin', " Jane protested, her face not quite upside down. "Look!I'M walkin' that way, too. My stummick--"

There came an outraged shout from above, and a fierce countenance, stained with ink, protruded from the window. 

"Jane!"

"What?"

"Stop that! Stop putting your stomach out in front of you like that!It's disgraceful!"

Both young ladies, looking rather oppressed, resumed the perpendicular. "Why doesn't he like it?" the stranger asked in a tone of pure wonder. 

"I don't know, " said Jane. "He doesn't like much of anything. He'sseventeen years old. "

After that, the two stared moodily at the ground for a little while, chastened by the severe presence above; then Jane brightened. 

"_I_ know!" she exclaimed, cozily. "Let's play callers. Right here bythis bush 'll be my house. You come to call on me, an' we'll talkabout our chuldren. You be Mrs. Smith an' I'm Mrs. Jones. " And in thecharacter of a hospitable matron she advanced graciously toward the newneighbor. "Why, my dear Mrs. SMITH, come right IN! I THOUGHT you'd callthis morning. I want to tell you about my lovely little daughter. She'sonly ten years old, an' says the brightest THINGS! You really must--"

But here Jane interrupted herself abruptly, and, hopping behind theresidential bush, peeped over it, not at Mrs. Smith, but at a boy of tenor eleven who was passing along the sidewalk. Her expression was gravelyinterested, somewhat complacent; and Mrs. Smith was not so lacking inperception that she failed to understand how completely--for the timebeing, at least--calling was suspended. 

The boy whistled briskly, "My country, 'tis of thee, " and though hisknowledge of the air failed him when he finished the second line, hewas not disheartened, but began at the beginning again, continuingrepeatedly after this fashion to offset monotony by patriotism. Hewhistled loudly; he walked with ostentatious intent to be at some heavyaffair in the distance; his ears were red. He looked neither to theright nor to the left. 

That is, he looked neither to the right nor to the left until he hadpassed the Baxters' fence. But when he had gone as far as the uppercorner of the fence beyond, he turned his head and looked back, withoutany expression--except that of a whistler--at Jane. And thus, stillwhistling "My country, 'tis of thee, " and with blank pink face over hisshoulder, he proceeded until he was out of sight. 

"Who was that boy?" the new neighbor then inquired. 

"It's Freddie, " said Jane, placidly. "He's in our Sunday-school. He's inlove of me. "

"JANE!"

Again the outraged and ink-stained countenance glared down from thewindow. 

"What you want?" Jane asked. 

"What you MEAN talking about such things?" William demanded. "In all mylife I never heard anything as disgusting! Shame on you!"

The little girl from across the street looked upward thoughtfully. "He'smad, " she remarked, and, regardless of Jane's previous information, "ItIS your papa, isn't it?" she insisted. 

"No!" said Jane, testily. "I told you five times it's my brotherWillie. "

"Oh!" said the little girl, and, grasping the fact that William'sposition was, in dignity and authority, negligible, compared with thatwhich she had persisted in imagining, she felt it safe to tint herupward gaze with disfavor. "He acts kind of crazy, " she murmured. 

"He's in love of Miss Pratt, " said Jane. "She's goin' away to-day. Shesaid she'd go before, but to-day she IS! Mr. Parcher, where she visits, he's almost dead, she's stayed so long. She's awful, I think. "

William, to whom all was audible, shouted, hoarsely, "I'll see to YOU!"and disappeared from the window. 

"Will he come down here?" the little girl asked, taking a step towardthe gate. 

"No. He's just gone to call mamma. All she'll do' ll be to tell us to goplay somewheres else. Then we can go talk to Genesis. "

"Who?"

"Genesis. He's puttin' a load of coal in the cellar window with ashovel. He's nice. "

"What's he put the coal in the window for?"

"He's a colored man, " said Jane. 

"Shall we go talk to him now?"

"No, " Jane said, thoughtfully. "Let's be playin' callers when mammacomes to tell us to go 'way. What was your name?"

"Rannie. "

"No, it wasn't. "

"It is too, Rannie, " the little girl insisted. "My whole name's MaryRandolph Kirsted, but my short name's Rannie. "

Jane laughed. "What a funny name!" she said. "I didn't mean your realname; I meant your callers' name. One of us was Mrs. Jones, and onewas--"

"I want to be Mrs. Jones, " said Rannie. 

"Oh, my DEAR Mrs. Jones, " Jane began at once, "I want to tell youabout my lovely chuldren. I have two, one only seven years old, and theother--"

"Jane!" called Mrs. Baxter from William's window. 

"Yes'm?"

"You must go somewhere else to play. Willie's trying to work at hisstudies up here, and he says you've disturbed him very much. "

"Yes'm. "

The obedient Jane and her friend turned to go, and as they went, MissMary Randolph Kirsted allowed her uplifted eyes to linger with increaseddisfavor upon William, who appeared beside Mrs. Baxter at the window. 

"I tell you what let's do, " Rannie suggested in a lowered voice. "He gotso fresh with us, an' made your mother come, an' all, let's--let's--"

She hesitated. 

"Let's what?" Jane urged her, in an eager whisper. 

"Let's think up somep'n he won't like--an' DO it!"

They disappeared round a corner of the house, their heads closetogether. 

XXIX

"DON'T FORGET!"

Up-stairs, Mrs. Baxter moved to the door of her son's room, pretendingto be unconscious of the gaze he maintained upon her. Mustering courageto hum a little tune and affecting inconsequence, she had nearly crossedthe threshold when he said, sternly:

"And this is all you intend to say to that child?"

"Why, yes, Willie. "

"And yet I told you what she said!" he cried. "I told you I HEARD herstand there and tell that dirty-faced little girl how that idiot boythat's always walkin' past here four or five times a day, whistling andlooking back, was in 'love of' her! Ye gods! What kind of a person willshe grow up into if you don't punish her for havin' ideas like that ather age?"

Mrs. Baxter regarded him mildly, not replying, and he went on, with loudindignation:

"I never heard of such a thing! That Worm walkin' past here four or fivetimes a day just to look at JANE! And her standing there, calmly tellin'that sooty-faced little girl, 'He's in love of me'! Why, it's enough tosicken a man! Honestly, if I had my way, I'd see that both she and thatlittle Freddie Banks got a first-class whipping!"

"Don't you think, Willie, " said Mrs. Baxter--"don't you think that, considering the rather noncommittal method of Freddie's courtship, youare suggesting extreme measures?"

"Well, SHE certainly ought to be punished!" he insisted, and then, witha reversal to agony, he shuddered. "That's the least of it!" he cried. "It's the insulting things you always allow her to say of one of thenoblest girls in the United States--THAT'S what counts! On the very lastday--yes, almost the last hour--that Miss Pratt's in this town, you letyour only daughter stand there and speak disrespectfully of her--andthen all you do is tell her to 'go and play somewhere else'! I don'tunderstand your way of bringing up a child, " he declared, passionately. "I do NOT!"

"There, there, Willie, " Mrs. Baxter said. "You're all wrought up--"

"I am NOT wrought up!" shouted William. "Why should I be charged with--"

"Now, now!" she said. "You'll feel better to-morrow. "

"What do you mean by that?" he demanded, breathing deeply. 

For reply she only shook her head in an odd little way, and in herparting look at him there was something at once compassionate, amused, and reassuring. 

"You'll be all right, Willie, " she said, softly, and closed the door. 

Alone, William lifted clenched hands in a series of tumultuousgestures at the ceiling; then he moaned and sank into a chair at hiswriting-table. Presently a comparative calm was restored to him, andwith reverent fingers he took from a drawer a one-pound box of candy, covered with white tissue-paper, girdled with blue ribbon. He set thebox gently beside him upon the table; then from beneath a large, greenblotter drew forth some scribbled sheets. These he placed before him, and, taking infinite pains with his handwriting, slowly copied:

DEAR LOLA--I presume when you are reading these lines it will be thisafternoon and you will be on the train moving rapidly away from this oldplace here farther and farther from it all. As I sit here at my old deskand look back upon it all while I am writing this farewell letter I hopewhen you are reading it you also will look back upon it all and thinkof one you called (Alias) Little Boy Baxter. As I sit here this morningthat you are going away at last I look back and I cannot rember anysummer in my whole life which has been like this summer, because a greatchange has come over me this summer. If you would like to know what thismeans it was something like I said when John Watson got there yesterdayafternoon and interrupted what I said. May you enjoy this candy and thinkof the giver. I will put something in with this letter. It is somethingmaybe you would like to have and in exchange I would give all I possessfor one of you if you would send it to me when you get home. Please dothis for now my heart is braking. Yours sincerely, WILLIAM S. BAXTER(ALIAS) LITTLE BOY BAXTER. 

William opened the box of candy and placed the letter upon the top layerof chocolates. Upon the letter he placed a small photograph (wrapped intissue-paper) of himself. Then, with a pair of scissors, he trimmedan oblong of white cardboard to fit into the box. Upon this piece ofcardboard he laboriously wrote, copying from a tortured, inky sheetbefore him:

 IN DREAM BY WILLIAM S. BAXTER

 The sunset light Fades into night But never will I forget The smile that haunts me yet Through the future four long years I hope you will remember with tears Whate'er my rank or station Whilst receiving my education Though far away you seem I will see thee in dream. 

He placed his poem between the photograph and the letter, closed thebox, and tied the tissue-paper about it again with the blue ribbon. Throughout these rites (they were rites both in spirit and in manner) hewas subject to little catchings of the breath, half gulp, half sigh. Butthe dolorous tokens passed, and he sat with elbows upon the table, his chin upon his hands, reverie in his eyes. Tragedy had given way togentler pathos;--beyond question, something had measurably soothed him. Possibly, even in this hour preceding the hour of parting, he knew alittle of that proud amazement which any poet is entitled to feel overeach new lyric miracle just wrought. 

Perhaps he was helped, too, by wondering what Miss Pratt would think ofhim when she read "In Dream, " on the train that afternoon. For reasonspurely intuitive, and decidedly without foundation in fact, he wassatisfied that no rival farewell poem would be offered her, and so itmay be that he thought "In Dream" might show her at last, in one blazeof light, what her eyes had sometimes fleetingly intimated she didperceive in part--the difference between William and such every-day, rather well-meaning, fairly good-hearted people as Joe Bullitt, WallaceBanks, Johnnie Watson, and others. Yes, when she came to read "InDream, " and to "look back upon it all, " she would surely know--at last!

And then, when the future four long years (while receiving hiseducation) had passed, he would go to her. He would go to her, andshe would take him by the hand, and lead him to her father, and say, "Father, this is William. "

But William would turn to her, and, with the old, dancing light in hiseyes, "No, Lola, " he would say, "not William, but Ickle Boy Baxter!Always and always, just that for you; oh, my dear!"

And then, as in story and film and farce and the pleasanter kinds ofdrama, her father would say, with kindly raillery, "Well, when you twoyoung people get through, you'll find me in the library, where I have apretty good BUSINESS proposition to lay before YOU, young man!"

And when the white-waistcoated, white-side-burned old man had, chuckling, left the room, William would slowly lift his arms; but Lolawould move back from him a step--only a step--and after laying a fingerarchly upon her lips to check him, "Wait, sir!" she would say. "I have aquestion to ask you, sir!"

"What question, Lola?"

"THIS question, sir!" she would reply. "In all that summer, sir, so longago, why did you never tell me what you WERE, until I had gone away andit was too late to show you what I felt? Ah, Ickle Boy Baxter, I neverunderstood until I looked back upon it all, after I had read 'In Dream, 'on the train that day! THEN I KNEW!" "And now, Lola?" William would say. "Do you understand me, NOW?"

Shyly she would advance the one short step she had put betweenthem, while he, with lifted, yearning arms, this time destined to nodisappointment----

At so vital a moment did Mrs. Baxter knock at his door and consolingreverie cease to minister unto William. Out of the rosy sky he dropped, falling miles in an instant, landing with a bump. He started, placed thesacred box out of sight, and spoke gruffly. 

"What you want?"

"I'm not coming in, Willie, " said his mother. "I just wanted to know--Ithought maybe you were looking out of the window and noticed where thosechildren went. "

"What children?"

"Jane and that little girl from across the street--Kirsted, her namemust be. "

"No. I did not. "

"I just wondered, " Mrs. Baxter said, timidly. "Genesis thinks heheard the little Kirsted girl telling Jane she had plenty of money forcarfare. He thinks they went somewhere on a street-car. I thought maybeyou noticed wheth--"

"I told you I did not. "

"All right, " she said, placatively. "I didn't mean to bother you, dear. "

Following this there was a silence; but no sound of receding footstepsindicated Mrs. Baxter's departure from the other side of the closeddoor. 

"Well, what you WANT?" William shouted. 

"Nothing--nothing at all, " said the compassionate voice. "I just thoughtI'd have lunch a little later than usual; not till half past one. Thatis if--well, I thought probably you meant to go to the station to seeMiss Pratt off on the one-o'clock train. "

Even so friendly an interest as this must have appeared to the quiveringWilliam an intrusion in his affairs, for he demanded, sharply:

"How'd you find out she's going at one o'clock?"

"Why--why, Jane mentioned it, " Mrs. Baxter replied, with obvioustimidity. "Jane said--"

She was interrupted by the loud, desperate sound of William's fistsmiting his writing-table, so sensitive was his condition. "This is justunbearable!" he cried. "Nobody's business is safe from that child!"

"Why, Willie, I don't see how it matters if--"

He uttered a cry. "No! Nothing matters! Nothing matters at all! Do yous'pose I want that child, with her insults, discussing when Miss Prattis or is not going away? Don't you know there are SOME things that haveno business to be talked about by every Tom, Dick, and Harry?"

"Yes, dear, " she said. "I understand, of course. Jane only told me shemet Mr. Parcher on the street, and he mentioned that Miss Pratt wasgoing at one o'clock to-day. That's all I--"

"You say you understand, " he wailed, shaking his head drearily at theclosed door, "and yet, even on such a day as this, you keep TALKING!Can't you see sometimes there's times when a person can't stand to--"

"Yes, Willie, " Mrs. Baxter interposed, hurriedly. "Of course! I'm goingnow. I have to go hunt up those children, anyway. You try to be back forlunch at half past one--and don't worry, dear; you really WILL be allright!"

She departed, a sigh from the abyss following her as she went down thehall. Her comforting words meant nothing pleasant to her son, who feltthat her optimism was out of place and tactless. He had no intention tobe "all right, " and he desired nobody to interfere with his misery. 

He went to his mirror, and, gazing long--long and piercingly--at theWilliam there limned, enacted, almost unconsciously, a little scene ofparting. The look of suffering upon the mirrored face slowly altered; inits place came one still sorrowful, but tempered with sweet indulgence. He stretched out his hand, as if he set it upon a head at about theheight of his shoulder. 

"Yes, it may mean--it may mean forever!" he said in a low, tremulousvoice. "Little girl, we MUST be brave!"

And the while his eyes gazed into the mirror, they became expressiveof a momentary pleased surprise, as if, even in the arts of sorrow, hefound himself doing better than he knew. But his sorrow was none theless genuine because of that. 

Then he noticed the ink upon his forehead, and went away to wash. Whenhe returned he did an unusual thing--he brushed his coat thoroughly, removing it for this special purpose. After that, he earnestly combedand brushed his hair, and retied his tie. Next, he took from a drawertwo clean handkerchiefs. He placed one in his breast pocket, part of thecolored border of the handkerchief being left on exhibition, and withthe other he carefully wiped his shoes. Finally, he sawed it back andforth across them, and, with a sigh, languidly dropped it upon thefloor, where it remained. 

Returning to the mirror, he again brushed his hair--he went so far, thistime, as to brush his eyebrows, which seemed not much altered by theoperation. Suddenly, he was deeply affected by something seen in theglass. 

"By George!" he exclaimed aloud. 

Seizing a small hand-mirror, he placed it in juxtaposition to his righteye, and closely studied his left profile as exhibited in the largermirror. Then he examined his right profile, subjecting it to a likescrutiny emotional, yet attentive and prolonged. 

"By George!" he exclaimed, again. "By George!"

He had made a discovery. There was a downy shadow upon his upper lip. What he had just found out was that this down could be seen projectingbeyond the line of his lip, like a tiny nimbus. It could be seen inPROFILE. 

"By GEORGE!" William exclaimed. 

He was still occupied with the two mirrors when his mother again tappedsoftly upon his door, rousing him as from a dream (brief but engaging)to the heavy realities of that day. 

"What you want now?"

"I won't come in, " said Mrs. Baxter. "I just came to see. "

"See what?"

"I wondered--I thought perhaps you needed something. I knew your watchwas out of order--"

"F'r 'evan's sake what if it is?"

She offered a murmur of placative laughter as her apology, and said:"Well, I just thought I'd tell you--because if you did intend going tothe station, I thought you probably wouldn't want to miss it and getthere too late. I've got your hat here all nicely brushed for you. It'snearly twenty minutes of one, Willie. "

"WHAT?"

"Yes, it is. It's--"

She had no further speech with him. 

Breathless, William flung open his door, seized the hat, racketed downthe stairs, and out through the front door, which he left open behindhim. Eight seconds later he returned at a gallop, hurtled up the stairsand into his room, emerging instantly with something concealed under hiscoat. Replying incoherently to his mother's inquiries, he fell down thestairs as far as the landing, used the impetus thus given as a help togreater speed for the rest of the descent--and passed out of hearing. 

Mrs. Baxter sighed, and went to a window in her own room, and lookedout. 

William was already more than half-way to the next corner, where therewas a car-line that ran to the station; but the distance was not toogreat for Mrs. Baxter to comprehend the nature of the symmetrical whiteparcel now carried in his right hand. Her face became pensive as shegazed after the flying slender figure:--there came to her mind therecollection of a seventeen-year-old boy who had brought a box of candy(a small one, like William's) to the station, once, long ago, when shehad been visiting in another town. For just a moment she thought of thatboy she had known, so many years ago, and a smile came vaguely upon herlips. She wondered what kind of a woman he had married, and how manychildren he had--and whether he was a widower----

The fleeting recollection passed; she turned from the window and shookher head, puzzled. 

"Now where on earth could Jane and that little Kirsted girl have gone?"she murmured. 

. .. At the station, William, descending from the street-car, foundthat he had six minutes to spare. Reassured of so much by the greatclock in the station tower, he entered the building, and, with calmand dignified steps, crossed the large waiting-room. Those calmand dignified steps were taken by feet which little betrayed thetremulousness of the knees above them. Moreover, though William'sface was red, his expression--cold, and concentrated upon highmatters--scorned the stranger, and warned the lower classes that themission of this bit of gentry was not to them. 

With but one sweeping and repellent glance over the canaille present, he made sure that the person he sought was not in the waiting-room. Therefore, he turned to the doors which gave admission to the tracks, but before he went out he paused for an instant of displeasure. Hard bythe doors stood a telephone-booth, and from inside this booth a littlegirl of nine or ten was peering eagerly out at William, her eyes justabove the lower level of the glass window in the door. 

Even a prospect thus curtailed revealed her as a smudged and dustylittle girl; and, evidently, her mother must have been preoccupied withsome important affair that day; but to William she suggested nothingfamiliar. As his glance happened to encounter hers, the peeringeyes grew instantly brighter with excitement;--she exposed her wholecountenance at the window, and impulsively made a face at him. 

William had not the slightest recollection of ever having seen herbefore. 

He gave her one stern look and went on; though he felt that somethingought to be done. The affair was not a personal one--patently, this wasa child who played about the station and amused herself by making facesat everybody who passed the telephone-booth--still, the authoritiesought not to allow it. People did not come to the station to beinsulted. 

Three seconds later the dusty-faced little girl and her moue were spedutterly from William's mind. For, as the doors swung together behindhim, he saw Miss Pratt. There were no gates nor iron barriers to obscurethe view; there was no train-shed to darken the air. She was atsome distance, perhaps two hundred feet, along the tracks, wherethe sleeping-cars of the long train would stop. But there she stood, mistakable for no other on this wide earth!

There she stood--a glowing little figure in the hazy September sunlight, her hair an amber mist under the adorable little hat; a small bunchof violets at her waist; a larger bunch of fragrant but less expensivesweet peas in her right hand; half a dozen pink roses in her left; herlittle dog Flopit in the crook of one arm; and a one-pound box of candyin the crook of the other--ineffable, radiant, starry, there she stood!

Near her also stood her young hostess, and Wallace Banks, JohnnieWatson, and Joe Bullitt--three young gentlemen in a condition ofsolemn tensity. Miss Parcher saw William as he emerged from thestation building, and she waved her parasol in greeting, attracting theattention of the others to him, so that they: all turned and stared. 

Seventeen sometimes finds it embarrassing (even in a state of deepemotion) to walk two hundred feet, or thereabout, toward a group ofpeople who steadfastly watch the long approach. And when the watchinggroup contains the lady of all the world before whom one wishes toappear most debonair, and contains not only her, but several rivals, who, though FAIRLY good-hearted, might hardly be trusted to neglect suchan opportunity to murmur something jocular about one--No, it cannot besaid that William appeared to be wholly without self-consciousness. 

In fancy he had prophesied for this moment something utterly different. He had seen himself parting from her, the two alone as within a cloud. He had seen himself gently placing his box of candy in her hands, someof his fingers just touching some of hers and remaining thus lightly incontact to the very last. He had seen himself bending toward the sweetblonde head to murmur the few last words of simple eloquence, whileher eyes lifted in mysterious appeal to his--and he had put no otherfigures, not even Miss Parcher's, into this picture. 

Parting is the most dramatic moment in young love, and if there is onetime when the lover wishes to present a lofty but graceful appearance itis at the last. To leave with the loved one, for recollection, a finalpicture of manly dignity in sorrow--that, above all things, isthe lover's desire. And yet, even at the beginning of William'stwo-hundred-foot advance (later so much discussed) he felt the heatsurging over his ears, and, as he took off his hat, thinking to wave itjauntily in reply to Miss Parcher, he made but an uncertain gesture ofit, so that he wished he had not tried it. Moreover, he had covered lessthan a third of the distance, when he became aware that all of thegroup were staring at him with unaccountable eagerness, and had begun tolaugh. 

William felt certain that his attire was in no way disordered, nor initself a cause for laughter;--all of these people had often seen himdressed as he was to-day, and had preserved their gravity. But, in spiteof himself, he took off his hat again, and looked to see if anythingabout it might explain this mirth, which, at his action, increased. Nay, the laughter began to be shared by strangers; and some set down theirhand-luggage for greater pleasure in what they saw. 

William's inward state became chaotic. 

He tried to smile carelessly, to prove his composure, but he found thathe had lost almost all control over his features. He had no knowledgeof his actual expression except that it hurt him. In desperation he fellback upon hauteur; he managed to frown, and walked proudly. At thatthey laughed the more, Wallace Banks rudely pointing again and again atWilliam; and not till the oncoming sufferer reached a spot withintwenty feet of these delighted people did he grasp the significance ofWallace's repeated gesture of pointing. Even then he understood onlywhen the gesture was supplemented by half-articulate shouts:

"Behind you! Look BEHIND you!"

The stung youth turned. 

There, directly behind him, he beheld an exclusive little processionconsisting of two damsels in single file, the first soiled withhouse-moving, the second with apple sauce. 

For greater caution they had removed their shoes; and each damsel, as she paraded, dangled from each far-extended hand a shoe. And bothdamsels, whether beneath apple sauce or dust smudge, were suffused withthe rapture of a great mockery. 

They were walking with their stummicks out o' joint. 

At sight of William's face they squealed. They turned and ran. They gotthemselves out of sight. 

Simultaneously, the air filled with solid thunder and the pompous trainshook the ground. Ah, woe's the word! This was the thing that meant tobear away the golden girl and honeysuckle of the world--meant to, andwould, not abating one iron second!

Now a porter had her hand-bag. 

Dear Heaven! to be a porter--yes, a colored one! What of that, NOW? Justto be a simple porter, and journey with her to the far, strange pearlamong cities whence she had come!

The gentle porter bowed her toward the steps of his car; but first shegave Flopit into the hands of May Parcher, for a moment, and whispereda word to Wallace Banks; then to Joe Bullitt; then to JohnnieWatson;--then she ran to William. 

She took his hand. 

"Don't forget!" she whispered. "Don't forget Lola!"

He stood stock-still. His face was blank, his hand limp. He saidnothing. 

She enfolded May Parcher, kissed her devotedly; then, with Flopit oncemore under her arm, she ran and jumped upon the steps just as the trainbegan to move. She stood there, on the lowest step, slowly gliding awayfrom them, and in her eyes there was a sparkle of tears, left, it maybe, from her laughter at poor William's pageant with Jane and RannieKirsted--or, it may be, not. 

She could not wave to her friends, in answer to their gestures offarewell, for her arms were too full of Flopit and roses and candy andsweet peas; but she kept nodding to them in a way that showed them howmuch she thanked them for being sorry she was going--and made it clearthat she was sorry, too, and loved them all. 

"Good-by!" she meant. 

Faster she glided; the engine passed from sight round a curve beyond aculvert, but for a moment longer they could see the little figure uponthe steps--and, to the very last glimpse they had of her, the small, golden head was still nodding "Good-by!" Then those steps whereon shestood passed in their turn beneath the culvert, and they saw her nomore. 

Lola Pratt was gone!

Wet-eyed, her young hostess of the long summer turned away, and stumbledagainst William. "Why, Willie Baxter!" she cried, blinking at him. 

The last car of the train had rounded the curve and disappeared, butWilliam was still waving farewell--not with his handkerchief, but witha symmetrical, one-pound parcel, wrapped in white tissue-paper, girdledwith blue ribbon. 

"Never mind!" said May Parcher. "Let's all walk Up-town together, andtalk about her on the way, and we'll go by the express-office, and youcan send your candy to her by express, Willie. "

XXX

THE BRIDE-TO-BE

In the smallish house which all summer long, from morning until lateat night, had resounded with the voices of young people, echoing theirsongs, murmurous with their theories of love, or vibrating with theirglee, sometimes shaking all over during their more boisterous moods--inthat house, now comparatively so vacant, the proprietor stood andbreathed deep breaths. 

"Hah!" he said, inhaling and exhaling the air profoundly. 

His wife was upon the porch, outside, sewing. The silence was deep. He seemed to listen to it--to listen with gusto; his face slowlybroadening, a pinkish tint overspreading it. His flaccid cheeks appearedto fill, to grow firm again, a smile finally widening them. 

"HAH!" he breathed, sonorously. He gave himself several resounding slapsupon the chest, then went out to the porch and sat in a rocking-chairnear his wife. He spread himself out expansively. "My Glory!" he said. "I believe I'll take off my coat! I haven't had my coat off, outside ofmy own room, all summer. I believe I'll take a vacation! By George, Ibelieve I'll stay home this afternoon!"

"That's nice, " said Mrs. Parcher. 

"Hah!" he said. "My Glory! I believe I'll take off my shoes!"

And, meeting no objection, he proceeded to carry out this plan. 

"Hah-AH!" he said, and placed his stockinged feet upon the railing, where a number of vines, running upon strings, made a screen between theporch and the street. He lit a large cigar. "Well, well!" he said. "Thattastes good! If this keeps on, I'll be in as good shape as I was lastspring before you know it!" Leaning far back in the rocking-chair, hishands behind his head, he smoked with fervor; but suddenly he jumped ina way which showed that his nerves were far from normal. His feet cameto the floor with a thump, he jerked the cigar out of his mouth, andturned a face of consternation upon his wife. 

"What's the matter?"

"Suppose, " said Mr. Patcher, huskily--"suppose she missed her train. "

Mrs. Parcher shook her head. 

"Think not?" he said, brightening. "I ordered the livery-stable to havea carriage here in lots of time. "

"They did, " said Mrs. Parcher, severely. "About five dollars' worth. "

"Well, I don't mind that, " he returned, putting his feet up again. "After all, she was a mighty fine little girl in her way. The onlytrouble with me was that crowd of boys;--having to listen to themcertainly liked to killed me, and I believe if she'd stayed just onemore day I'd been a goner! Of all the dam boys I ever--" He paused, listening. 

"Mr. Parcher!" a youthful voice repeated. 

He rose, and, separating two of the vines which screened the end of theporch from the street, looked out. Two small maidens had paused upon thesidewalk, and were peering over the picket fence. 

"Mr. Parcher, " said Jane, as soon as his head appeared between thevines--"Mr. Parcher, Miss Pratt's gone. She's gone away on the cars. "

"You think so?" he asked, gravely. 

"We saw her, " said Jane. "Rannie an' I were there. Willie was goin' tochase us, I guess, but we went in the baggage-room behind trunks, an'we saw her go. She got on the cars, an' it went with her in it. Honest, she's gone away, Mr. Parcher. "

Before speaking, Mr. Parcher took a long look at this telepathic child. In his fond eyes she was a marvel and a darling. 

"Well--THANK you, Jane!" he said. 

Jane, however, had turned her head and was staring at the corner, whichwas out of his sight. 

"Oo-oo-ooh!" she murmured. 

"What's the trouble, Jane?"

"Willie!" she said. "It's Willie an' that Joe Bullitt, an' JohnnieWatson, an' Mr. Wallace Banks. They're with Miss May Parcher. They'recomin' right here!"

Mr. Parcher gave forth a low moan, and turned pathetically to his wife, but she cheered him with a laugh. 

"They've only walked up from the station with May, " she said. "Theywon't come in. You'll see!"

Relieved, Mr. Parcher turned again to speak to Jane--but she was notthere. He caught but a glimpse of her, running up the street as fast asshe could, hand in hand with her companion. 

"Run, Rannie, run!" panted Jane. "I got to get home an' tell mamma aboutit before Willie. I bet I ketch Hail Columbia, anyway, when he does getthere!"

And in this she was not mistaken: she caught Hail Columbia. It lastedall afternoon. 

It was still continuing after dinner. Thatt evening, when anoft-repeated yodel, followed by a shrill-wailed, "Jane-ee! Oh, Jane-NEE-ee!" brought her to an open window down-stairs. In the earlydusk she looked out upon the washed face of Rannie Kirsted, who stood onthe lawn below. 

"Come on out, Janie. Mamma says I can stay outdoors an' play till halfpast eight. "

Jane shook her head. "I can't. I can't go outside the house tillto-morrow. It's because we walked after Willie with our stummicks out o'joint. "

"Pshaw!" Rannie cried, lightly. "My mother didn't do anything to me forthat. "

"Well, nobody told her on you, " said Jane, reasonably. 

"Can't you come out at all?" Rannie urged. "Go ask your mother. Tellher--"

"How can I, " Jane inquired, with a little heat, "when she isn't here toask? She's gone out to play cards--she and papa. "

Rannie swung her foot. "Well, " she said, "I guess I haf to find SOMEp'nto do! G' night!"

With head bowed in thought she moved away, disappearing into the graydusk, while Jane, on her part, left the window and went to the openfront door. Conscientiously, she did not cross the threshold, butrestrained herself to looking out. On the steps of the porch satWilliam, alone, his back toward the house. 

"Willie?" said Jane, softly; and, as he made no response, she lifted hervoice a little. "Will-ee!"

"Whatchwant!" he grunted, not moving. 

"Willie, I told mamma I was sorry I made you feel so bad. "

"All right!" he returned, curtly. 

"Well, when I haf to go to bed, Willie, " she said, "mamma told mebecause I made you feel bad I haf to go up-stairs by myself, to-night. "

She paused, seeming to hope that he would say something, but he spakenot. 

"Willie, I don't haf to go for a while yet, but when I do--maybe inabout a half an hour--I wish you'd come stand at the foot of the stairstill I get up there. The light's lit up-stairs, but down around hereit's kind of dark. "

He did not answer. 

"Will you, Willie?"

"Oh, all RIGHT!" he said. 

This contented her, and she seated herself so quietly upon the floor, just inside the door, that he ceased to be aware of her, thinking shehad gone away. He sat staring vacantly into the darkness, which had comeon with that abruptness which begins to be noticeable in September. His elbows were on his knees, and his body was sunk far forward in anattitude of desolation. 

The small noises of the town--that town so empty to-night--fell upon hisears mockingly. It seemed to him incredible that so hollow a town couldgo about its nightly affairs just as usual. A man and a woman, goingby, laughed loudly at something the man had said: the sound of theirlaughter was horrid to William. And from a great distance from far outin the country--there came the faint, long-drawn whistle of an engine. 

That was the sorrowfulest sound of all to William. His lonely mind'seye sought the vasty spaces to the east; crossed prairie, and river, andhill, to where a long train whizzed onward through the dark--fartherand farther and farther away. William uttered a sigh, so hoarse, so deepfrom the tombs, so prolonged, that Jane, who had been relaxing herselfat full length upon the floor, sat up straight with a jerk. 

But she was wise enough not to speak. 

Now the full moon came masquerading among the branches of theshade-trees; it came in the likeness of an enormous football, gloriouslyorange. Gorgeously it rose higher, cleared the trees, and resumed itswonted impersonation of a silver disk. Here was another mockery: Whatwas the use of a moon NOW?

Its use appeared straightway. 

In direct coincidence with that rising moon, there came from a littledistance down the street the sound of a young male voice, singing. It was not a musical voice, yet sufficiently loud; and it knew only aportion of the words and air it sought to render, but, upon completingthe portion it did know, it instantly began again, and sang that portionover and over with brightest patience. So the voice approached theresidence of the Baxter family, singing what the shades of night gavecourage to sing--instead of whistle, as in the abashing sunlight. 

Thus:

"My countree, 'tis of thee, Sweet land of liber-tee, My countree, 'tisof thee, Sweet land of liber-tee, My countree, 'tis of thee, Sweet landof liber-tee, My countree, 'tis of thee, Sweet land of liber-tee, Mycountree, 'tis--"

Jane spoke unconsciously. "It's Freddie, " she said. 

William leaped to his feet; this was something he could NOT bear! Hemade a bloodthirsty dash toward the gate, which the singer was just inthe act of passing. 

"You GET OUT O' HERE!" William roared. 

The song stopped. Freddie Banks fled like a rag on the wind. 

. .. Now here is a strange matter. 

The antique prophets prophesied successfully; they practised with someease that art since lost but partly rediscovered by M. Maeterlinck, whoproves to us that the future already exists, simultaneously with thepresent. Well, if his proofs be true, then at this very moment whenWilliam thought menacingly of Freddie Banks, the bright air of a happyJune evening--an evening ordinarily reckoned ten years, nine months andtwenty-one days in advance of this present sorrowful evening--the brightair of that happy June evening, so far in the future, was actuallyalready trembling to a wedding-march played upon a church organ; andthis selfsame Freddie, with a white flower in his buttonhole, and inevery detail accoutred as a wedding usher, was an usher for this veryWilliam who now (as we ordinarily count time) threatened his person. 

But for more miracles:

As William turned again to resume his meditations upon the steps, hisincredulous eyes fell upon a performance amazingly beyond fantasy, andwithout parallel as a means to make scorn of him. Not ten feet from theporch--and in the white moonlight that made brilliant the path to thegate--Miss Mary Randolph Kirsted was walking. She was walking withinsulting pomposity in her most pronounced semicircular manner. 

"YOU GET OUT O' HERE!" she said, in a voice as deep and hoarse as shecould make it. "YOU GET OUT O' HERE!"

Her intention was as plain as the moon. She was presenting in her ownperson a sketch of William, by this means expressing her opinion of himand avenging Jane. 

"YOU GET OUT O' HERE!" she croaked. 

The shocking audacity took William's breath. He gasped; he sought forwords. 

"Why, you--you--" he cried. "You--you sooty-faced little girl!"

In this fashion he directly addressed Miss Mary Randolph Kirsted for thefirst time in his life. 

And that was the strangest thing of this strange evening. Strangestbecause, as with life itself, there was nothing remarkable upon thesurface of it. But if M. Maeterlinck has the right of the matter, andif the bright air of that June evening, almost eleven years in theso-called future, was indeed already trembling to "Lohengrin, " thenWilliam stood with Johnnie Watson against a great bank of flowers at thefoot of a church aisle; that aisle was roped with white-satin ribbons;and William and Johnnie were waiting for something important to happen. And then, to the strains of "Here Comes the Bride, " it did--a stately, solemn, roseate, gentle young thing with bright eyes seeking through aveil for William's eyes. 

Yes, if great M. Maeterlinck is right, it seems that William ought tohave caught at least some eerie echo of that wedding-march, howeverfaint--some bars or strains adrift before their time upon the moonlightof this September night in his eighteenth year. 

For there, beyond the possibility of any fate to intervene, or of anylater vague, fragmentary memory of even Miss Pratt to impair, there inthat moonlight was his future before him. 

He started forward furiously. "You--you--you little--"

But he paused, not wasting his breath upon the empty air. 

His bride-to-be was gone.