Seventeen. Booth Tarkington

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СКАЧАТЬ have iced tea, and you can ask Johnnie Watson, if you like. Don't get so upset about things, Willie!”

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

      “What made you say that?” Mrs. Baxter asked, turning curiously to Jane when William had disappeared. “Where did you hear any such things?”

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

      “You were where, Jane?”

      “At the Parchers'.”

      “Oh, I see.”

      “Yesterday afternoon,” said Jane, “when Miss Parcher had the Sunday-school class for lemonade and cookies.”

      “Did you hear Miss Parcher say—”

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

      “LIE down, Jane.”

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

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

      “I didn't, mamma. Mr. Parcher said it. He said he couldn't stand those da—”

      “JANE! No matter what he said, you mustn't repeat—”

      “But I'm not. I only said Mr. PARCHER said he couldn't stand those d—”

      Mrs. Baxter cut the argument short by imprisoning Jane's mouth with a firm hand. Jane continued to swallow quietly until released. Then she said:

      “But, mamma, how can I tell you what he said unless I say—”

      “Hush!” Mrs. Baxter commanded. “You must never, never again use such a terrible and wicked word.”

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

      “I—I suppose so.”

      “Well, Mr. Parcher said he couldn't stand those word boys. That sounds all right, doesn't it, mamma?”

      Mrs. Baxter hesitated, but she was inclined to hear as complete as possible a report of Mr. and Mrs. Parcher's conversation, since it seemed to concern William so nearly; and she well knew that Jane had her own way of telling things—or else they remained untold.

      “I—I suppose so,” Mrs. Baxter said, again.

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

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

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

      “Did she, indeed!”

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

      “There!” Mrs. Baxter interrupted, sharply. “That will do, Jane! We'll talk about something else now, I think.”

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

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

      This was what made Jane's eyes so disturbing to William during lunch that day. She ate quietly and competently, but all the while he was conscious of her solemn and inscrutable gaze fixed upon him; and she spoke not once. She could not have rendered herself more annoying, especially as William was trying to treat her with silent scorn, for nothing is more irksome to the muscles of the face than silent scorn, when there is no means of showing it except by the expression. On the other hand, Jane's inscrutability gave her no discomfort whatever. In fact, inscrutability is about the most comfortable expression that a person can wear, though the truth is that just now Jane was not really inscrutable at all.

      She СКАЧАТЬ