________________________________________________
_ He was roused by the bluff greeting of an
acquaintance not dissimilar to himself in
age, manner, and apparel.
``H'lo, Silly Bill!'' said this person,
William Sylvanus Baxter. ``What's the news?''
William showed no enthusiasm; on the
contrary, a frown of annoyance appeared upon his
brow. The nickname ``Silly Bill''--long ago
compounded by merry child-comrades from
``William'' and ``Sylvanus''--was not to his
taste, especially in public, where he preferred to
be addressed simply and manfully as ``Baxter.''
Any direct expression of resentment, however,
was difficult, since it was plain that Johnnie
Watson intended no offense whatever and but
spoke out of custom.
``Don't know any,'' William replied, coldly.
``Dull times, ain't it?'' said Mr. Watson, a little
depressed by his friend's manner. ``I heard May
Parcher was comin' back to town yesterday,
though.''
``Well, let her!'' returned William, still severe.
``They said she was goin' to bring a girl to
visit her,'' Johnnie began in a confidential tone.
``They said she was a reg'lar ringdinger and--''
``Well, what if she is?'' the discouraging Mr.
Baxter interrupted. ``Makes little difference to
ME, I guess!''
``Oh no, it don't. YOU don't take any interest
in girls! OH no!''
``No, I do not!'' was the emphatic and heartless
retort. ``I never saw one in my life I'd care
whether she lived or died!''
``Honest?'' asked Johnnie, struck by the
conviction with which this speech was uttered.
``Honest, is that so?''
``Yes, `honest'!'' William replied, sharply.
``They could ALL die, _I_ wouldn't notice!''
Johnnie Watson was profoundly impressed.
``Why, _I_ didn't know you felt that way about
'em, Silly Bill. I always thought you were kind
of--''
``Well, I do feel that way about 'em!'' said
William Sylvanus Baxter, and, outraged by the
repetition of the offensive nickname, he began
to move away. ``You can tell 'em so for me, if
you want to!'' he added over his shoulder. And
he walked haughtily up the street, leaving Mr.
Watson to ponder upon this case of misogyny,
never until that moment suspected.
It was beyond the power of his mind to grasp
the fact that William Sylvanus Baxter's cruel
words about ``girls'' had been uttered because
William was annoyed at being called ``Silly Bill''
in a public place, and had not known how to
object otherwise than by showing contempt for
any topic of conversation proposed by the
offender. This latter, being of a disposition to
accept statements as facts, was warmly interested,
instead of being hurt, and decided that here
was something worth talking about, especially
with representatives of the class so sweepingly
excluded from the sympathies of Silly Bill.
William, meanwhile, made his way toward the
``residence section'' of the town, and presently
--with the passage of time found himself
eased of his annoyance. He walked in
his own manner, using his shoulders to
emphasize an effect of carelessness which he wished
to produce upon observers. For his consciousness
of observers was abnormal, since he had
it whether any one was looking at him or not,
and it reached a crucial stage whenever he
perceived persons of his own age, but of opposite
sex, approaching.
A person of this description was encountered
upon the sidewalk within a hundred yards of his
own home, and William Sylvanus Baxter saw her
while yet she was afar off. The quiet and shady
thoroughfare was empty of all human life, at the
time, save for those two; and she was upon the
same side of the street that he was; thus it became
inevitable that they should meet, face to face, for
the first time in their lives. He had perceived,
even in the distance, that she was unknown to
him, a stranger, because he knew all the girls in
this part of the town who dressed as famously in
the mode as that! And then, as the distance
between them lessened, he saw that she was
ravishingly pretty; far, far prettier, indeed,
than any girl he knew. At least it seemed so,
for it is, unfortunately, much easier for strangers
to be beautiful. Aside from this advantage of
mystery, the approaching vision was piquant
and graceful enough to have reminded a much
older boy of a spotless white kitten, for, in spite
of a charmingly managed demureness, there was
precisely that kind of playfulness somewhere
expressed about her. Just now it was most
definite in the look she bent upon the light and
fluffy burden which she carried nestled in the
inner curve of her right arm: a tiny dog with
hair like cotton and a pink ribbon round his
neck--an animal sated with indulgence and
idiotically unaware of his privilege. He was
half asleep!
William did not see the dog, or it is the plain,
anatomical truth that when he saw how pretty
the girl was, his heart--his physical heart--
began to do things the like of which, experienced
by an elderly person, would have brought the
doctor in haste. In addition, his complexion
altered--he broke out in fiery patches. He
suffered from breathlessness and from pressure on
the diaphragm.
Afterward, he could not have named the color
of the little parasol she carried in her left hand,
and yet, as it drew nearer and nearer, a rosy haze
suffused the neighborhood, and the whole world
began to turn an exquisite pink. Beneath this
gentle glow, with eyes downcast in thought, she
apparently took no note of William, even when
she and William had come within a few yards of
each other. Yet he knew that she would look
up and that their eyes must meet--a thing for
which he endeavored to prepare himself by a
strange weaving motion of his neck against the
friction of his collar--for thus, instinctively, he
strove to obtain greater ease and some decent
appearance of manly indifference. He felt that
his efforts were a failure; that his agitation was
ruinous and must be perceptible at a distance of
miles, not feet. And then, in the instant of
panic that befell, when her dark-lashed eyelids
slowly lifted, he had a flash of inspiration.
He opened his mouth somewhat, and as her
eyes met his, full and startlingly, he placed three
fingers across the orifice, and also offered a slight
vocal proof that she had surprised him in the
midst of a yawn.
``Oh, hum!'' he said.
For the fraction of a second, the deep blue spark
in her eyes glowed brighter--gentle arrows of
turquoise shot him through and through--and
then her glance withdrew from the ineffable
collision. Her small, white-shod feet continued
to bear her onward, away from him, while his
own dimmed shoes peregrinated in the opposite
direction--William necessarily, yet with
excruciating reluctance, accompanying them. But
just at the moment when he and the lovely
creature were side by side, and her head turned
from him, she spoke that is, she murmured, but
he caught the words.
``You Flopit, wake up!'' she said, in the tone of
a mother talking baby-talk. ``SO indifferink!''
William's feet and his breath halted spasmodically.
For an instant he thought she had spoken
to him, and then for the first time he perceived
the fluffy head of the dog bobbing languidly
over her arm, with the motion of her walking,
and he comprehended that Flopit, and not
William Sylvanus Baxter, was the gentleman
addressed. But--but had she MEANT him?
His breath returning, though not yet operating
in its usual manner, he stood gazing after her,
while the glamorous parasol passed down the
shady street, catching splashes of sunshine
through the branches of the maple-trees; and
the cottony head of the tiny dog continued to be
visible, bobbing rhythmically over a filmy sleeve.
Had she meant that William was indifferent?
Was it William that she really addressed?
He took two steps to follow her, but a suffocating
shyness stopped him abruptly and, in a
horror lest she should glance round and detect
him in the act, he turned and strode fiercely to
the gate of his own home before he dared to look
again. And when he did look, affecting great
casualness in the action, she was gone, evidently
having turned the corner. Yet the street did
not seem quite empty; there was still something
warm and fragrant about it, and a rosy glamor
lingered in the air. William rested an elbow
upon the gate-post, and with his chin reposing in
his hand gazed long in the direction in which the
unknown had vanished. And his soul was tremulous,
for she had done her work but too well.
`` `Indifferink'!'' he murmured, thrilling at his
own exceedingly indifferent imitation of her
voice. ``Indifferink!'' that was just what he
would have her think--that he was a cold,
indifferent man. It was what he wished all girls
to think. And ``sarcastic''! He had been envious
one day when May Parcher said that Joe
Bullitt was ``awfully sarcastic.'' William had
spent the ensuing hour in an object-lesson
intended to make Miss Parcher see that William
Sylvanus Baxter was twice as sarcastic as Joe
Bullitt ever thought of being, but this great
effort had been unsuccessful, because William,
failed to understand that Miss Parcher had only
been sending a sort of message to Mr. Bullitt.
It was a device not unique among her sex; her
hope was that William would repeat her remark
in such a manner that Joe Bullitt would hear it
and call to inquire what she meant.
`` `SO indifferink'!'' murmured William,
leaning dreamily upon the gate-post. ``Indifferink!''
He tried to get the exact cooing quality of the
unknown's voice. ``Indifferink!'' And, repeating
the honeyed word, so entrancingly distorted, he
fell into a kind of stupor; vague, beautiful
pictures rising before him, the one least blurred being
of himself, on horseback, sweeping between
Flopit and a racing automobile. And then,
having restored the little animal to its mistress,
William sat carelessly in the saddle (he had the
Guardsman's seat) while the perfectly trained
steed wheeled about, forelegs in the air, preparing
to go. ``But shall I not see you again, to thank
you more properly?'' she cried, pleading. ``Some
other day--perhaps,'' he answered.
And left her in a cloud of dust. _
Read next: CHAPTER III. THE PAINFUL AGE
Read previous: CHAPTER I. WILLIAM
Table of content of Seventeen
GO TO TOP OF SCREEN
Post your review
Your review will be placed after the table of content of this book
