________________________________________________
_ He remembered now what he had been too
hurried to remember earlier. He had worn
these clothes on the previous Saturday, and,
returning from a glorified walk with Miss Pratt,
he had demonstrated a fact to which his near-
demolition of the wafers, this afternoon, was
additional testimony. This fact, roughly stated,
is that a person of seventeen, in love, is liable
to sit down anywhere. William had dreamily
seated himself upon a tabouret in the library,
without noticing that Jane had left her open
paint-box there. Jane had just been painting
sunsets; naturally all the little blocks of color
were wet, and the effect upon William's pale-
gray trousers was marvelous--far beyond the
capacity of his coat to conceal. Collar-
buttons and children's paint-boxes--those are the
trolls that lie in wait!
The gray clothes and the flannel trousers had
been destined for the professional cleaner, and
William, rousing himself from a brief stupor,
made a piteous effort to substitute himself for
that expert so far as the gray trousers were
concerned. He divested himself of them and brought
water, towels, bath-soap, and a rubber bath-
sponge to the bright light of his window; and;
there, with touching courage and persistence,
he tried to scrub the paint out of the cloth. He
obtained cloud studies and marines which would
have interested a Post-Impressionist, but upon
trousers they seemed out of place.
There came one seeking and calling him again;
raps sounded upon the door, which he had not
forgotten to lock.
``Willie,'' said a serious voice, ``mamma wants
to know what in mercy's name is the matter!
She wants to know if you know for mercy's name
what time it is! She wants to know what in
mercy's name you think they're all goin' to think!
She says--''
``G'WAY!''
``Well, she said I had to find out what in
mercy's name you're doin', Willie.''
``You tell her,'' he shouted, hoarsely--``tell her
I'm playin' dominoes! What's she THINK I'm
doin'?''
``I guess''--Jane paused, evidently to complete
the swallowing of something--``I guess she
thinks you're goin' crazy. I don't like Miss
Pratt, but she lets me play with that little dog.
It's name's Flopit!''
``You go 'way from that door and stop bothering
me,'' said William. ``I got enough on my
mind!''
``Mamma looks at Miss Pratt,'' Jane remarked.
``Miss Pratt puts cakes in that Mr. Bullitt's
mouth and Johnnie Watson's mouth, too. She's
awful.''
William made it plain that these bulletins from
the party found no favor with him. He bellowed,
``If you don't get away from that DOOR--''
Jane was interested in the conversation, but
felt that it would be better to return to the
refreshment-table. There she made use of her
own conception of a whisper to place before
her mother a report which was considered
interesting and even curious by every one present;
though, such was the courtesy of the little
assembly, there was a general pretense of not
hearing.
``I told him,'' thus whispered Jane, ``an' he
said, `You g'way from that door or I'll do
somep'm'--he didn't say what, mamma. He
said, `What you think I'm doin'? I'm playin'
dominoes.' He didn't mean he WAS playin'
dominoes, mamma. He just said he was. I
think maybe he was just lookin' in the lookin'-
glass some more.''
Mrs. Baxter was becoming embarrassed. She
resolved to go to William's room herself at the
first opportunity; but for some time her
conscientiousness as a hostess continued to occupy
her at the table, and then, when she would have
gone, Miss Pratt detained her by a roguish appeal
to make Mr. Bullitt and Mr. Watson behave.
Both refused all nourishment except such as was
placed in their mouths by the delicate hand of
one of the Noblest, and the latter said that really
she wanted to eat a little tweetie now and
then herself, and not to spend her whole time
feeding the Men. For Miss Pratt had the
same playfulness with older people that she had
with those of her own age; and she elaborated
her pretended quarrel with the two young gentlemen,
taking others of the dazzled company into
her confidence about it, and insisting upon
``Mamma Batster's'' acting formally as judge
to settle the difficulty. However, having thus
arranged matters, Miss Pratt did not resign the
center of interest, but herself proposed a
compromise: she would continue to feed Mr. Bullitt
and Mr. Watson ``every other tweetie''--that is,
each must agree to eat a cake ``all by him own
self,'' after every cake fed to him. So the
comedietta went on, to the running accompaniment
of laughter, with Mr. Bullitt and Mr.
Watson swept by such gusts of adoration they
were like to perish where they sat. But Mrs.
Baxter's smiling approval was beginning to be
painful to the muscles of her face, for it was
hypocritical. And if William had known her
thoughts about one of the Noblest, he could only
have attributed them to that demon of groundless
prejudice which besets all females, but most
particularly and outrageously the mothers and
sisters of Men.
A colored serving-maid entered with a laden
tray, and, having disposed of its freight of bon-
bons among the guests, spoke to Mrs. Baxter in
a low voice.
``Could you manage step in the back hall a
minute, please, ma'am?''
Mrs. Baxter managed and, having closed the
door upon the laughing voices, asked, quickly--
``What is it, Adelia? Have you seen Mr. William?
Do you know why he doesn't come down?''
``Yes'm,'' said Adelia. ``He gone mighty near
out his head, Miz Baxter.''
``What!''
``Yes'm. He come floppin' down the back
stairs in his baf-robe li'l' while ago. He jes'
gone up again. He 'ain't got no britches, Miz
Baxter.''
``No WHAT?''
``No'm,'' said Adelia. ``He 'ain't got no
britches at all.''
A statement of this kind is startling under
Almost any circumstances, and it is unusually so
when made in reference to a person for whom a
party is being given. Therefore it was not
unreasonable of Mrs. Baxter to lose her breath.
``But--it can't BE!'' she gasped. ``He has!
He has plenty!''
``No'm, he 'ain't,'' Adelia assured her. ``An'
he's carryin' on so I don't scarcely think he
knows much what he's doin', Miz Baxter. He
brung down some gray britches to the kitchen
to see if I couldn' press an' clean 'em right quick:
they was the ones Miss Jane, when she's paintin'
all them sunsets, lef' her paint-box open, an' one
them sunsets got on these here gray britches,
Miz Baxter; an' hones'ly, Miz Baxter, he's fixed
'em in a condishum, tryin' to git that paint out,
I don't believe it 'll be no use sendin' 'em to the
cleaner. `Clean 'em an' press 'em QUICK?' I says.
`I couldn' clean 'em by Resurreckshum, let alone
pressin' 'em!' No'm! Well, he had his blue
britches, too, but they's so ripped an' tore an'
kind o' shredded away in one place, the cook she
jes' hollered when he spread 'em out, an' he
didn' even ast me could I mend 'em. An' he
had two pairs o' them white flannen britches, but
hones'ly, Miz Baxter, I don't scarcely think
Genesis would wear 'em, the way they is now!
`Well,' I says, `ain't but one thing lef' to do _I_ can
see,' I says. `Why don't you go put on that
nice black suit you had las' winter?' ''
``Of course!'' Mrs. Baxter cried. ``I'll go
and--''
``No'm,'' said Adelia. ``You don' need to.
He's up in the attic now, r'arin' roun' 'mongs'
them trunks, but seem to me like I remember
you put that suit away under the heavy blankets
in that big cedar ches' with the padlock. If you
jes' tell me where is the key, I take it up to him.''
``Under the bureau in the spare room,'' said
Mrs. Baxter. ``HURRY!''
Adelia hurried; and, fifteen minutes later,
William, for the last time that afternoon, surveyed
himself in his mirror. His face showed the
strain that had been upon him and under which
he still labored; the black suit was a map of
creases, and William was perspiring more freely
than ever under the heavy garments. But at
least he was clothed.
He emptied his pockets, disgorging upon the
floor a multitude of small white spheres, like
marbles. Then, as he stepped out into the hall,
he discovered that their odor still remained about
him; so he stopped and carefully turned his
pockets inside out, one after the other, but finding
that he still smelled vehemently of the ``moth-
balls,'' though not one remained upon him, he
went to his mother's room and sprinkled violet
toilet-water upon his chest and shoulders. He
disliked such odors, but that left by the moth-
balls was intolerable, and, laying hands upon a
canister labeled ``Hyacinth,'' he contrived to pour
a quantity of scented powder inside his collar,
thence to be distributed by the force of gravity
so far as his dampness permitted.
Lo, William was now ready to go to his party!
Moist, wilted, smelling indeed strangely, he was
ready.
But when he reached the foot of the stairs he
discovered that there was one thing more to be
done. Indignation seized him, and also a creeping
fear chilled his spine, as he beheld a lurking
shape upon the porch, stealthily moving toward
the open door. It was the lowly Clematis, dog
unto Genesis.
William instantly divined the purpose of
Clematis. It was debatable whether Clematis
had remained upon the premises after the
departure of Genesis, or had lately returned thither
upon some errand of his own, but one thing was
certain, and the manner of Clematis--his attitude,
his every look, his every gesture--made
it as clear as day. Clematis had discovered, by
one means or another, the presence of Flopit in
the house, and had determined to see him personally.
Clematis wore his most misleading expression;
a stranger would have thought him shy and
easily turned from his purpose--but William was
not deceived. He knew that if Clematis meant
to see Flopit, a strong will, a ready brain, and
stern action were needed to thwart him; but
at all costs that meeting must be prevented.
Things had been awful enough, without that!
He was well aware that Clematis could not be
driven away, except temporarily, for nothing was
further fixed upon Clematis than his habit of
retiring under pressure, only to return and return
again. True, the door could have been shut in
the intruder's face, but he would have sought
other entrance with possible success, or, failing
that, would have awaited in the front yard the
dispersal of the guests and Flopit's consequent
emerging. This was a contretemps not to be
endured.
The door of the living-room was closed, muffling
festal noises and permitting safe passage
through the hall. William cast a hunted look
over his shoulder; then he approached Clematis.
``Good ole doggie,'' he said, huskily. ``Hyuh,
Clem! Hyuh, Clem!''
Clematis moved sidelong, retreating with his
head low and his tail denoting anxious thoughts.
``Hyuh, Clem!'' said William, trying, with
only fair success, to keep his voice from sounding
venomous. ``Hyuh, Clem!''
Clematis continued his deprecatory retreat.
Thereupon William essayed a ruse--he pretended
to nibble at something, and then extended
his hand as if it held forth a gift of food. ``Look,
Clem,'' he said. ``Yum-yum! Meat, Clem!
Good meat!''
For once Clematis was half credulous. He did
not advance, but he elongated himself to investigate
the extended hand, and the next instant
found himself seized viciously by the scruff of
the neck. He submitted to capture in absolute
silence. Only the slightest change of countenance
betrayed his mortification at having been
found so easy a gull; this passed, and a look
of resolute stoicism took its place.
He refused to walk, but offered merely nominal
resistance, as a formal protest which he wished
to be of record, though perfectly understanding
that it availed nothing at present. William
dragged him through the long hall and down a
short passageway to the cellar door. This he
opened, thrust Clematis upon the other side of it,
closed and bolted it.
Immediately a stentorian howl raised blood-
curdling echoes and resounded horribly through
the house. It was obvious that Clematis
intended to make a scene, whether he was present
at it or not. He lifted his voice in sonorous
dolor, stating that he did not like the cellar
and would continue thus to protest as long as
he was left in it alone. He added that he was
anxious to see Flopit and considered it an
unexampled outrage that he was withheld from the
opportunity.
Smitten with horror, William reopened the
door and charged down the cellar stairs after
Clematis, who closed his caitiff mouth and gave
way precipitately. He fled from one end of the
cellar to the other and back, while William
pursued; choking, and calling in low, ferocious tones:
``Good doggie! Good ole doggie! Hyuh, Clem!
Meat, Clem, meat--''
There was dodging through coal-bins; there
was squirming between barrels; there was high
jumping and broad jumping, and there was a final
aspiring but baffled dash for the top of the cellar
stairs, where the door, forgotten by William,
stood open. but it was here that Clematis,
after a long and admirable exhibition of ingenuity,
no less than agility, submitted to capture.
That is to say, finding himself hopelessly pinioned,
he resumed the stoic.
Grimly the panting and dripping William
dragged him through the kitchen, where the cook
cried out unintelligibly, seeming to summon
Adelia, who was not present. Through the back
yard went captor and prisoner, the latter now
maintaining a seated posture--his pathetic
conception of dignity under duress. Finally, into
a small shed or tool-house, behind Mrs. Baxter's
flower-beds, went Clematis in a hurried and
spasmodic manner. The instant the door slammed
he lifted his voice--and was bidden to use it now
as much as he liked.
Adelia, with a tray of used plates, encountered
the son of the house as he passed through the
kitchen on his return, and her eyes were those of
one who looks upon miracles.
William halted fiercely.
``What's the matter?'' he demanded. ``Is
my face dirty?''
``You mean, are it too dirty to go in yonduh
to the party?'' Adelia asked, slowly. ``No, suh;
you look all right to go in there. You lookin'
jes' fine to go in there now, Mist' Willie!''
Something in her tone struck him as peculiar,
even as ominous, but his blood was up--he would
not turn back now. He strode into the hall and
opened the door of the ``living-room.''
Jane was sitting on the floor, busily painting
sunsets in a large blank-book which she had
obtained for that exclusive purpose.
She looked up brightly as William appeared in
the doorway, and in answer to his wild gaze she
said:
``I got a little bit sick, so mamma told me
to keep quiet a while. She's lookin' for you all
over the house. She told papa she don't know
what in mercy's name people are goin' to think
about you, Willie.''
The distraught youth strode to her. ``The
party--'' he choked. ``WHERE--''
``They all stayed pretty long,'' said Jane,
``but the last ones said they had to go home to
their dinners when papa came, a little while ago.
Johnnie Watson was carryin' Flopit for that
Miss Pratt.''
William dropped into the chair beside which
Jane had established herself upon the floor.
Then he uttered a terrible cry and rose.
Again Jane had painted a sunset she had not
intended. _
Read next: CHAPTER XV. ROMANCE OF STATISTICS
Read previous: CHAPTER XIII. AT HOME TO HIS FRIENDS
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
