________________________________________________
_ When George did stop, it was abruptly,
during one of these intervals of sobriety,
and he and Miss Pratt came out of the
house together rather quietly, joining one of the
groups of young people chatting with after-
dinner languor under the trees. However, Mr.
Crooper began to revive presently, in the sweet
air of outdoors, and, observing some of the more
flashing gentlemen lighting cigarettes, he was
moved to laughter. He had not smoked since
his childhood--having then been bonded through
to twenty-one with a pledge of gold--and he
feared that these smoking youths might feel
themselves superior. Worse, Miss Pratt might be
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 about her, 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, but cigarettes
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 was put upon his
mettle. He spoke too quickly to consider
whether or no the facts 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
so quick! P'eshus Flopit an' me we want see
dray, big, 'normous man smoke dray, big,
'normous cigar!''
William and Johnnie Watson, who had been
hovering morbidly, unable to resist the lodestone,
came nearer, Johnnie being just in time to hear
his 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 till you're of age, and Uncle George said
he'd give you a thousand dollars on your 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 Miss Pratt turned upon him
questioningly. He could not flush, for he was
already so pink after his exploits with
unnecessary nutriment that more pinkness was
impossible. He saw that the only safety for him
lay in boisterous prevarication. ``A thousand
dollars!'' he laughed loudly. ``I thought that
was real money when I was ten years old! It
didn't stand in MY way very long, I guess! Good
ole George wanted his smoke, and he went after
it! You know how I am, Johnnie, when I go
after anything. I been smokin' cigars I dunno
how long!'' Glancing about him, his eye became
reassured; it was obvious that even Johnnie had
accepted this airy statement as the truth, and to
clinch plausibility he added: ``When I smoke, I
smoke! I smoke cigars straight along--light one
right on the stub of the other. I only wish I had
some with me, because I miss 'em after a meal.
I'd give a good deal for something to smoke
right now! I don't mean cigarettes; I don't
want any paper--I want something that's all
tobacco!''
William's pale, sad face showed a hint of color.
With a pang he remembered the package of
My Little Sweetheart All-Tobacco Cuban Cigarettes
(the Package of Twenty for Ten Cents)
which still reposed, untouched, in the breast
pocket of his coat. His eyes smarted a little
as 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-Tobacco Cuban Cigarettes
and placed it in the large hand of George Crooper.
And this was a noble act, for William believed
that George really wished to smoke. ``Here,'' he
said, ``take these; they're all tobacco. I'm
goin' to quit smokin', anyway.'' And, thinking
of the name, he added, gently, with a 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-tobatto smote. Light it, light it!''
George drew as deep a breath as his diaphragm,
strangely oppressed since dinner, would permit,
and then bravely lit a Little Sweetheart. There
must 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's the ole stuff! That's what I was lookin'
for!''
Miss Pratt was entranced. ``Oh, 'plendid!''
she cried, watching him with fascinated 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, as he sat on the
distant fence, was wrung and wrung again by the
vision of her playful ecstasies. But when he saw
her holding what was left of the first Little
Sweetheart for George to light a second at its
expiring spark, he could not bear it. He dropped
from the fence and moped away to be out of sight
once more. This was his darkest hour.
Studiously avoiding the vicinity of the smoke-
house, he sought the little orchard where he had
beheld her sitting with George; and there he sat
himself in sorrowful reverie upon the selfsame
fallen tree. How long he remained there is
uncertain, but he was roused by the sound of music
which came from the lawn before the farm-
house. 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--a turf floor
being no impediment to seventeen's dancing.
Music! To see her whirling and smiling sunnily
in the fat grasp of that dancing bear! He
would stay in this lonely orchard; SHE would not
miss him.
But though he hated the throbbing music and
the sound of the laughing voices that came to
him, he could not keep away--and when he
reached the lawn where the dancers were, he
found Miss Pratt moving rhythmically in the thin
grasp of Wallace Banks. Johnnie Watson
approached, and spoke in a low tone, tinged with
spiteful triumph.
``Well, anyway, ole fat George didn't get the
first dance with her! She's the guest of honor,
and Wallace had a right to it because he did all
the work. He came up to 'em and ole fat
George couldn't say a thing. Wallace just 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 nobody else 'll have
a chance to get near her the rest of the afternoon.
My mother told me I ought to invite him over
here, out I had no business to do it; he don't
know the first principles of how to act in a town
he don't live in!''
``Where'd he go?'' William asked, listlessly,
for Mr. Crooper was nowhere in sight.
``I don't know--he just walked off without
sayin' anything. But he'll be back, time this
dance is over, never you fear, and he'll grab her
again and-- What's the matter with Joe?''
Joseph Bullitt had made his appearance at a
corner of the house, some distance from where
they stood. His face was alert under the impulse
of strong excitement, and he beckoned fiercely.
``Come here!'' And, when they had 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 their attention sufficiently--
sounds most poignant, soul-rending, and
lugubrious. William and Johnnie perceived the
large person of Mr. Crooper; he was seated upon
the ground, his back propped obliquely against
the smoke-house, though this attitude was not
maintained constantly.
Facing him, at a little distance, a rugged figure
in homely garments stood leaning upon a hoe
and regarding George with a cold interest.
The apex of this figure was a volcanic straw hat,
triangular in profile and coned with an open
crater emitting reddish wisps, while below the hat
were several features, but more whiskers, at the
top of a long, corrugated red neck of sterling
worth. A husky voice issued from the whiskers,
addressing George.
``I seen you!'' it said. ``I seen you eatin'!
This here farm is supposed to be a sanitary farm,
and you'd ought of knew better. Go it, doggone
you! Go it!''
George complied. And three spectators,
remaining aloof, but watching zealously, began
to feel their lost faith in Providence returning
into them; their faces brightened slowly, and
without relapse. It was a visible thing how the
world became fairer and better in their eyes
during that little while they stood there. And
William saw that his Little Sweethearts had been
an inspired purchase, after all; they had
delivered the final tap upon a tottering edifice.
George's deeds at dinner had unsettled, but
Little Sweethearts had overthrown--and now
there was awful work among the ruins, to an
ironical accompaniment of music from the front
yard, where people danced in heaven's sunshine!
This accompaniment came to a stop, and
Johnnie Watson jumped. He seized each of his
companions by a sleeve and spoke eagerly, his
eyes glowing with a warm and brotherly light.
``Here!'' he cried. ``We better get around there
--this looks like it was goin' to last all afternoon.
Joe, you get the next dance with her, and just
about time the music slows up you dance 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 do the same
for me, and I'll do the same for Joe again, and
then, Joe, you do it for Bill again, and then Bill
for me--and so on. If we go in right now and
work together we can crowd the rest out, and
there won't anybody else 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 next dance
with the lovely guest of the day. ``I did promise
big Untle Georgiecums,'' she said, looking about
her.
``Well, I don't think he'll come,'' said Joe.
``That is, I'm pretty sure he won't.''
A shade fell upon the exquisite face. ``No'ty.
Bruvva Josie-Joe! The Men ALWAYS tum when
Lola promises dances. Mustn't be rude!''
``Well--'' Joe began, when he was interrupted
by the Swedish lady named Anna, who spoke
to them from the steps of the house. Of the
merrymakers they were the nearest.
``Dot pick fella,'' said Anna, ``dot one dot
eats--we make him in a petroom. 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 my cousin, and I
guess I got to take the responsibility.''
Miss Pratt paid the invalid the tribute of one
faintly commiserating glance toward the house.
``Well,'' she said, ``if people would rather eat too
much than dance!'' She meant ``dance with
ME!'' though she thought it prettier not to say
so. ``Come on, Bruvva Josie-Joe!'' she cried,
joyously.
And a little later Johnnie Watson approached
her where she stood with a restored and refulgent
William, about to begin the succeeding dance.
Johnnie dropped into her hand a ring, receiving
one in return. ``I thought 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 sensitive brow
of William, he went on reassuringly: ``He's
doin' as well as anybody could expect; that is--
after the crazy way he DID! He's always been
considered the dumbest one in all our relations--
never did know how to act. I don't mean he's
exactly not got his senses, or ought to be watched,
anything like that--and of course he belongs to
an awful good family--but he's just kind of the
black sheep when it comes to intelligence, or
anything like that. I got him as comfortable as a
person 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 the rest 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
dance afterwhile?''
Johnnie shook his head. ``None in the
world!'' he said, conclusively. ``The best 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 of stretch out by himself.''
Then gaily tinkled harp, gaily sang flute and
violin! Over the greensward William lightly
bore his lady, while radiant was the cleared sky
above the happy dancers. William's fingers
touched those delicate fingers; the exquisite
face smiled rosily up to him; undreamable sweetness
beat rhythmically upon his glowing ears;
his feet moved in a rhapsody of companionship
with hers. They danced and danced and danced!
Then Joe danced with her, while William and
Johnnie stood with hands upon each other's
shoulders and watched, mayhap with longing,
but without spite; then Johnnie danced with her
while Joe and William watched--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 corner drug-store inquired that
evening.
``Fine!'' said William, taking his overcoat
from the hook where he had left it.
``How j' like them Little Sweethearts I sold
you?''
``FINE!'' said William. _
Read next: CHAPTER XXII. FORESHADOWINGS
Read previous: CHAPTER XX. SYDNEY CARTON
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
