________________________________________________
_ 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, when
William made his belated return from the afternoon's
excursion. Seating himself, he waived his
mother's references to the rain, his clothes, and
probable colds, and after one laden glance at
Jane denoting a grievance so elaborate that he
despaired of setting it forth in a formal complaint
to the Powers--he fell into a state of trance. He
took nourishment automatically, and roused himself
but once during the meal, a pathetic encounter
with his father resulting from this awakening.
``Everybody in town seemed to be on the
streets, this evening, as I walked home,'' Mr.
Baxter remarked, addressing his wife. ``I suppose
there's something in the clean air after a
rain that brings 'em out. I noticed one thing,
though; maybe it's the way they dress nowadays,
but you certainly don't see as many pretty girls
on the streets as there used to be.''
William looked up absently. ``I used to think
that, too,'' he said, with dreamy 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 considerable irritation. ``How old
d' you think you are?''
``I'm going on eighteen,'' said William, firmly.
``I know plenty of cases--cases where--'' He
paused, relapsing into lethargy.
``What's the matter with him?'' Mr. Baxter
inquired, heatedly, of his wife.
William again came to life. ``I was saying that
a person's age is different according to circumstances,''
he explained, with dignity, if not lucidity.
``You take Genesis's father. Well, he was
married when he was sixteen. Then there was a
case over in Iowa that lots of people know about
and nobody thinks anything of. A young man
over there in Iowa that's seventeen years old
began shaving when he was thirteen and shaved
every day for four years, and now--''
He was interrupted by his father, who was no
longer able to contain himself. ``And now I suppose
he's got WHISKERS!'' he burst forth. ``There's
an ambition for you! My soul!''
It was Jane who took up the tale. She had
been listening with growing excitement, her eyes
fixed piercingly upon William. ``He's got a
beard!'' she cried, alluding not to her brother,
but to the fabled Iowan. ``I heard Willie tell ole
Mr. Genesis about it.''
``It seems to lie heavily on your mind,'' Mr.
Baxter said to William. ``I suppose you feel that
in the face of such an example, your life between
the ages of thirteen and seventeen has been virtually
thrown away?''
William had again relapsed, but he roused
himself feebly. ``Sir?'' he said.
``What IS the matter with him?'' Mr. Baxter
demanded. ``Half the time lately he seems to be
hibernating, and only responds by a slight twitching
when poked with a stick. The other half of
the time he either behaves like I-don't-know-
what or talks about children growing whiskers in
Iowa! Hasn't that girl left town yet?''
William was not so deep in trance that this
failed to stir him. He left the table.
Mrs. Baxter looked distressed, though, as the
meal was about concluded, and William had partaken
of his share in spite of his dreaminess, she
had no anxieties connected with his sustenance.
As for Mr. Baxter, he felt a little remorse,
undoubtedly, but he was also puzzled. So plain a
man was he that he had no perception of the
callous brutality of the words ``THAT GIRL'' when
applied to some girls. He referred to his mystification
a little later, as he sat with his evening
paper in the library.
``I don't know what I said to that tetchy boy
to hurt him,'' he began in an apologetic tone.
``I don't see that there was anything too rough
for him to stand in a little sarcasm. He needn't
be so sensitive on the subject 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, disporting herself mildly with her
paint-box. ``Papa, I know what's the matter
with Willie,'' 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 married with that Miss
Pratt.''
``Well,'' said her father, ``he does seem upset,
and it may be that her visit and the idea of
whiskers, coming so close together, is more than
mere coincidence, but I hardly think Willie is
married, Jane!''
``Well, then,'' she returned, thoughtfully, ``he's
almost married. I know that much, anyway.''
``What makes you think so?''
``Well, because! I KIND of thought he must be
married, or anyways somep'm, when he talked to
Mr. Genesis this mornin'. He said he knew how
some people got married in Pennsylvania an'
India, an' he said they were only seven or eight
years old. He said so, an' I heard him; an' he
said there were eleven people married that were
only seventeen, an' this boy in Iowa got a full
beard an' got married, too. An' he said Mr.
Genesis was only sixteen when HE was married.
He talked all about gettin' married when you're
seventeen years old, an' he said how people
thought it was the best thing could happen. So
I just KNOW he's almost married!''
Mr. Baxter chuckled, and Mrs. Baxter smiled,
but a shade of thoughtfulness, 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! Miss Pratt calls you
`mamma' as if you were HER mamma. She does
it when she talks to Willie.''
``Jane!''
``Yes m, I HEARD her. An' Willie said, `I don't
know what you'll think about 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. Jane mistook their expressions
for incredulity. ``They DID, mamma,'' she
protested. ``That's just the way they talked to
each other. I heard 'em this 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 seen
him!'' 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 turned sideways,
an' all the time he kept walkin' frontways,
he kept his face sideways--like this, papa. Look,
papa!'' And she gave what she considered a
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 contorted her 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 stopped an' 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 our little 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--Miss
Pratt 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 'ittle sissy'; that's what she
said. An' Miss Pratt said, `Ev'rybody would
love our little sister if mamma washed her in soap
an' water!' You can ask Willie; that's exackly
what Miss Pratt said, an' if you don't believe it
you 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's your 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 up with you. You mustn't
think such nonsense.''
``But, mamma--''
``Come along, Jane!''
Jane was obedient in the flesh, but her spirit
was free; her opinions were her own. Disappointed
in the sensation she had expected to
produce, she followed her mother out of the
room wearing the expression of a person who
says, ``You'll SEE--some day when everything's
ruined!''
Mr. Baxter, left alone, laughed quietly, lifted
his neglected newspaper to obtain the light at
the right angle, and then allowed it to languish
upon 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 was seventeen, and it was
difficult. It seemed to him that he had been a
steady, sensible young fellow--really quite a man
--at that age. Looking backward at the blur of
youthful years, the period from sixteen to twenty-
five appeared to him as ``pretty much all of a
piece.'' He could not recall just when he stopped
being a boy; it must have been at about fifteen,
he thought.
All at once he sat up stiffly in his chair, and the
paper slid from his knee. He remembered an
autumn, long ago, when he had decided to abandon
the educational plans of his parents and
become an actor. He had located this project
exactly, for it dated from the night of his
seventeenth birthday, when he saw John McCullough
play ``Virginius.''
Even now Mr. Baxter grew a little red as he
remembered the remarkable letter he had written,
a few weeks later, to the manager of a passing
theatrical company. He had confidently
expected an answer, and had made his plans to
leave town quietly with the company and afterward
reassure his parents by telegraph. In fact,
he might have been on the stage at this moment,
if that manager had taken him. Mr. Baxter
began to look nervous.
Still, there is a difference between going on the
stage and getting married. ``I don't know,
though!'' Mr. Baxter thought. ``And Willie's
certainly not so well balanced in a GENERAL way as
I was.'' He wished his wife would come down
and reassure him, though of course it was all
nonsense.
But when Mrs. Baxter came down-stairs she
did not reassure him. ``Of course Jane's too
absurd!'' she said. ``I don't mean that she `made
it up'; she never does that, and no doubt this
little Miss Pratt did say about 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 his age are going through--
like Johnnie Watson and Joe Bullitt and Wallace
Banks. They all seem to be frantic over her.''
``I caught a glimpse of her the day you had
her to tea. She's rather pretty.''
``Adorably! And perhaps Willie has been just
a LITTLE bit more frantic than the others.''
``He certainly seems in a queer state!''
At this his wife's tone became serious. ``Do
you think he WOULD do as crazy a thing as that?''
Mr. Baxter laughed. ``Well, I don't know
what he'd do it ON! I don't suppose he has more
than a dollar in his possession.''
``Yes, he has,'' she returned, quickly. ``Day
before yesterday there was a second-hand furniture
man here, and I was too busy to see him,
but I wanted the storeroom in the cellar cleared
out, and I told Willie he could have whatever
the man would pay him for the junk in there, if
he'd watch to see that they didn't TAKE anything.
They found some old pieces that I'd forgotten,
underneath things, and altogether the man paid
Willie nine dollars and eighty-five cents.''
``But, mercy-me!'' exclaimed Mr. Baxter, ``the
girl may be an idiot, but she wouldn't run away
and marry a boy just barely seventeen on nine
dollars and eighty-five cents!''
``Oh no!'' said Mrs. Baxter. ``At least, I
don't THINK so. Of course girls do as crazy things
as boys sometimes--in their way. I was think-
ing--'' She paused. ``Of COURSE there couldn't be
anything in it, but it did seem a little strange.''
``What did?''
``Why, just before I came down-stairs, Adelia
came for the laundry; and I asked her if she'd
seen Willie; and she said he'd put on his dark suit
after dinner, and he went out through the kitchen,
carrying his suit-case.''
``He did?''
``Of course,'' Mrs. Baxter went on, slowly, ``I
COULDN'T believe he'd do such a thing, but he
really is in a PREPOSTEROUS way over this little
Miss 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 than to get married on nine dollars and
eighty-five cents! I wouldn't put it past him!
By George, I wouldn't!''
``Oh, I don't think he would,'' she remonstrated,
feebly. ``Besides, the law wouldn't permit it.''
Mr. Baxter paced the floor. ``Oh, I suppose
they COULD manage it. They could 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'd just say we came
to call, of course, and if--''
``Get your hat on,'' he said. ``I don't think
there's anything in it at all, 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 age crazy 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 before the house of the
Parchers, they paused under the shade-trees in
the darkness, and presently decided that it was
not necessary to go in. Suddenly their uneasiness
had fallen from them. From the porch came
the laughter of several young voices, and then one
silvery voice, which pretended to be that of a
tiny child.
``Oh, s'ame! S'ame on 'oo, big Bruvva Josie-
Joe! Mus' be polite to Johnny Jump-up, or tant
play wiv May and Lola!''
``That's Miss Pratt,'' whispered Mrs. Baxter.
``She's talking to Johnnie Watson 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 were as crazy as that,
the little girl would have more sense. I wouldn't
have thought anything of it, if you hadn't told me
about the suit-case. That looked sort of queer.''
She agreed that it did, but immediately added
that she had thought nothing of it. What had
seemed more significant to her was William's
interest in the early marriage of Genesis's father,
and in the Iowa beard story, she said. Then she
said that it WAS curious about the suit-case.
And when they came to their own house again,
there was William sitting alone and silent upon
the steps of the porch.
``I thought you'd gone out, Willie,'' said his
mother, as they paused beside 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 the evening they have
'em pressed in the morning. You said I looked
damp at dinner, so I took 'em over and left 'em
there.''
``I see.'' Mrs. Baxter followed her husband
to the door, but she stopped on 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 be damp.''
``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
three blocks and a half.''
But William's father was mistaken. Little he
knew! William was not upon the porch of the
Parchers, with May Parcher and Joe Bullitt and
Johnnie Watson to interfere. He was far from
there, in a land where time was not. Upon a
planet floating in pink mist, and uninhabited--
unless old Mr. Genesis and some Hindoo princes
and the diligent Iowan may have established
themselves in its remoter regions--William was
alone with Miss Pratt, in the conservatory. And,
after a time, they went together, and looked into
the door of a room where an indefinite number of
little boys--all over three years of age--were
playing in the firelight upon a white-bear rug.
For, in the roseate gossamer that boys' dreams
are made of, William had indeed entered the
married state.
His condition was growing worse, every day. _
Read next: CHAPTER XVIII. THE BIG, FAT LUMMOX
Read previous: CHAPTER XVI. THE SHOWER
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
