Seventeen. Booth Tarkington
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you to look! Think of it: that's the sight I have to meet when I'm out walking with Miss PRATT! She asked me who it was, and I wish you'd seen her face. She wanted to know who 'that curious child' was, and I'm glad you didn't hear the way she said it. 'Who IS that curious child?' she said, and I had to tell her it was my sister. I had to tell Miss PRATT it was my only SISTER!”
“Willie, who is Miss Pratt?” asked Mrs. Baxter, mildly. “I don't think I've ever heard of—”
Jane had returned to an admirable imperturbability, but she chose this moment to interrupt her mother, and her own eating, with remarks delivered in a tone void of emphasis or expression.
“Willie's mashed on her,” she said, casually. “And she wears false side-curls. One almost came off.”
At this unspeakable desecration William's face was that of a high priest stricken at the altar.
“She's visitin' Miss May Parcher,” added the deadly Jane. “But the Parchers are awful tired of her. They wish she'd go home, but they don't like to tell her so.”
One after another these insults from the canaille fell upon the ears of William. That slanders so atrocious could soil the universal air seemed unthinkable.
He became icily calm.
“NOW if you don't punish her,” he said, deliberately, “it's because you have lost your sense of duty!”
Having uttered these terrible words, he turned upon his heel and marched toward the house. His mother called after him:
“Wait, Willie. Jane doesn't mean to hurt your feelings—”
“My feelings!” he cried, the iciness of his demeanor giving way under the strain of emotion. “You stand there and allow her to speak as she did of one of the—one of the—” For a moment William appeared to be at a loss, and the fact is that it always has been a difficult matter to describe THE bright, ineffable divinity of the world to one's mother, especially in the presence of an inimical third party of tender years. “One of the—” he said; “one of the—the noblest—one of the noblest—”
Again he paused.
“Oh, Jane didn't mean anything,” said Mrs. Baxter. “And if you think Miss Pratt is so nice, I'll ask May Parcher to bring her to tea with us some day. If it's too hot, we'll 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