Seventeen [42]
Miss Pratt uttered a little scream of surprise and recognition. ``It's your little sister!'' she exclaimed, and then, reverting to her favorite playfulness of enunciation, `` 'Oor ickle sissa!'' she added, gaily, as a translation. Jane misunderstood it; she thought Miss Pratt meant ``OUR little sister.''
``Go home!'' said William.
``No'ty, no'ty!'' said Miss Pratt, shaking her head. ``Me 'fraid oo's a no'ty, no'ty ickle dirl! All datie!''
Jane advanced. ``I wish you'd let me carry Flopit for you,'' she said.
Giving forth another gentle scream, Miss Pratt hopped prettily backward from Jane's extended hands. ``Oo-oo!'' she cried, chidingly. ``Mustn't touch! P'eshus Flopit all soap-water-wash clean. Ickle dirly all muddy-nassy! Ickle dirly must doe home, det all soap-water-wash clean like NICE ickle sissa. Evabody will love 'oor ickle sissa den,'' she concluded, turning to William. ``Tell 'oor ickle sissa MUS' doe home det soap-water-wash!''
Jane stared at Miss Pratt with fixed solemnity during the delivery of these admonitions, and it was to be seen that they made an impression upon her. Her mouth slowly opened, but she spake not. An extraordinary idea had just begun to make itself at home in her mind. It was an idea which had been hovering in the neighborhood of that domain ever since William's comments upon the conversation of Mr. Genesis, in the morning.
``Go home!'' repeated William, and then, as Jane stood motionless and inarticulate, transfixed by her idea, he said, almost brokenly, to his dainty companion, ``I DON'T know what you'll think of my mother! To let this child--''
Miss Pratt laughed comfortingly as they started on again. ``Isn't mamma's fault, foolish boy Baxter. Ickle dirlies will det datie!''
The profoundly mortified William glanced back over his shoulder, bestowing upon Jane a look in which bitterness was mingled with apprehension. But she remained where she was, and did not follow. That was a little to be thankful for, and he found some additional consolation in believing that Miss Pratt had not caught the frightful words, ``papa's cane,'' at the beginning of the interview. He was encouraged to this belief by her presently taking from his hand the decoration in question and examining it with tokens of pleasure. `` 'Oor pitty walk'-'tick,'' she called it, with a tact he failed to suspect. And so he began to float upward again; glamors enveloped him and the earth fell away.
He was alone in space with Miss Pratt once more.
XVII
JANE'S THEORY
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,