Seventeen [46]
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.
XVIII
THE BIG, FAT LUMMOX
In the morning sunshine, Mrs. Baxter stood at the top of the steps of the front porch, addressing her son, who listened impatiently and edged himself a little nearer the gate every time he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
``Willie,'' she said, ``you must really pay some attention to the laws of health, or you'll never live to be an old man.''
``I don't want to live to be an old man,'' said William, earnestly. ``I'd rather do what I please now and die a little sooner.''
``You talk very foolishly,'' his mother returned. ``Either come back and put on some heavier THINGS or take your overcoat.''
``My overcoat!'' William groaned. ``They'd think I was a lunatic, carrying an overcoat in August!''
``Not to a picnic,'' she said.
``Mother, it isn't a picnic, I've told you a hunderd times! You think it's one those
``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.
XVIII
THE BIG, FAT LUMMOX
In the morning sunshine, Mrs. Baxter stood at the top of the steps of the front porch, addressing her son, who listened impatiently and edged himself a little nearer the gate every time he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
``Willie,'' she said, ``you must really pay some attention to the laws of health, or you'll never live to be an old man.''
``I don't want to live to be an old man,'' said William, earnestly. ``I'd rather do what I please now and die a little sooner.''
``You talk very foolishly,'' his mother returned. ``Either come back and put on some heavier THINGS or take your overcoat.''
``My overcoat!'' William groaned. ``They'd think I was a lunatic, carrying an overcoat in August!''
``Not to a picnic,'' she said.
``Mother, it isn't a picnic, I've told you a hunderd times! You think it's one those