CHAPTER X
It ain't any easy matter to keep a diary with a baby in the house,especially if he's at the _watchable_ age, although he's such adarling one that you don't begrudge him the trouble he makes. Beforeyou more than get a sentence set down you have to drop everything andrun and jerk the palm-leaf fan out of his hands, which he takes greatpleasure in ramming the handle of down his throat. Then he eats greathandsful of the Virginia Creeper leaves if you leave him on the porchfor a minute by himself. And at times he won't be satisfied withanything on earth unless you turn up the mattress and let him beat onthe bed-springs, which I consider a smart idea and think Cousin Euniceought to write out and send to a magazine under the head of "Hintsfor Tired Mothers." But I say it again, there don't any of us begrudgehim these many little ways, although it's hard to be literary withthem; for when he smiles and "pat-a-cakes" and says "Ah! ah!" youdon't care if you never write another line.
Mother made Cousin Eunice turn over the raising of him to her the veryday she got here, for everybody knows, my diary, how a lady that'sever raised a baby feels toward a lady that's just owned one a fewmonths.
"No _flannel_ on this precious child!" mother almost screamed theminute we got him off the train and started to drive home. "Why, it'spositively flying in the face of Providence to leave his band off thisearly!" And mother looked at Cousin Eunice like she had done ita-purpose.
"Oh, Aunt Mary, please don't," poor Cousin Eunice said like she wasabout to cry. "For the last eleven months there has been scarcely athing discussed in my presence but _belly-bands_!" (There weren't anymen around.) "It seems if a woman ever has one baby her thoughts nevertravel away from flannel bands afterward!"
"But pneumonia! Cholera infantum! Teething!" Mother kept on, huggingWaterloo close.
"That's what _twenty-three_ of my neighbors tell me," Cousin Euniceanswered, "then nineteen others say it's cruel to keep him all swathedup in this hot weather, while eleven said to leave it off until hissecond summer, and fifteen said for me to----"
"What does Doctor Gordon say?" mother asked, to change the subject offof the neighbors.
"He said, '_Damn those old women!_'" Cousin Eunice told her, whichmade her jump, although it looks like she has lived with father longenough not to.
Right after dinner they started up the talk again. Should Waterloo bebanded or disbanded? They hadn't talked long when Mammy Lou came intothe room holding something under her apron. She looked kinder mad anddignified at mother and Cousin Eunice because they hadn't asked herfor _her_ say-so about bands.
"If it's entirely respectable for me to speak before I'm spoke to,"she commenced, her voice very proud and haughty, "I'd like for you allto pay _me_ some mind. There's _two_ subject's I'm well qualified tospeak about and one is babies. Ain't I done raised a bushel basketfull o' little niggers, let alone that one beautiful little whiteangel that's the peartest and sweetest of any in the state?"
Which made me feel very much embarrassed with modestness.
"We all know that you made a good job of Ann," Cousin Eunice said verypleasantly just to pacify her. "What would you suggest about littleRufus?"
"_These!_" Mammy Lou said, drawing her hand out from her apron like aman on the stage dressed in velvet does his sword and we saw a stringof speckled beans.
"Job's Tears," mammy told the company. "Ther ain't no need to worryabout bands when you've got _these_! Ther nuvver has been a child thatcut teeth hard from Adam on down if his ma put a string of thesearoun' his neck----"
Cousin Eunice was beginning to say something nice when father spoke upand asked mammy who it was that put them around Adam's neck, whichmade her mad.
"Poke all the fun you want to," she said, "but the time _will_ comethat you-all 'ull be thankful to me for savin' these for Mr. Rufe'sbaby, or I'm a blue-gum nigger!"
Lots of times I take Waterloo over to make Jean a visit, which is easyon everybody, for the folks over there love babies so that theyrelieve me of his weight the minute I get there and leave me and Jeanfree to do whatever we want to. She is teaching me what she calls"artistic handwriting" now, using an actress' signature for a copy. Itconsists of some very large letters and some very small ones, like thecharts in an eye-doctor's office that he uses to see if you're oldenough to wear spectacles.
Cousin Eunice has time now with so many folks to help tend to Waterlooto slip off every morning and go to a quiet place down in the yardwith her paper and pencil and compose on a book she's trying to write.Before she was ever married she wanted to write a book, and if youonce get _that_ idea into your head even marrying won't knock it out.
Cousin Eunice says I'm such a kindred spirit that I don't bother herwhen I go along too, but she has a dreadful time at her own housetrying to write. She don't more than get her soul full of beautifulthoughts about tall, pale men and long-stemmed roses and other thingslike that before a neighbor drops in and talks for three hours aboutthe lady around the corner's husband staying out so late at night andwhat her servants use to scrub the kitchen sink. I told her I knew onelady that hated so for folks to drop in that she unscrewed the frontdoorbell, so she couldn't hear them ring, but she got paid back for itnext day by missing the visit of a rich relation.
Rufe and Cousin Eunice may live to be thankful for the string of Job'sTears, but I reckon to-night Miss Merle and Mr. St. John wish that Jobnever shed a tear in the shape of a bean, for they were what a grownperson would call "the indirect cause" of a quarrel between them. It'squeer that such a little thing as Waterloo should be picked out byFate to break up a loving couple, but he did; although I ain't sayingthat it was _altogether_ his fault.
This afternoon I took him over to Jean's and we were having a lovelytime out on their front porch, enjoying stories of her formersweethearts and a bottle of stuffed olives. She told me about one shehad last winter that she was deeply attached to. She would see him ata big library in the city where she loves to read every afternoon. Shesaw him there one time and got to admiring him so much that she wouldgo up there every afternoon at the time she knew he would be there andget a book and sit opposite him, making like she was reading, butreally feasting her eyes on his lovely hair and scholarly lookingfinger-nails.
"I never got acquainted with him, so never learned his name," she toldme, jabbing her hat-pin deep down into the olive bottle, like littleJack Horner, "but he was always reading about 'The Origin of the AryanFamily,' so I'm sure he was a young Mr. Aryan."
I told her I certainly had heard the Aryan family spoken of, Icouldn't remember where, but she said oh, yes, she knew it was a swellfamily and that I must have read about it in the pink sheet of theSunday paper.
Then she said she had a souvenir of him, and, as I'm crazy aboutsouvenirs, I begged her to go and get it, hoping very much that it wasa miniature on ivory set in diamonds.
"What is it?" I kept asking her, as she was trying to get her legsuntangled out of her petticoats to get up and go after it; we weresitting flat down on the floor, which sometimes tangles your heelsdreadfully. Finally she got up, tearing a piece of trimming out, whichshe did up in a little ball and threw away, so her mother would lay iton the washerwoman when she saw the tear.
"_Ashes_;" she told me, kinder whispery, after she had reached thefront door, for she was afraid somebody would hear; but it gave me aterrible feeling and I wondered how she got them away from hisrelations and whether she had to go to the graveyard in the middle ofthe night to do it or not. I comforted myself with the thought thatthey would be in a prettily ornamented urn, even if they were ashes,for I had read about urns in Roman history; but shucks! when she gotback it wasn't a thing but a pink chewing-gum wrapper full of cigarashes that he had thrown away one day right in front of her as theywere going up the steps to the library.
Before I had time to tell her how disappointed I was there came apicture-taking man up the front walk and asked us to let him takeWaterloo's picture for some post-cards. If you were pleased you couldbuy them and if you weren't you didn't have to. But he kne
w of coursethere wouldn't any lady be hardhearted enough not to buy a picture ofher own baby.
Nothing could have delighted us more, unless the man had said take_our_ pictures; and Jean remarked that Waterloo ought to be fixed upfunny to correspond with the string of beads around his neck. She ranand got a pair of overalls that belonged to the lady she boards with'slittle boy and we stuffed Waterloo in. He looked too cute for anythingand we was just settling him down good for the picture when Jeanspoke up again and said oh, wasn't it a pity that he didn't have anyhair on his head, as hair showed up so well in a picture. I told herit was aristocratic not to have hair when you're a baby, on your head.She said shucks! how could anything connected with a baby bearistocratic? This made me mad and I told her maybe she didn't knowwhat it was to be aristocratic. She said she did, too; it wasaristocratic to have a wide front porch to your house and to eatsweetbreads when you were dining in a hotel. I was thinking upsomething else to say when the picture-taking man said hurry up. Thereis a great deal more to this, but it is so late that I'm going toleave the rest for to-morrow night. Anyhow maybe my grandchildren willbe more interested to go on and read, for magazine writers always choptheir stories off at the most particular spot, when they are going tobe continued, just where you are holding your breath, so as to makeyou buy the next number of the magazine.
Well, in just a minute after we were talking about the hair Jean saidshe knew the _very_ thing! Her Aunt Merle was up on the far back porchdrying her hair that she had just finished washing, and had left herrat lying on her bureau. She had seen it there when she went to getthe ashes of Mr. Aryan. She said it was a lovely rat, which cost fivedollars, all covered with long brown hair; and she said it was justthe thing to set off Waterloo's bald head fine. So she ran and got itand we fixed it on. He looked exactly like a South Sea Islander whichyou see in the side show of an exposition by paying twenty-five centsextra. (An exposition is a large place which makes your feet nearlykill you.) But the picture-man said he looked mighty cute and snappedhim in several splendid positions.
Now, if Mr. St. John had just stayed where he belonged this would bethe end of the story and I could go on to bed to-night, without havingto sit up by myself writing till the clocks strike eleven, which is alonesome hour when everybody else is in bed.
But Mr. St. John didn't stay away; and, as all the bad things thathappen are laid on Fate, I reckon she was the one that put it into hishead to walk up those front steps and on to that porch before wenoticed him, for we were trying our best to get Waterloo back intocitizen's clothes.
He stopped to see what it was we were scrambling over, and when he sawthat it was alive he threw up his nice white hands and remarked"Heavens!" which is the elegant thing to say when you're surprised,although father always says, "Jumping Jerusalem!"
"What is the thing?" he asked, after he had looked again. Jean toldhim why it was just the lady over at our house's little baby dressedup. Then he asked what that horrible woolly growth on his head was,which tickled Jean mightily. Then, just for the fun of seeing what he_would_ say when he was very much surprised, she jerked it off andheld it up, like the executioner did Mary, Queen of Scot's head, whichgives me a crinkly pain up and down my back even to read about. Therat was just pinned together and set up on Waterloo's little noggin,so Jean jerked it off and explained to Mr. St. John that it was herAunt Merle's rat. _I_ always knew it wasn't any good idea to talkabout such things before a man that was a person's lover; but Ithought Jean had had more experience in such things than I had and itwasn't my place to interrupt her.
I am sure Mr. St. John felt like saying "Jumping Jerusalem" when Jeantold him that the woolly growth was the rat of his beloved. If I waswriting a novel I'd say that he "recoiled with horror," that is, hejumped back quickly, like he didn't want it to bite him, and satdown.
"_Imagine!_" he kept saying to himself like he was dazed; "imagine aman _touching_ the thing! _Kissing_ the thing!"
I thought, of course, he was talking about Waterloo, and was ready tospeak up and say, "I thank you, Mr. St. John, my little cousin is notto be called a '_thing_,'" but Jean spoke first.
"What would you want to kiss _this_ for?" she asked him. "'Tain't anyharm to kiss in the _mouth_ after you're engaged, is it?"
We might have been standing there asking him such questions as thattill daylight this morning for all the answers we got out of him, butwhile he sat looking at us and we were trying to squirm Waterloo'slittle fat legs out of the overalls and him kicking and crying, MissMerle walked out on the porch. She saw Mr. St. John first, as youwould naturally expect an engaged girl to do, and started toward him,but just then she saw us and stopped.
"Why, what on earth are you children doing with my rat down here?"she asked, not looking a bit ashamed.
We told her what we had been doing with it and she just laughed andsaid well, it was too hot to wear the thing on such a day anyway,although she had looked for it high and low.
All the time we were talking Mr. St. John looked at her in the mostamazed way, like he expected to see her appear looking like a Mexicandog, but was greatly surprised to see her with such a nice lot ofhome-made hair. If he had had any sense he would admire her all themore for not telling a story about that rat; for I've seen a thousandyoung ladies in my life that wouldn't have owned up to it for ahundred dollars, but would have made their little niece out a storyand then boxed her ears in private. I hope when I get grown I won't bea _liarable_ young lady, although it does seem like they're twice asquick to get married as an honest one.
He didn't act with good sense, though, for they soon got to talkingand we could hear what they said (although we were out of sight) forthey were high-toned remarks.
He said he _hated_ shams, and she said well, that wasn't any sham forevery blowsy-headed girl wears them nowadays and everybody knows it,even the poets and novel-writers that always make their heroines sofuzzy-headed. Then she called him a prig and he said something back ather and she gave him back the ring, which was a brave thing to do, itbeing a grand diamond one with Mizpath marked in it.
Of course the next thing that happens after an engagement is broken isfor it to get mended again. All day we have hung around Miss Merle tosee just when she gets the ring back again, but up to a late hourto-night, as the newspapers say about the election returns, there wasnothing doing. Oh, it does seem a pity that they would let the news godown to their children or be put on their tombstones that their liveswere blighted on account of a rat!
I've neglected you, my diary, for the last few days because my mindhas been on other things. It rained all the next day after I wrotelast and I couldn't go over to Jean's, which put me out greatly. Ifinally thought about sending a note by Lares and Penates and paidthem in chicken livers, me being so uneasy in my mind that I didn'thave any appetite for them, and knowing that they loved them enough tofight over them any time.
I told Jean in the note to fix some kind of signal like Paul Revere tolet me know the minute the ring got back to Miss Merle, for I wasdeeply worried, me and Waterloo and Jean being to blame for it. Then,too, it is dangerous for an engagement ring to stay returned too longfor it might get given to another girl.
Jean was delighted with my note and said she would certainly hang alantern in the garret only she never could undo the chimney of alantern to light it, and never saw a lady person that could; but itwas a romantic idea. So she thought hanging a white towel in thewindow that faces our house for a signal would do very well, and Icould know by that if it kept on raining and I couldn't get overthere.
Well, I was so interested that I hardly moved from that side of thehouse all day, until it got so dark that I couldn't see the house,much less a towel. So I went sorrowfully to bed. The next morning Iwas delighted to see that I was going to get rewarded for my watching,for _long_ before breakfast I discovered a white thing, and it waswaving from Mr. St. John's window, which made it all the surer in mymind.
Although it was cakes and maple syrup I didn't waste much time ov
erbreakfast, but grabbed my hat and started for Jean's.
Miss Merle was on the front porch and I noticed Mr. St. John justinside the hall, looking like he would like to come out, but waswaiting for her to give him lief. She looked up at me quick.
"Why, Ann," she said, "what are you in such a big hurry about?"
I've often noticed, my diary, that when people are in a hurry andcan't think of anything else to tell they tell the _truth_, althoughthey don't intend to. It was that way with me.
"Oh, I'm _so_ glad you and Mr. St. John have made up!" I told her,fanning hard with my hat, for I was all out of breath.
She looked very strange and asked me, "What?" and so I told her overagain. Just then Mr. St. John came out and asked who was that talkingabout him behind his back. He looked pitiful, although he tried tolook pleasant, too.
Jean heard me talking and came running down the stairs just in time tohear me telling it over again to Miss Merle.
"Why, there ain't a _sign_ of a towel hanging out the window," shetold me, looking very much surprised and me greatly mortified. "Youmust have dreamed it!"
Miss Merle asked her then what she was talking about and it was theirturn to look surprised when she told them.
I told them I had felt awfully bad about the rat, because me andWaterloo was partly responsible, and they kinder smiled. But Icouldn't let them think that I had _made_ up the towel story, so Itold them if they would come around on the side that faces our houseI'd show them. Mr. St. John and Miss Merle looked at each other verypeculiar and he said:
"It's a shame to disappoint the children!" which she didn't make anyanswer to, but she looked _tolerable_ agreeable. Then I begged them tocome on around to Mr. St. John's window and I could show them I wasn'tany story.
"My window!" he said, looking surprised; then his face turned red."Why, it must have been my er--_shirt_ I hung there last night to dryafter I was out in that shower!"
We couldn't help from laughing, all of us; but he laughs like thecorners of his mouth ain't used to it. That is one bad thing about adignified man--they're always afraid to let their mouth musclesstretch.
Miss Merle caught me and Jean by the hand with a smile and said let'sgo and see what that signal looked like that brought Ann over in sucha hurry. "A shirt is a highly proper thing to discuss--since ThomasHood," she said as we started down the steps.
"Pray don't," he said, the corners of his mouth wrinkling again, buthis face just covered with red. "I'll be the happiest man on earth,Merle, if you'll just forgive me for my asininity; but--_do_ comeback!---- For it's an _undershirt_!"
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