“You did eat some, the other day,” said Jane. “You ate a whole lot. You eat it every chance you get!”
“You hush up!” he shouted, and returned to his description of the outrage. “She kept FOLLOWING us! She followed us, hollering, ‘WILL — EE!’ till it’s a wonder we didn’t go deaf! And just look at her! I don’t see how you can stand it to have her going around like that and people knowing it’s your child! Why, she hasn’t got enough ON!”
Mrs. Baxter laughed. “Oh, for this very hot weather, I really don’t think people notice or care much about—”
“‘Notice’!” he wailed. “I guess Miss PRATT noticed! Hot weather’s no excuse for — for outright obesity!” (As Jane was thin, it is probable that William had mistaken the meaning of this word.) “Why, half o’ what she HAS got on has come unfastened — especially that frightful thing hanging around her leg — and look at her back, I just beg you! I ask you to look at her back. You can see her spinal cord!”
“Column,” Mrs. Baxter corrected. “Spinal column, Willie.”
“What do I care which it is?” he fumed. “People aren’t supposed to go around with it EXPOSED, whichever it is! And with apple sauce on their ears!”
“There is not!” Jane protested, and at the moment when she spoke she was right. Naturally, however, she lifted her hands to the accused ears, and the unfortunate result was to justify William’s statement.
“LOOK!” he cried. “I just ask 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 an
d 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 quote the harried Mr. Parcher at great length. Still, she was not entirely uncontent: she must have had some perception that her performance merely as a notable bit of reportorial art — did not wholly lack style, even if her attire did. Yet, brilliant as Jane’s work was, Mrs. Baxter felt no astonishment; several times ere this Jane had demonstrated a remarkable faculty for the retention of details concerning William. And running hand in hand with a really superb curiosity, this powerful memory was making Jane an even greater factor in William’s life than he suspected.
During the glamors of early love, if there be a creature more deadly than the little brother of a budding woman, that creature is the little sister of a budding man. The little brother at least tells in the open all he knows, often at full power of his lungs, and even that may be avoided, since he is wax in the hands of bribery; but the little sister is more apt to save her knowledge for use upon a terrible occasion; and, no matter what bribes she may accept, she is certain to tell her mother everything. All in all, a young lover should arrange, if possible, to be the only child of elderly parents; otherwise his mother and sister are sure to know a great deal more about him than he knows that they know.
This was what made Jane’s eyes so disturbing to William during lunch that day. She ate quietly and competently, but all the while he was conscious of her solemn and inscrutable gaze fixed upon him; and she spoke not once. She could not have rendered herself more annoying, especially as William was trying to treat her with silent scorn, for nothing is more irksome to the muscles of the face than silent scorn, when there is no means of showing it except by the expression. On the other hand, Jane’s inscrutability gave her no discomfort whatever. In fact, inscrutability is about the most comfortable expression that a person can wear, though the truth is that just now Jane was not really inscrutable at all.
She was merely looking at William and thinking of Mr. Parcher.
IX. LITTLE SISTERS HAVE BIG EARS
THE CONFIDENTIAL TALK between mother and daughter at noon was not the last to take place that day. At nightfall — eight o’clock in this pleasant season — Jane was saying her prayers beside her bed, while her mother stood close by, waiting to put out the light.
“An’ bless mamma and papa an’—” Jane murmured, coming to a pause. “An’ — an’ bless Willie,” she added, with a little reluctance.
“Go on, dear,” said her mother. “You haven’t finished.”
“I know it, mamma,” Jane looked up to say. “I was just thinkin’ a minute. I want to tell you about somep’m.”
“Finish your prayers first, Jane.”
Jane obeyed with a swiftness in which there was no intentional irreverence. Then she jumped into bed and began a fresh revelation.
“It’s about papa’s clo’es, mamma.”
“What clothes of papa’s? What do you mean, Jane?” asked Mrs. Baxter, puzzled.
“The ones you couldn’t find. The ones you been lookin’ for ‘most every day.”
“You mean papa’s evening clothes?”
“Yes’m,” said Jane. “Willie’s got ’em on.”
“What!”
“Yes, he has!” Jane assured her with emphasis. “I bet you he’s had ’em on every single evening since Miss Pratt came to visit the Parchers! Anyway, he’s got ’em on now, ‘cause I saw ’em.”
Mrs. Baxter bit her lip and frowned. “Are you sure, Jane?”
“Yes’m. I saw him in ’em.”
“How?”
“Well, I was in my bare feet after I got undressed — before you came up-stairs — mamma, an’ I was kind of walkin’ around in the hall—”
“You shouldn’t do that, Jane.”
“No’m. An’ I heard Willie say somep’m kind of to himself, or like deckamation. He was inside his room, but the door wasn’t quite shut. He started out once, but he went back for somep’m an’ forgot to, I guess. Anyway, I thought I better look an’ see what was goin’ on, mamma. So I just kind of peeked in—”
“But you shouldn’t do that, dear,” Mrs. Baxter said, musingly. “It isn’t really quite honorable.”
“No’m. Well, what you think he was doin’?” (Here Jane’s voice betrayed excitement and so did her eyes.) “He was standin’ up there in papa’s clo’es before the lookin’-glass, an’ first he’d lean his head over on one side, an’ then he’d lean it over on the other side, an’ then he’d bark, mamma.”
“He’d what?”
“Yes’m!” said Jane. “He’d give a little, teeny BARK, mamma — kind of like a puppy, mamma.”
“What?” cried Mrs. Baxter.
“Yes’m, he did!” Jane asserted. “He did it four or five times. First he’d lean his head way over on his shoulder like this — look, mamma! — an’ then he’d lean it way over the other shoulder, an’ every time he’d do it he’d bark. ‘Berp-werp!’ he’d say, mamma, just like that, only not loud at all. He said, ‘Berp-werp! BERP-WERP-WERP!’ You could tell he meant it for barkin’, but it wasn’t very good, mamma. What you think he meant, mamma?”
“Heaven knows!” murmured the astonished mother.
“An’ then,” Jane continued, “he quit barkin’ all of a sudden, an’ didn’t lean his head over any more, an’ commenced actin’ kind of solemn, an’ kind of whispered to himself. I think he was kind of pretendin’ he was talkin’ to Miss Pratt, or at a party, maybe. Anyways, he spoke out loud after while not just exactly LOUD, I mean, but anyway so’s ‘t I could hear what he said. Mamma — he said, ‘Oh, my baby-talk lady!’ just like that, mamma. Listen, mamma, here’s the way he said it: ‘Oh, my baby-talk lady!’”
Jane’s voice, in this impersonation, became sufficiently soft and tremulous to give Mrs. Baxter a fair idea of the tender yearning of the original. “‘OH, MY BABY-TALK LADY!’” cooed the terrible Jane.
“Mercy!” Mrs. Baxter exclaimed. “Perhaps it’s no wonder Mr. Parcher—” She broke off abruptly, then inquired, “What did he do next, Jane?”
“Next,” said Jane, “he put the light out, an’ I had to — well, I just waited kind of squeeged up against the wall, an’ he never saw me. He went on out to the back stairs, an’ went down the stairs tiptoe, mamma. You know what I think, mamma? I think he goes out that way an’ through the kitchen on account of papa’s clo’es.”
Mrs. Baxter paused, with her hand upon the key of the shaded electric lamp. “I suppose so,” she said. “I think perhaps—” For a moment or two she wrapped herself in thought. “Perhaps” — she repeated, musingly— “perhaps we’ll keep this just a secret between you and me for a little while, Jane, and not say anything to papa about the clothes. I don’t think it will hurt them, and I suppose Willie feels they give him a great advantage over the other boys — and papa uses them so very little, especially since he’s grown a wee bit stouter. Yes, it will be our se
cret, Jane. We’ll think it over till to-morrow.”
“Yes’m.”
Mrs. Baxter turned out the light, then came and kissed Jane in the dark. “Good night, dear.”
“G’ night, mamma.” But as Mrs. Baxter reached the door Jane’s voice was heard again.
“Mamma?”
“Yes?” Mrs. Baxter paused.
“Mamma,” Jane said, slowly, “I think — I think Mr. Parcher is a very nice man. Mamma?”
“Yes, dear?”
“Mamma, what do you s’pose Willie barked at the lookin’-glass for?”
“That,” said Mrs. Baxter, “is beyond me. Young people and children do the strangest things, Jane! And then, when they get to be middle-aged, they forget all those strange things they did, and they can’t understand what the new young people — like you and Willie mean by the strange things THEY do.”
“Yes’m. I bet I know what he was barkin’ for, mamma.”
“Well?”
“You know what I think? I think he was kind of practisin’. I think he was practisin’ how to bark at Mr. Parcher.”
“No, no!” Mrs. Baxter laughed. “Who ever could think of such a thing but you, Jane! You go to sleep and forget your nonsense!”
Nevertheless, Jane might almost have been gifted with clairvoyance, her preposterous idea came so close to the actual fact, for at that very moment William was barking. He was not barking directly at Mr. Parcher, it is true, but within a short distance of him and all too well within his hearing.
Collected Works of Booth Tarkington Page 211