The Romance of a Plain Man Read online

  CHAPTER IV

  IN WHICH I PLAY IN THE ENCHANTED GARDEN

  For the next two years, when my mother sent me on errands to McKenney'sgrocery store, or for a pitcher of milk to old Mrs. Triffit's, who kepta fascinating green parrot hanging under an arbour of musk clusterroses, it was my habit to run five or six blocks out of my way, andmeasure my growing height against the wall of the enchanted garden. Onthe worn bricks, unless they have crumbled away, there may still be seenthe scratches from my penknife, by which I tried to persuade myself thateach rapidly passing week marked a visible increase in my stature.Though I was a big boy for my age, the top of my straw-coloured hairreached barely halfway up the spiked wall; and standing on my tiptoes myhands still came far below the grim iron teeth at the top. Yet Icontinued to measure myself, week by week, against the barrier, until atlast the zigzag scratches from my knife began to cover the bricks.

  It was on a warm morning in spring during my ninth year, that, while Istood vigorously scraping the wall over my head, I heard a voicespeaking in indignant tones at my back.

  "You bad boy, what are you doing?" it said.

  Wheeling about, I stood again face to face with the little girl of thered shoes and the dancing feet. Except for her shoes she was dressed allin white just as I had last seen her, and this time, I saw with disgust,she held a whining and sickly kitten clasped to her breast.

  "I know you are doing something you ought not to," she repeated, "whatis it?"

  "Nothink," I responded, and stared at her red shoes like one possessed.

  "Then why were you crawling so close along the wall to keep me fromseeing you?"

  "I wa'nt."

  "You wa'nt what?"

  "I wa'nt crawlin' along the wall; I was just tryin' to look in," Ianswered defiantly.

  An old negro "mammy," in a snowy kerchief and apron, appeared suddenlyaround the corner near which we stood, and made a grab at the child'sshoulder.

  "You jes let 'im alont, honey, en he ain' gwine hu't you," she said.

  "He won't hurt me anyway," replied the little girl, as if I were asuspicious strange dog, "I'm not afraid of him."

  Then she made a step forward and held the whining grey kitten toward me.

  "Don't you want a cat, boy?" she asked, in a coaxing tone.

  My hands flew to my back, and the only reason I did not retreat beforeher determined advance was that I could hardly retreat into a brickwall.

  "I've just found it in the alley a minute ago," she explained. "It'svery little. I'd like to keep it, only I've got six already."

  "I don't like cats," I replied stubbornly, shaking my head. "I saw PeterFinn's dog kill one. He shook it by the neck till it was dead. I'm goin'to train my dog to kill 'em, too."

  Raising herself on the toes of her red shoes, she bent upon me a look soscorching that it might have burned a passage straight through me intothe bricks.

  "I knew you were a horrid bad boy. You looked it!" she cried.

  At this I saw in my imagination the closed gate of the enchanted garden,and my budding sportsman's proclivities withered in the white blaze ofher wrath.

  "I don't reckon I'll train him to catch 'em by the back of thar necks,"I hastened to add.

  At this she turned toward me again, her whole vivid little face with itsred mouth and arched black eyebrows inspired by a solemn purpose.

  "If you'll promise never, never to kill a cat, I'll let you come intothe garden--for a minute," she said.

  I hesitated for an instant, dazzled by the prospect and yet bargainingfor better terms. "Will you let me walk under the arbours and down allthe box-bordered paths?"

  She nodded. "Just once," she responded gravely.

  "An' may I play under the trees on the terrace where you built yo'houses of moss and stones?"

  "For a little while. But I can't play with you because--because youdon't look clean."

  My heart sank like lead to my waist line, and I looked down ashamed atmy dirty hands.

  "I--I'd rather play with you," I faltered.

  "Fur de Lawd's sake, honey, come in en let dat ar gutter limb alont,"exclaimed the old negress, wagging her turbaned head.

  "Well, I'll tell you what I'll do," said her charge, after a deepmoment; "I'll let you play with me for a little while if you'll take thecat."

  "But I ain't got any use for it," I stammered.

  "Take it home for a pet. Grandmama won't let any more come on the place.She's very cruel is grandmama, isn't she, mammy?"

  "Go way, chile, dar ain' nobody dat 'ould want all dem ar critters,"rejoined the old negress.

  "_I_ do," said the little girl, and sighed softly.

  "I'll take it home with me," I began desperately at last, "if you'll letme play with you the whole evening."

  "And take you into the house?"

  "An' take me into the house," I repeated doggedly.

  Her glance brushed me from head to foot, while I writhed under it, "Iwonder why you don't wash your face," she observed in her cool,impersonal manner.

  I fell back a step and stared defiantly at the ground.

  "I ain't got any water," I answered, driven to bay.

  "I think if you'd wash it ever so hard and brush your hair flat on yourhead, you'd look very nice--for a boy," she remarked. "I like your eyesbecause they're blue, and I have a dog with blue eyes exactly likeyours. Did you ever see a blue-eyed dog? He's a collie. But your hairstands always on end and it's the colour of straw."

  "It growed that way," I returned. "You can't get it to be flat. Ma hastried."

  "I bet I could," she rejoined, and caught at the old woman's hand. "Thisis my mammy an' her name is Euphronasia, an' she's got blue eyes an'golden hair," she cried, beginning to dance up and down in her redshoes.

  "Gawd erlive, lamb, I'se ez black ez a crow's foot," protested the oldwoman, at which the dance of the red shoes changed into a stamp ofanger.

  "You aren't!--You aren't! You've got blue eyes an' golden hair!"screamed the child. "I won't let you say you haven't,--I won't letanybody say you haven't!"

  It took a few minutes to pacify her, during which the old negressperjured herself to the extent of declaring on her word of honour thatshe _had_ blue eyes and golden hair; and when the temper of her "lamb"was appeased, we turned the corner, approached the front of the house,and ascended the bright bow of steps. As we entered the wide hall, myheart thumped so violently that I hurriedly buttoned my coat lest thelittle girl should hear the sound and turn indignantly to accuse, me ofdisturbing the peace. Then as the front door closed softly behind us, Istood blinking nervously in the dim green light which entered throughthe row of columns at the rear, beyond which I saw the curving stairwayand the two miniature yew trees at its foot. There was a strange mustysmell about the house--a smell that brings to me now, when I find it inold and unlighted buildings, the memory of the high ceiling, the shiningfloor over which I moved so cautiously, and the long melancholy rows ofmoth-eaten stags' heads upon the wall.

  A door at the far end was half open, and inside the room there were twoladies--one of them very little and old and shrivelled, and the other apretty, brown-haired, pliant creature, whom I recognised instantly asour visitor of that stormy October evening more than two years ago. Shewas reading aloud when we entered, in a voice which sounded so soft andpious that I wondered if I ought to fold my hands and bow my head as Ihad been taught to do in the infant Sunday-school.

  "Be careful not to mush your words, Sarah; the habit is growing uponyou," remarked the elder lady in a sharp, imperative tone.

  "Shall I read it over, mother? I will try to speak more distinctly,"returned the other submissively, and she began again a long paragraphwhich, I gathered vaguely, related to that outward humility which is thebecoming and appropriate garment for a race of miserable sinners.

  "That is better," commented the old lady, in an utterly ungratefulmanner, "though you have never succeeded in properly rolling your r's.There, that will do for to-day, we will continue the sermon uponHum
ility to-morrow."

  She was so little and thin and wrinkled that it was a mystery to me, asI looked at her, how she managed to express so much authority through sosmall a medium. The chair in which she sat seemed almost to swallow herin its high arms of faded green leather; and out of her wide, gatheredskirt of brocade, her body rose very erect, like one of my mother'sblack-headed bonnet pins out of her draped pincushion. On her head therewas a cap of lace trimmed gayly with purple ribbons, and beneath thisfestive adornment, a fringe of false curls, still brown and lustrous,lent a ghastly coquetry to her mummied features. In the square ofsunshine, between the gauze curtains at the window, a green parrot, in awire cage, was scolding viciously while it pecked at a bit ofsponge-cake from its mistress's hand. At the time I was too badlyfrightened to notice the wonderful space and richness of the room, withits carved rosewood bookcases, and its dim portraits of beruffledcavaliers and gravely smiling ladies.

  "Sally," said the old lady, turning upon me a piercing glance which waslike the flash of steel in the sunlight, "is that a boy?"

  Going over to the armchair, the little girl stood holding the kittenbehind her, while she kissed her grandmother's cheek.

  "What is it, Sally, dear?" asked the younger woman, closing her bookwith a sigh.

  "It's a boy, mamma," answered the child.

  At this the old lady stiffened on her velvet cushions. "I thought I hadtold you, Sally," she remarked icily, "that there is nothing that Iobject to so much as a boy. Dogs and cats I have tolerated in silence,but since I have been in this house no boy has set foot inside thedoors."

  "I am sure, dear mamma, that Sally did not mean to disobey you,"murmured the younger woman, almost in tears.

  "Yes, I did, mamma," answered the child, gravely, "I meant to disobeyher. But he has such nice blue eyes," she went on eagerly, her lipsglowing as she talked until they matched the bright red of her dancingshoes; "an' he's goin' to take a kitten home for a pet, an' he says thereason he doesn't wash his face is because he hasn't any water."

  "Is it possible," enquired the old lady in the manner of her peckingparrot, "that he does not wash his face?"

  My pride could bear it no longer, and opening my mouth I spoke in aloud, high voice.

  "If you please, ma'am, I wash my face every day," I said, "and all overevery Saturday night."

  She was still feeding the parrot with a bit of cake, and as I spoke, sheturned toward me and waved one of her wiry little hands, which remindedme of a bird's claw, under its ruffle of yellowed lace.

  "Bring him here, Sally, and let me see him," she directed, as if I hadbeen some newly entrapped savage beast.

  Catching me by the arm, Sally obediently led me to the armchair, where Istood awkward and trembling, with my hands clutching the flaps of mybreeches' pockets, and my eyes on the ground.

  For a long pause the old lady surveyed me critically with her mercilesseyes. Then, "Give him a piece of cake, Sally," she remarked, when theexamination was over.

  Sally's mother had come up softly behind me while I writhed under thepiercing gaze, and bending over she encircled my shoulders with herprotecting arms.

  "He's a dear little fellow, with such pretty blue eyes," she said.

  As she spoke I looked up for the first time, and my glance met myreflection in a long, gold-framed mirror hanging between the windows.The "pretty blue eyes" I saw, but I saw also the straw-coloured hair,the broad nose sprinkled with freckles, and the sturdy legs disguised bythe shapeless breeches, which my mother had cut out of a discardeddolman she had once worn to funerals. It was a figure which might haveraised a laugh in the ill-disposed, but the women before me carried kindhearts in their bosoms, and even grandmama's chilling scrutiny ended innothing worse than a present of cake.

  "May I play with him just a little while, grandmama?" begged Sally, andwhen the old lady nodded permission, we joined hands and went throughthe open window out upon the sunny porch.

  On that spring morning the colours of the garden were all clear whiteand purple, for at the foot of the curving stairway, and on the upperterrace, bunches of lilacs bloomed high above the small spring flowersthat bordered the walk. Beneath the fluted columns a single greatsnowball bush appeared to float like a cloud in the warm wind. As wewent together down the winding path to the box maze which was sprinkledwith tender green, a squirrel, darting out of one of the latticedarbours, stopped motionless in the walk and sat looking up at us with apair of bright, suspicious eyes.

  "I reckon I could make him skeet, if I wanted to," I remarked,embarrassed rather than malevolent.

  Her glance dwelt on me thoughtfully for a moment, while she stood there,kicking a pebble with the toe of a red shoe.

  "An' I reckon I could make _you_ skeet, if I wanted to," she repliedwith composure.

  Since the parade of mere masculinity had failed to impress her, Iresorted to subtler measures, and kneeling among the small springflowers which powdered the lower terrace, I began laboriously erecting apalace of moss and stones.

  "I make one every evening, but when the ghosts come out and walk up an'down, they scatter them," observed Sally, hanging attentively upon thework.

  "Are there ghosts here really an' have you seen 'em?" I asked.

  Stretching out her hand, she swept it in a circle over the growingpalace. "They are all around here--everywhere," she answered. "I sawthem one night when I was running away from my father. Mamma and I hidin that big box bush down there, an' the ghosts came and walked allabout us. Do you have to run away from your father, too?"

  For an instant I hesitated; then my pride triumphed magnificently overmy truthfulness. "I ran clear out to the hill an' all the way down it,"I rejoined.

  "Is his face red and awful?"

  "As red as--as an apple."

  "An apple ain't awful."

  "But he is. I wish you could see him."

  "Would he kill you if he caught you?"

  "He--he'd eat me," I panted.

  She sighed gravely. "I wonder if all fathers are like that?" she said."Anyway, I don't believe yours is as bad as mine."

  "I'd like to know why he ain't?" I protested indignantly.

  Her lips quivered and went upward at the corners with a trick ofexpression which I found irresistible even then.

  "It's a pity that it's time for you to go home," she observed politely.

  "I reckon I can stay a little while longer," I returned.

  She shook her head, but I had already gone back to the unfinishedpalace, and as the work progressed, she forgot her hint of dismissal inwatching the fairy towers. We were still absorbed in the building whenher mother came down the curving stairway and into the maze of box.

  "It's time for you to run home now, pretty blue eyes," she said in hersoft girlish way. Then catching our hands in hers, she turned with amerry laugh, and ran with us up the terraced walk.

  "Is your mamma as beautiful as mine?" asked Sally, when we came to abreathless stop.

  "She's as beautiful as--as a wax doll," I replied stoutly.

  "That's right," laughed the lady, stooping to kiss me. "You're a dearboy. Tell your mother I said so."

  She went slowly up the steps as she spoke, and when I looked back amoment later, I saw her smiling down on me between two great columns,with the snowball bush floating in the warm wind beneath her and theswallows flying low in the sunshine over her head.

  I had opened the side gate, when I felt a soft, furry touch on my hand,and Sally thrust the forgotten kitten into my arms.

  "Be good to her," she said pleadingly. "Her name's Florabella."

  Resisting a dastardly impulse to forswear my bargain, I tucked themewing kitten under my coat, where it clawed me unobserved by anyjeering boy in the street. Passing Mrs. Cudlip's house on my way home, Inoticed at once that the window stood invitingly open, and yielding witha quaking heart to temptation, I leaned inside the vacant room, anddropped Florabella in the centre of the old lady's easy chair. Then,fearful of capture, I darted along the pavement and flung
myselfbreathlessly across our doorstep.

  A group of neighbours was gathered in the centre of our littlesitting-room, and among them I recognised the flushed, perspiring faceof Mrs. Cudlip herself. As I entered, the women fell slightly apart, andI saw that they regarded me with startled, compassionate glances. Aqueer, strong smell of drugs was in the air, and near the kitchen doormy father was standing with a frightened and sheepish look on his face,as if he had been thrust suddenly into a prominence from which he shrankback abashed.

  "Where's ma?" I asked, and my voice sounded loud and unnatural in my ownears.

  One of the women--a large, motherly person, whom I remembered withoutrecognising, crossed the room with a heavy step and took me into herarms. At this day I can feel the deep yielding expanse of her bosom,when pushing her from me, I looked round and repeated my question in alouder tone.

  "Where's ma?"

  "She was took of a sudden, dear," replied the woman, still straining meto her. "It came over her while she was standin' at the stove, an' befo'anybody could reach her, she dropped right down an' was gone."

  She released me as she finished, and walking straight through thekitchen and the consoling neighbours, I opened the back door, andclosing it after me, sat down on the single step. I can't remember thatI shed a tear or that I suffered, but I can still see as plainly as ifit were yesterday, the clothes-line stretching across the little yardand the fluttering, half-dried garments along it. There was a stripedshirt of my father's, a faded blue one of mine, a pink slip of babyJessy's, and a patched blue and white gingham apron I had seen only thatmorning tied at my mother's waist. Between the high board fence, abovethe sunken bricks of the yard, they danced as gayly as if she who hadhung them there was not lying dead in the house. Samuel, trotting from asunny corner, crept close to my side, with his warm tongue licking myhand, and so I sat for an hour watching the flutter of the blue, thepink, and the striped shirts on the clothes-line.

  "There ain't nobody to iron 'em now," I said suddenly to Samuel, andthen I wept.