Читать книгу Our Ernie - Alice Hegan Rice - Страница 5

Table of Contents

When Ernie started on his first regular job, Pop thought it was time to have a long-deferred talk with him about the perils of life. It was hard to find the time and the place and Ernie all together, but one day the feat was accomplished.

“Before you go out into the world, boy,” began Pop heroically, “there’s things you ought to be told.”

“How you mean?”

“Pitfalls,” said Pop darkly. “Girls and liquor and dice.”

Ernie was impressed with his solemnity. Pop’s homely, wistful face, bearing the lines of constant pain, was drawn with earnestness.

“You’ll probably want to try ’em all,” Pop went on; “that’s the human nature of a male, but if you are smart you’ll see they don’t pay. Not that I don’t want you to go with nice girls. Your Mamma was as clean and high-minded a lady as ever lived, and you and me and Curt must never do anything to shame her memory. You understand, Sonny?”

“Yes, sir.”

“As to liquor, a person as bursting with life as you are don’t need anything to raise his spirits. You got something inside you that turns the trick without any help from outside. Don’t you go and tamper with it.”

“No, sir.”

“Just remember that if the Bossels weren’t much, the Calloways were. ‘Way back there in the early days of Kentucky a girl bearing your Mamma’s name, Betsy Calloway, was the first white woman to be married in the State. You belong to fine old pioneer stock, folks that braved hardship and danger and lived clean and decent, and founded one of the greatest States in the Union. It’s up to you to carry on. Can I count on you?”

“You bet you can!” said Ernie, stirred by Pop’s emotion, and rashly ready to promise anything.

From the time he started to work he liked everything about his job except the early hour he was required to be at the Garage. Getting him up in the morning had always been a major operation, but now it was more imperative than before. First Pop called him, then Grampa went in and pulled the covers off, and as a last resort Curt threw a wet towel in his face, and slapped him on the back.

After he got started the difficulty was in stopping him. He was so filled with high spirits that he must needs spill them over on every one he came in contact with.

“He’s the most bumptious kid I ever encountered!” Jed Hart complained to the Captain. “Underfoot every minute, dancing and singing and cracking jokes. He works all right, but he thinks he knows it all.”

“Nothing but a colt,” smiled the Captain fatuously. “Just wait till he gets broke to harness.”

Psychoanalysts might explain Ernie’s boastfulness by claiming that it covered an inferiority complex, but nothing was further from the truth. He saw the best in himself just as he saw it in every one else, and was quite as vocal in expressing it.

He thoroughly liked himself, his family, his friends, his home, and his job, and he was never shy about saying so.

The work at the Garage presented many possibilities for adventure, and whether he was tinkering with the cars or waiting on customers he thoroughly enjoyed himself. The most welcome patrons of the Filling Station were the drivers of Peckham’s delivery cars, which were surmounted by huge green pickles. Ernie would rather have driven one of those outfits than to have been Mayor of the city!

Next in interest were the cars driven by girls. Having exhausted the feminine possibilities of Wirt’s Division, he longed for a wider field of conquest and the Filling Station presented fascinating opportunity for new contacts.

The fact that his personal appearance had undergone a marked change contributed largely to this enjoyment. With the passing of his sixteenth year a becoming spareness had replaced the too-generous curves of childhood. His shoulders had broadened, his hips narrowed, and the slouchy gait, so deplored by Mrs. Myrtle, had changed into a conscious dignity of carriage that resembled the Captain’s.

One day, when he had been at Hart’s Garage a year, he was sitting alone at the manager’s desk, feet elevated, a hamburger in hand, singing loudly off key, and at peace with the world, when the peremptory honk of a horn brought him to the door.

What he saw caused him to drop his sandwich and rush to the sidewalk. A girl of about his own age was at the wheel of a small blue coupé, and from the impatient way she honked her horn he judged she was in a hurry.

“Five gallons regular,” she said. “Here’s a bill, and please be quick about it.”

Her voice was a rich contralto, and she clipped her words with a new and disturbing intonation. As he filled the tank, he ventured another look at her, and what he saw convinced him that the wind-shield needed attention.

“You needn’t bother about that,” she said impatiently.

“No bother whatever,” he answered her, smearing the glass with cleansing fluid, and leaving a small peep-hole for observation.

She was straight and slim and exceedingly pretty, and she surveyed the world with a look of devil-may-care haughtiness.

“I wonder what’s eatin’ her?” he thought as he continued vigorously to polish the most minute spots on the wind-shield. He was acutely conscious of his big grimy hands and of the grease spots on his blue shirt; but that did not deter him from audaciously trying to catch her eye. Past experience encouraged him to believe that persistence would win him a smile, and he failed to see that she was getting very angry.

“That will do,” she said at last, and her tone was final.

“Oil?” he suggested hopefully.

“No. But I should like my change.”

There was a sharpness in her voice that made him hurry into the office and return with a handful of silver.

She took the change, then handed him back a quarter.

“What’s that for?” he asked.

“For you,” she said.

He stood looking down on her extended hand, too amazed to be offended; then slowly the color crept into his face.

“I’m sorry,” said the girl impulsively.

Ernie’s face broke into a boyish grin. “It was coming to me,” he said, “for being so darned fresh.”

“Then the honors are even,” she smiled back, as she put her foot on the accelerator.

He had no idea what she meant by “honors are even,” but her smile had been so sudden and warm, so young and understanding that it proved his complete undoing. Hers was an entirely new type, too slim and pale, and indifferent, yet every turn of her proud little head, every tone of her imperious voice continued to haunt him.

That night as he went home, his mind was full of disturbing questions. Why hadn’t he known that a classy girl like that would not flirt with a guy at a filling station? Would she recognize him if she ever saw him again? Would she be mad at him, or would she smile that quick funny understanding smile she had given him at parting?

So absorbed was he in his thoughts that he did not see Tilly Katzenbach standing at her gate. Ever since that episode in the Park long ago she had assumed an intimacy that Ernie found increasingly distasteful.

“You ain’t been around much lately,” she said, “not since Ma had the fracas with that old hell-cat.”

Ernie held no brief for Mrs. Myrtle, but he was nevertheless offended at this insult to Grampa’s erstwhile wife. Never before had Tilly seemed so common and vulgar, and he passed her by with lofty indifference.

At his back door, he stumbled over Buffy and Roustabout, who were indulging in one of their frequent altercations. Whenever the former exercised her divine prerogative of chasing her tail, the act filled her canine companion with fury. At sight of Ernie, Roustabout forgot all disciplinary measures and hurled himself upon the new-comer with such joyous barks that Pop opened the kitchen door to investigate the commotion.

“Come on in!” he cried eagerly. “Rose is here and she’s going to stay and get supper.”

It proved quite like old times with Rose bustling about in a gingham apron, and everybody laughing and talking at once, and the canary doing its best to out-chatter them all.

“Bob, you bring the hot plates into the dining-room,” Rose directed, “and everybody pull up his chair. Now, Pop, ask the blessing.”

Months of Jerry’s cooking had made the family more than ready for Rose’s savory dishes. Fillets of beef, rings of fried onions, greens and bacon, steaming coffee and corn-pone disappeared like magic. There was much chaffing and good-natured banter and the happiness that the Bossel ensemble invariably produced.

Having little else but life to enjoy, they made the most of it. There was some quality in them that refused to be sordid or dull. Life might deny them luxuries but it had no control over their laughter. Grampa might be in the toils of a new female, Pop suffering from asthma, Curt worried over finances, and Rose anxious about Bob’s health; but once they were assembled in the dining-room, with Roustabout and Buffy underfoot, the canary singing and the radio going, everything disturbing was forgotten.

“We’ll get washed up early and all go to a movie,” suggested Rosie. “I can pay for two.”

“I can pay for everybody!” said Ernie with the reckless extravagance induced by his first real earnings.

“Oh, let’s all stay home, and have a sing-song,” begged Grampa.

So they all settled down to their old occupations, Bob Gibbs contributing his bit by playing on a harmonica.

“Let’s swing a hymn,” said Grampa from the depths of his rocker. “ ‘Rock of Ages’ is a good one.”

They all joined in, Rose’s high soprano mingling with Pop’s cracked tenor, Grampa booming in with a bass, and Ernie trying all three.

Before long Ernie began to feel restless, and his thoughts wandered.

“Where’s that old Don’t book Mrs. Myrtle give me?” he demanded.

“I believe it’s under the table leg,” said Rose, “and by the way, you ought to say ‘gave’ and not ‘give.’ ”

Ernie sighed. He had gotten past “I seen” and “I done” but there were evidently many other dragons along the verbal highway. His recent collision with Romance made him feel the necessity of grappling with them.

“What ails you, son?” asked Grampa. “You don’t look so good to me.”

All eyes were promptly focused on Ernie.

“Liverish,” diagnosed Pop.

“Oh, I’m all right!” said Ernie impatiently.

“You are just saying that because you don’t want to take cod-liver oil. Put out your tongue.”

He presented a blameless member for inspection.

“I guess he’s mooning about Tilly Katzenbach,” teased Curt.

Pop’s usually mild eyes hardened. “Surely no son of mine would be running round with a Prussian. I don’t say they’re all bad, but when they start talking down our country, and throwing their dirty propaganda all over the place, it makes me sore.”

“Now that fellow Hitler has succeeded Hindenberg it’s going to be worse,” said Curt. “They’ve got a organization called the Nazi, and they’ll be up to devilment a plenty.”

“I bet Mr. Katzenbach will be mixed up in it,” said Ernie, intrigued with the idea.

“They are beneath our notice,” pronounced the Captain. “Let’s talk of something more agreeable.”

Through that long summer Ernie worked faithfully at the Garage, buoyed by the thought that each coupé that stopped by the Filling Station might contain a brown-eyed girl with a contralto voice and the imperious air of a young princess. But she did not come, and the thought of her gradually receded to that little secret niche in his memory where he hid all his treasures.

During August he was put on night duty, and found the long hours of inactivity very trying. Few people stopped for gas, and with the exception of an occasional emergency call there was little to occupy his time. One midnight when things were at their dullest, a telephone call came, asking that a truck be sent at once to pull a car out of a ditch on the Country Club lane.

“You’ll have to go,” said the man in charge; “I’ve got work to do on the books.”

Ernie, glad of a chance for action, flung his tools in the back of a truck and climbing into the driver’s seat, sped across the city and out the River Road. The night was dark and he had trouble finding the right lane, but at last his headlight picked up a small coupé half off the road. When he saw the color of it his heart gained a beat.

Two strangers, however, were in possession; an hysterical little lady in evening dress sat in the car nursing an injured elbow, while a foreign-looking gentleman fumbled futilely with the gears.

At the sight of Ernie the lady gave a cry of relief.

“What an eternity you have been getting here,” she cried. “My arm is hurt, and I’ve got to get home as quickly as possible.”

“Not broken, is it?” queried Ernie solicitously.

“Not exactly, but I’m sure it’s frightfully skinned.” Then turning to the man sitting sullenly beside her, she said coaxingly, “Gustav, dear, won’t you get out and let this nice young man see if he can start the car?”

The gentleman descended unsteadily, but no sooner had he reached the ground than he clapped his hand over his mouth and disappeared into the bushes.

“Oh, dear!” said the lady petulantly, as she alighted. “I told him not to drink that last highball. How am I going to get home?”

“Would you drive in the truck with me?”

“In these clothes? Of course not. You’ll just have to get this car started and take me home in it, and then come back for him.”

“But, lady,” protested Ernie, “I can’t leave my truck here.”

This complication had evidently not occurred to her, and she began to cry again, wringing her hands and asking him what on earth she must do. He decided that she was the kind of lady whose mind had to be made up for her, and he was distinctly flattered when she put herself, her scarf, and the gentleman’s hat in his hands and trustingly asked for advice.

Attaching a chain from the truck to the coupé, he proceeded to pull the car back on the road, and all the time he worked the lady kept up an incessant flow of conversation.

“It isn’t far,” she coaxed. “You can be back in half an hour. You’d do it if you knew how bad my arm hurt me. Feel what a big lump?”

Her voice was soft and coaxing, and the round white arm she offered for inspection showed a bad bruise.

“Is there any one at your house who could come back with me to drive the car and the gentleman home?” Ernie asked, weakening.

“There’s Eloise,” she said doubtfully. “I hate to ask her, but you could trail them, couldn’t you?”

“Sure, if he would come with her.”

“Oh! She can manage him all right. He’s a perfect lamb when he’s tight. Hush, here he comes now!”

The object of their discussion scrambled feebly up to the road and stood leaning limply against the car as she explained their plan. Even at his present disadvantage he bore himself with an air of distinction, and on his face was an expression of contemptuous condescension.

“Quite ridiculous,” he said thickly. “Perfectly capable of taking you home. Just because a man’s not used to these cheap American cars—’s no reason—”

He got no further, for his legs buckled under him and he would have fallen had not Ernie supported him.

“Be all right presently,” he muttered. “Just assish me into car.”

But, instead, Ernie assisted him into the truck, where he promptly collapsed.

“Poor dear!” said the little lady, “he’s all in, isn’t he? Let me put my scarf under his head. He’d so hate to have his face on the floor like that. Do you think he will be all right while we are gone?”

Ernie was much more concerned about leaving his truck than about leaving the gentleman. In a fever of anxiety to accomplish his errand, and get back as soon as possible, he broke the speed limits, and did not discover until he had reached the city that he had left his keys in the truck.

“They’ll be all right,” his companion assured him. “Mr. Bohn will never wake up until you get back. How many miles are we making an hour? I love driving like this!”

She had apparently forgotten all about her arm, and was thoroughly enjoying herself. She chattered incessantly, emphasizing her remarks with eyes and hands, and only pausing occasionally to powder her nose. Ernie had never met any one so expert in verbal acrobatics. She could grasp the tail of a sentence and swing herself into another subject with the agility of a monkey. Her adjectives were for the most part monogamous, having the same noun, but the nouns were disgracefully polygamous, flaunting four or five adjectives at a time.

Ernie thought it funny that a lady, old enough to be his mother, should roll her eyes at him and call him a lamb. To be sure he was only a plain lamb, whereas the gentleman they had left was a dear lamb, and the person they were going to fetch was a precious lamb.

In the course of the conversation he learned that his companion was the widow of an Army Officer who had divorced her for going on the stage, and that she had just lost a filling out of her front tooth; that her daughter was going to be an artist if she didn’t marry a rich young man in Boston who threatened to kill himself if she continued to refuse him; that Mr. Bohn had won medals in Switzerland for skiing, and had not been tight for ages, and that none of them had been long in America.

It was a bit confusing, but none the less exhilarating, to be taken into the confidence of such a pretty stranger who regarded him with undisguised admiration.

“You look exactly like an old sweetheart of mine,” she told him. “The same blue eyes and broad shoulders. Funny, isn’t it, how little women always adore big men?”

Ernie looked very much embarrassed and asked which was her apartment.

“The Greenhill, across the street there. You wait here and I’ll go up and get Eloise. It won’t take a minute.”

Even before a light flared in an upper window, Ernie’s dawning hope was becoming a certainty. Nor was he disappointed. When the two figures presently emerged from the dark doorway, he recognized the younger one instantly.

“This boy will take care of you,” the lady was saying as they reached the car. “Isn’t he the living image of Bertie Phipps? He’s from Hart’s Garage.”

The girl shot a glance at him as he stood holding open the door.

“Yes, I know him,” she said in the rich contralto voice he remembered. “He’s all right. Go in, Mother, and bathe your arm in hot water. If it doesn’t get better soon, call Dr. Felder.”

“You’ll be gentle with Gustav, won’t you?” implored her mother. “He’ll be so mortified when he knows what’s happened.”

The girl said nothing, but sat bolt upright, her lips in a tight, scornful line.

As in a trance, Ernie drove her back across town, through one deserted street after another. The flickering arc-lights at the intersections cast distorted shadows on the surrounding buildings, and the midnight silence shut them in like a fog. No one could have been more different from his former voluble companion than the grim, preoccupied young person beside him. But she had remembered him; she had trusted him, and nothing else seemed to matter.

Only once did she speak.

“Is he very bad?” she asked.

“Who? Your father?”

“He isn’t my father!” she said vehemently. “He’s a friend of mother’s, more’s the pity.”

“He’s too bad for you to handle alone,” said Ernie.

“I’ve done it before,” she said. “Twice.”

The broad brim of her hat hid her face, but he could feel the bitterness and scorn in her voice, and his blood boiled at the thought of a young girl being sent on such an errand. Just how he was going to get Mr. Bohn and the car and the truck back to town he did not know, but of one thing he was certain, he was not going to leave her alone with that man.

As they neared their destination, he began to have a belated realization of his folly in leaving the truck, and his conscience stirred uneasily.

Nor were his fears unfounded. When they reached the scene of the accident, both Mr. Bohn and the truck had disappeared.

Leaping from the car, Ernie tore frantically up and down the road, shouting from right to left as he ran. But all he discovered was an apparently unimportant note-book that lay open in the mud, on the spot where Mr. Bohn had been helped into the truck. Thrusting it hurriedly into his pocket, he rushed back to the car to break the disturbing news to Miss Wynne.