Читать книгу Seventeen - Booth Tarkington - Страница 13

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There was something really pageant-like about the little excursion now, and the glittering clothes-boiler, borne on high, sent flashing lights far down the street. The wash-tubs were old-fashioned, of wood; they refused to fit one within the other; so William, with his right hand, and Genesis, with his left, carried one of the tubs between them; Genesis carried the heavy wringer with his right hand, and he had fastened the other tub upon his back by means of a bit of rope which passed over his shoulder; thus the tin boiler, being a lighter burden, fell to William.

The cover would not stay in place, but continually fell off when he essayed to carry the boiler by one of its handles, and he made shift to manage the accursed thing in various ways—the only one proving physically endurable being, unfortunately, the most grotesque. He was forced to carry the cover in his left hand and to place his head partially within the boiler itself, and to support it—tilted obliquely to rest upon his shoulders—as a kind of monstrous tin cowl or helmet. This had the advantage of somewhat concealing his face, though when he leaned his head back, in order to obtain clearer vision of what was before him, the boiler slid off and fell to the pavement with a noise that nearly caused a runaway, and brought the hot-cheeked William much derisory attention from a passing street-car. However, he presently caught the knack of keeping it in position, and it fell no more.

Seen from the rear, William was unrecognizable—but interesting. He appeared to be a walking clothes-boiler, armed with a shield and connected, by means of a wash-tub, with a negro of informal ideas concerning dress. In fact, the group was whimsical, and three young people who turned in behind it, out of a cross-street, indulged immediately in fits of inadequately suppressed laughter, though neither Miss May Parcher nor Mr. Johnnie Watson even remotely suspected that the legs beneath the clothes-boiler belonged to an acquaintance. And as for the third of this little party, Miss Parcher's visitor, those peregrinating legs suggested nothing familiar to her.

“Oh, see the fun-ee laundrymans!” she cried, addressing a cottony doglet's head that bobbed gently up and down over her supporting arm. “Sweetest Flopit must see, too! Flopit, look at the fun-ee laundrymans!”

“'Sh!” murmured Miss Parcher, choking. “He might hear you.”

He might, indeed, since they were not five yards behind him and the dulcet voice was clear and free. Within the shadowy interior of the clothes-boiler were features stricken with sudden, utter horror. “FLOPIT!”

The attention of Genesis was attracted by a convulsive tugging of the tub which he supported in common with William; it seemed passionately to urge greater speed. A hissing issued from the boiler, and Genesis caught the words, huskily whispered:

“Walk faster! You got to walk faster.”

The tub between them tugged forward with a pathos of appeal wasted upon the easy-going Genesis.

“I got plenty time cut 'at grass befo' you' pa gits home,” he said, reassuringly. “Thishere rope what I got my extry tub slung to is 'mos' wo' plum thew my hide.”

Having uttered this protest, he continued to ambulate at the same pace, though somewhat assisted by the forward pull of the connecting tub, an easance of burden which he found pleasant; and no supplementary message came from the clothes-boiler, for the reason that it was incapable of further speech. And so the two groups maintained for a time their relative positions, about fifteen feet apart.

The amusement of the second group having abated through satiety, the minds of its components turned to other topics. “Now Flopit must have his darlin' 'ickle run,” said Flopit's mistress, setting the doglet upon the ground. “That's why sweetest Flopit and I and all of us came for a walk, instead of sitting on the nice, cool porch-kins. SEE the sweetie toddle! Isn't he adorable, May? ISN'T he adorable, Mr. Watson?”

Mr. Watson put a useless sin upon his soul, since all he needed to say was a mere “Yes.” He fluently avowed himself to have become insane over the beauty of Flopit.

Flopit, placed upon the ground, looked like something that had dropped from a Christmas tree, and he automatically made use of fuzzy legs, somewhat longer than a caterpillar's, to patter after his mistress. He was neither enterprising nor inquisitive; he kept close to the rim of her skirt, which was as high as he could see, and he wished to be taken up and carried again. He was in a half-stupor; it was his desire to remain in that condition, and his propulsion was almost wholly subconscious, though surprisingly rapid, considering his dimensions.

“My goo'ness!” exclaimed Genesis, glancing back over his shoulder. “'At li'l' thing ack like he think he go'n a GIT somewheres!” And then, in answer to a frantic pull upon the tub, “Look like you mighty strong t'day,” he said. “I cain' go no fastuh!” He glanced back again, chuckling. “'At li'l' bird do well not mix up nothin' 'ith ole man Clematis!”

Clematis, it happened, was just coming into view, having been detained round the corner by his curiosity concerning a set of Louis XVI. furniture which some house-movers were unpacking upon the sidewalk. A curl of excelsior, in fact, had attached itself to his nether lip, and he was pausing to remove it—when his roving eye fell upon Flopit. Clematis immediately decided to let the excelsior remain where it was, lest he miss something really important.

He approached with glowing eagerness at a gallop.

Then, having almost reached his goal, he checked himself with surprising abruptness and walked obliquely beside Flopit, but upon a parallel course, his manner agitated and his brow furrowed with perplexity. Flopit was about the size of Clematis's head, and although Clematis was certain that Flopit was something alive, he could not decide what.

Flopit paid not the slightest attention to Clematis. The self-importance of dogs, like that of the minds of men, is in directly inverse ratio to their size; and if the self-importance of Flopit could have been taken out of him and given to an elephant, that elephant would have been insufferable.

Flopit continued to pay no attention to Clematis.

All at once, a roguish and irresponsible mood seized upon Clematis; he laid his nose upon the ground, deliberating a bit of gaiety, and then, with a little rush, set a large, rude paw upon the sensitive face of Flopit and capsized him. Flopit uttered a bitter complaint in an asthmatic voice.

“Oh, nassy dray bid Horror!” cried his mistress, turning quickly at this sound and waving a pink parasol at Clematis. “Shoo! DIRTY dog! Go 'way!” And she was able somehow to connect him with the wash-tub and boiler, for she added, “Nassy laundrymans to have bad doggies!”

Mr. Watson rushed upon Clematis with angry bellowings and imaginary missiles. “You disgusting brute!” he roared. “How DARE you?”

Apparently much alarmed, Clematis lowered his ears, tucked his tail underneath him, and fled to the rear, not halting once or looking back until he disappeared round the corner whence he had come. “There!” said Mr. Watson. “I guess HE won't bother us again very soon!”

It must be admitted that Milady was one of those people who do not mind being overheard, no matter what they say. “Lucky for us,” she said, “we had a nice dray bid MANS to protect us, wasn't it, Flopit?” And she thought it necessary to repeat something she had already made sufficiently emphatic.

“Nassy laundrymans!”

“I expect I gave that big mongrel the fright of his life,” said Mr. Watson, with complacency. “He'll probably run a mile!”

The shoulders of Genesis shook as he was towed along by the convulsive tub. He knew from previous evidence that Clematis possessed both a high quality and a large quantity of persistence, and it was his hilarious opinion that the dog had not gone far. As a matter of fact, the head of Clematis was at this moment cautiously extended from behind the fence-post at the corner whither he had fled. Viewing with growing assurance the scene before him, he permitted himself to emerge wholly, and sat down, with his head tilted to one side in thought. Almost at the next corner the clothes-boiler with legs, and the wash-tubs, and Genesis were marching on; and just behind them went three figures not so familiar to Clematis, and connected in his mind with a vague, mild apprehension. But all backs were safely toward him, and behind them pattered that small live thing which had so profoundly interested him.

He rose and came on apace, silently.

When he reached the side of Flopit, some eight or nine seconds later, Clematis found himself even more fascinated and perplexed than during their former interview, though again Flopit seemed utterly to disregard him. Clematis was not at all sure that Flopit WAS a dog, but he felt that it was his business to find out. Heaven knows, so far, Clematis had not a particle of animosity in his heart, but he considered it his duty to himself—in case Flopit turned out not to be a dog—to learn just what he was. The thing might be edible.

Therefore, again pacing obliquely beside Flopit (while the human beings ahead went on, unconscious of the approaching climax behind them) Clematis sought to detect, by senses keener than sight, some evidence of Flopit's standing in the zoological kingdom; and, sniffing at the top of Flopit's head—though Clematis was uncertain about its indeed being a head—he found himself baffled and mentally much disturbed.

Flopit did not smell like a dog; he smelled of violets.