Читать книгу Joan and Peter - H. G. Wells - Страница 19

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Peter took to Oswald and Oswald took to Peter from the beginning.

Peter, by this time, had Joan for a foster-sister. And also he had Nobby. Nobby was a beloved Dutch doll, armless and legless, but adored and trusted as no other doll has ever been in the whole history of dolls since the world began. He had been Peter’s first doll. One day when he was playing tunes with Nobby on the nursery fender, one exceptionally accented note splintered off a side of Nobby’s smooth but already much obliterated countenance. Peter was not so much grieved as dismayed, and Arthur was very sympathetic and did his best to put things right with a fine brush and some black paint. But when Peter saw Oswald he met him with a cry of delight and recognition.

“It’s Nobby!” he cried.

“But who’s Nobby?” asked Oswald.

“You—Nobby,” Peter insisted with a squeak, and turned about just in time to prevent Arthur from hiding the fetish away. “Gimme my Nobby!” he said.

“Nobby is his private god,” Dolly hastened to explain. “It is his dearest possession. It is the most beautiful thing in the world to him. Every night he must have Nobby under his pillow....”

Oswald stood with his wooden double in his hand for a moment, recognized himself at a glance, thought it over, and smiled his grim, one-sided smile.

“I’m Nobby right enough,” he said. “Big Nobby, Peter. He takes you off to Dreamland. Some day I’ll take you to the Mountains of the Moon.”

So far Joan, a black-headed, black-eyed doll, had been coyly on the edge of the conversation, a little disposed to take refuge in the skirts of Mary. Now she made a great effort on her own account. “Nobby,” she screamed; “big, Big Nobby!” And, realizing she had made a success, hid her face.

“Nobby to you,” said Oswald. “Does that want a godfather too? It’s my rôle....”