Читать книгу Kings Row - Henry Bellamann - Страница 11

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Parris watched his grandmother rather anxiously on Sunday mornings. If she planned to go to church she always gave orders at breakfast for the surrey. He hoped, on this particular Sunday morning, that she would decide not to go. It was very hot. Sundays in summer seemed hotter than other days. Not that he minded. He really never thought much about it, but others were always mentioning the weather. This morning when he thought of the long church service he realized what they meant by the heat being disagreeable. Ordinarily he liked going to church. He liked to see people.

Madame von Eln put down her coffee cup and folded her napkin. “Anna, tell Uncle Henry to have the carriage ready at half-past ten.”

“Yes, Madame.”

Madame smiled absently at her grandson. He waited. Perhaps she would suggest that he stay at home. But she went slowly upstairs and he sighed a little as he went out on the terrace. It was nice this morning. The flower beds had a droopy look. The grass was dry and yellow; withered leaves showed on the hollyhocks. There was a special smell about this time of year. He remembered it. A hot spicy smell. Geraniums and verbenas.

He walked about slowly. The chickens were already slipping into shady spots, scratching places in the soft soil, lying on their sides to absorb the cool. From the upper orchard he could hear the dry, metallic rasp of the guineas.

The sky was a smoky blue—almost the color of hydrangeas—where the spruce plantings lifted a thousand blue spear points above the slope.

It was all very still. Warm smells came from the kitchen—Sunday smells of apple and cinnamon. He sighed again. It would be fun to call Renée and build a dam in the little creek. Much more fun certainly than putting on a clean white waist and a starched collar and going to church. He wondered if he had a fresh linen suit, or if he would have to wear the blue one. The blue one would be pretty hot. Most boys of his age didn’t wear coats in summer, but he would have to. His grandmother was very strict about that.

He went reluctantly into the house and upstairs to his room.

The surrey stood shining in the sun. Uncle Henry, his chocolate face wrinkled into Sunday decorum, sat on the front seat. He wore a blue-and-white-striped seersucker coat and a wide-brimmed straw hat. The horse stamped impatiently and switched his tail at the flies. He had a red cord fly net thrown over him, but it was not much help. The net was pretty, though. There were even pieces with little tassels at the tips that fitted over the horse’s ears.

Madame came down, crackling in her black taffeta dress. She was wearing her onyx-and-diamond earrings and a large brooch at her throat. It had belonged to her grandmother, she said. Under a round glass lid in the back was a tiny plait of blond hair. “It was my grandmother’s hair, when she was a child—your great-great-grandmother, Parris.” But Parris could not imagine anybody young living such a long time ago.

This morning he looked appreciatively at his grandmother. She looked very fine, he thought, with her tight shiny black kid gloves, and the little spray of jet trimming that twinkled on her bonnet. He particularly liked that Sunday bonnet. It was no more than a broad band of jet that tied under the chin with long lace streamers. From the exact center an ornament, like a tiny tree, stood up and shook with every motion of her head. Her hair waved smoothly to a high knot in the back which was fastened with a tall comb that had a row of silver balls on the edge. He thought it looked like a crown, and that it made his grandmother look like a queen.

She carried a small lace parasol, and wore long-handled tortoise-shell lorgnettes on a thin gold chain.

“Are you ready, Parris?”

“Yes, ma am.”

“Come here, let me see.” She passed her hand over his hair, already brushed to a mirror smoothness. “Didn’t you have a white collar to go with a white waist?”

“No, ma’am. I couldn’t find one. This one’s all right.” The stiffly starched collar had broad stripes of blue. “It’s pretty tight,” he added.

“It looks nice, though. Come now, or we’ll be late.”

Uncle Henry swung his whip smartly, and the wheels crunched softly through the deep sand of the driveway. Parris leaned out to watch the fine sand follow the rim of the wheels and fall away like smoke. He began to like the drive. The fringe of the surrey top swung in quick waves. It had a festive look.

The second church bell was ringing from the Presbyterian tower when they turned into Federal Street. Services would begin in fifteen minutes. The Methodist bell joined in presently. It wasn’t so nice a bell—the Presbyterian bell was deeper and richer. Then the Baptist bell began, too. People on the wide walks quickened their steps. The sounds clashed overhead, buggies rolled by in a cloud of dust, and Parris felt a rising excitement. Uncle Henry drove to the stone carriage block in front of the church, and Madame stepped out and shook the dust from her skirts. Parris took her hand so she wouldn’t stumble going down the three narrow steps to the sidewalk. She never wore her glasses when she went to church and depended on him somewhat.

A number of men stood on the little lawn before the church. Several of them lifted their hats and spoke. Parris could see that they liked his grandmother from the respectful tone of the greetings. That was because she was an awfully important person, of course, the owner of the Burton County Nurseries, and a woman of affairs. He had once heard her called that, and although its meaning was not clear, he knew that it was complimentary. He was glad, after all, that he had come to church today.

The inside of the Presbyterian church was most pleasant. It was very high, and tall slender windows of colored glass reached far up to the curved ceiling behind the graceful sweep of gallery. The windows were open today, and puffs of warm air came in.

The ushers thumped softly down the red-carpeted aisles, and Sunday silks rustled and creaked. Delicious breaths of perfume floated from the Amory twins who sat directly in front of Parris and his grandmother. Mr. and Mrs. Curley also occupied that pew. Mr. Curley deposited his silk hat under the pew. Parris was interested in the white satin lining gathered to a circular disk in the crown. Mrs. Curley wore a wine-colored silk dress so tight that it was a wonder she could get into it. The silk clung to the creases in her fat arms. The shields under the arms were clearly outlined, and there was a damp half-circle on her back just above the corset line. It spread slowly like the rising of a large dark moon. Mrs. Curley turned and smiled a subdued greeting to Madame von Eln, and the old banker turned also and bowed gravely sidewise.

Parris caught sight of Drake McHugh across the aisle with his aunt and uncle, Mrs. Livingstone and the Major. Drake leaned forward and made eager, unintelligible signs, but his aunt tapped on his knee with her gloved fingers and he subsided.

On the far side of the church, in the little-used north section of seats, Parris saw a gleam of copper curls under the floppy brim of a brown straw hat. He was surprised. It was Cassandra and her mother. He couldn’t remember ever having seen them at church before.

More people came into the pew, and he was crowded to a corner. He felt very hot and tugged at his collar.

The church had a smell unlike any other place. A bit musty, but pleasant at the same time. Now it was enhanced by little currents of varied scents—colognes that smelled like roses and lilacs and lilies of the valley. He decided that he liked perfumes, and wondered why his grandmother never used them.

The choir was settling self-consciously into their seats, and Miss Ludie Vance was taking her place at the organ. An uncomfortable hush followed, and fans redoubled their agitation.

The service seemed interminable. Parris knew that Dr. Mackay preached exactly an hour, and he felt at the beginning of the sermon that he could not possibly bear it. Maybe he would get sick. That would be terrible. Everyone would look at him. He swallowed hard at the thought and wriggled desperately. He was sticking to the seat. Maybe the seat of his linen pants would be wet from perspiration and people would think—oh, dear, why didn’t he beg off from church today?

His thoughts wandered from one dreadful possibility to another. Church was oppressing him now. He thought of funerals. He had attended a funeral last year—Billy Churchill who had been in his grade at school. He remembered old Hector Godbold, the undertaker, wheeling the coffin in at the north door and out at the south. Someday everybody in this church would die, and Hector Godbold, bald and queer-looking, would wheel them through those doors. His grandmother, too. He gasped and swallowed and looked at her fearfully. She smiled vaguely at him. He resumed his gloomy reverie—someday he, too, would die—Renée would die.... Maybe he and Renée would build that dam this afternoon. He thought of the delicious feeling of water running over his bare feet, of sitting on one of those big mossy rocks under the bridge, of ...

He was startled by a stir and rustle. It sounded as loud as thunder. He opened his eyes. Then he flushed very red and sat looking into the depths of Mr. Curley’s silk hat. He hoped no one had seen him asleep.

Miss Ludie began the prelude to the last hymn. She missed some notes and made hideous discords. Parris nudged his grandmother, but she appeared not to notice. His foot was asleep—it felt like wood, but like wood with lots of ants crawling on it. Maybe he felt like that all over when he was asleep but didn’t know it.

The congregation, at a signal from Dr. Mackay, arose. The singing increased in volume. Cautiously he felt of the seat of his pants. It was damp but it wasn’t really wet. He felt relieved and sang a few lines of the hymn.

The church seemed fuller now than it was before the sermon. The whole congregation bowed and the lovely words of the benediction faded into a whispering cadence across their heads ... In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, Amen.

There was an instant buzz. Mrs. Curley turned with an everyday smile and spoke. Mr. Curley tugged at the seat of his trousers. Parris guessed he had stuck to the seat, too.

Drake McHugh was squeezing through the outgoing crowd. “Parris!” The sibilant sound carried sharply. “Hist! Wait a minute outside, will you? I want to see you. Oh, good morn—good day, Madame. Uncle Rhodes and Aunt Mamie said could Parris stay in town and eat dinner with us and stay this afternoon? Will you, Parris? Can he, Madame?”

“Why certainly, if you want him to.”

Drake gave Parris a hearty nudge in the ribs. “C’mon.”

“Wait a minute,” Madame interrupted. “I’d like to say good morning to Major Livingstone and your aunt. Where are they?”

“Right there, standing in the aisle.”

The group walked slowly out of church. “Now send him home if he bothers you,” Madame smiled at the Livingstones. “Be a good boy, Parris. You’ll have to walk out home this afternoon—Uncle Henry won’t be there to come for you. Don’t get too hot now. Stay in the shade.” She mounted the carriage block and turned to where she thought Drake was standing. “You must come out and play with Parris someday soon.” She could not see that she was speaking directly to Major Livingstone. Drake giggled, but Parris gave him a violent push. “She’s nearly blind—she couldn’t see,” he said. Drake looked at him curiously. Parris was not looking at him and his voice sounded strange and sort of faraway. “Oh,” Drake said. “I didn’t know that. Well, c’mon, let’s go.”

The Livingstones lived near the Presbyterian church. Parris thought this must be very convenient and pleasant, but Drake did not regard it as an advantage.

Drake McHugh was an orphan, too, and lived with his aunt and uncle, both of whom were as old as Madame von Eln. Drake said that when he was twenty-one he would inherit his money. Uncle Rhodes, he said, was his “gardeen” now. The Livingstones were very strict and very religious. Parris had heard people say it was too bad that Drake had to grow up without parents. He could not imagine why they said this. He had no parents either and he was very happy. He often thought that it would be very strange to have a father and mother. He was sure he could never have loved either of them as much as he loved his grandmother. It would have been too bad, he decided, for her not to have had him all to herself. She would have been very lonely, he was sure. Sometimes he looked at the photographs of his mother in the blue velvet album but he couldn’t tell much about it. It gave him a very strange feeling—not lonesome, but sort of sad. He wanted to say the word “mama,” as Renée did to her mother, but it stuck in his throat. It was just a photograph. The picture of his father he decidedly did not like.

Mrs. Livingstone went directly upstairs when they came into the house. She came down again shortly in a cool-looking thin dress.

“Won’t you take off your coat, Parris? You must be very warm.”

“No’m, thank you. I’d rather not.”

She looked surprised but did not urge him.

Sunday dinners did not vary much in Kings Row homes. It was customary to make it the largest and heaviest meal of the week. Mrs. Livingstone had the reputation of “setting a good table.”

Today there was soup—large steaming plates served from a huge china tureen. There followed roast chicken, mashed potatoes, dressing and gravy, cold ham, beets and peas and creamed onions. A fresh plate of hot biscuits appeared every four or five minutes. Mrs. Livingstone served side dishes of sweet pickled peaches and preserved watermelon rind.

Parris and Drake ate until their clothes felt tight before the double dessert of peach cobbler and cocoanut cake arrived. Parris was miserably uncomfortable. He missed the cool salads and the iced tea he was accustomed to at home. The high-backed plush chair stung through his clothes, but he tried not to squirm or to scratch when anyone was looking.

After dinner Mrs. Livingstone retired for a nap, and the Major sat on the front porch smoking.

“C’mon, Parris, let’s go down in the back lot where it’s shady.”

They sat on the grass, somewhat stunned with food, but making the effort at conversation which seemed always somewhat difficult on Sunday visits.

“Gee, I hate Sunday, don’t you?” Drake threw a stick at a tall mullein stalk.

“Why?”

“You can’t do nothing.”

“Why not? What do you want to do?”

“Anything.”

“Well, what let’s do?”

“Gee, they won’t let me do nothing on Sunday.” Drake seemed surprised that Parris shouldn’t know this.

“Why not?”

“ ’Cause it’s Sunday. Does your grandma let you play on Sunday?”

“Of course!”

“Same as any other day?”

“Of course she does. She doesn’t care what I do. I mean, of course—”

“Gee! They won’t let me do one thing. Of course I slip off, but they don’t know it.”

“You mean your uncle and aunt won’t let you play because it’s Sunday?”

“Sure. It’s wrong to do anything on Sunday. It’s a sin—they say it is, anyhow. I don’t see how it can hurt anything just to play.”

“Me, neither. I’m glad my grandmother lets me play.”

“Gosh, you’re lucky, boy.”

“I guess I am.”

“Well, Aunt Mamie’s gone to sleep. Uncle Rhodes’ll be asleep pretty soon. Then we can slip off.”

“Won’t they get after you?”

“They won’t know anything about it.”

Parris considered this. “Where you going to?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Anywhere.”

“Well, I guess it isn’t any harm just going somewhere.”

“ ’Course ’tain’t. Gee, Parris, you’re funny.”

“How?”

“You always talk so proper.”

Parris blushed. “It’s the only way I can talk, Drake. You know I have to think when I speak English, and I guess it just goes kind of slow.”

“Gosh, that’s so. You do talk some other language, don’t you?”

“Two of them.”

“Two?”

“German and French.”

“Darn, but that’s funny.”

“I don’t think it’s funny. I always did.”

“It’s funny for an American boy to be talking any other kind of talk but American.”

Parris scraped at the ground with his heel. “Does—does it sound sissy, Drake, the way I talk?”

“N-no—it don’t sound sissy exactly. It just sounds like you’re tryin’ to be awful proper—kinder like you’re puttin’ on.”

“Well, I ain’t.”

“Now, that’s more like it—when you say ‘ain’t.’ ”

“But ‘ain’t’ ain’t—isn’t really right.”

“I don’t care. Sounds better.”

“I wouldn’t like to sound like a sissy—like Jamie Wakefield—”

“Say—ain’t he the big sissy, though? I’d like to take his pants down and see if he is a boy.”

Parris laughed, but it was a halfhearted laugh. He wanted Drake to like him. Drake was pretty nice, and there wasn’t anything sissy about him. He felt a little twinge of disloyalty somewhere inside when he laughed at Jamie. He liked Jamie, too. He supposed Jamie couldn’t help being sissy. Still, he was funny.

Drake jumped up. “Let’s go.”

“All right. Where?”

“Let’s go down to the depot. I guess we’ll find some of those lower-end-of-town kids and we can do something. They’re tough as hell, too,” Drake added admiringly.

The streets were deserted. A few people sat out on shady porches and rocked slowly as they wielded large palm-leaf fans. The heat danced dizzily over the white dust. Far down the street the houses and trees quivered in broken outlines.

They walked on the shady side of the street and hurried from time to time through occasional stretches of sun where trees were missing.

“I guess this is the hottest day I ever saw.” Drake stopped and wiped his face on his sleeve. A deep flush made his freckles stand out larger and darker than ever.

“I’d like to go swimming.” Parris sounded almost wistful.

“So’d I, but the closest swimmin’ hole is way down the creek. Too far, I guess.”

“We got a pond out home.”

“That’s pretty far, too. I got to get back before supper or I’d catch it hot and heavy. I tell you—let’s go down to the Elroy’s icehouse. We can play in there an’ it’s cool as everything. Gus Elroy’s got a trapeze, and flyin’ rings an’ par’llel bars fixed up like a regular gymnasium.”

“All right, come on then. Let’s go fast.”

They crossed to Walnut Street and hurried toward the south end of town.

There was no one at the depot, or near it. Kings Row had no Sunday trains. The boxcars stood huge and solid-looking, as though nothing could ever move them. Everything lay baking in the pitiless sun. A keen, acrid smell, compounded of grease, overdry pine wood, and heated metal stung the nostrils. It was very dirty and rusty-looking. The yards, purplish with cinders, the cars with scarred red paint, the tarred and graveled roof of the depot and the tool houses—everything had a disused look. The immobility seemed permanent. Only the edges of the car wheels, unbearably bright and burning to the eye, suggested that yesterday there was activity here, and that tomorrow it would begin again.

The unfamiliar odors aroused a sort of excitement in Parris—a sense of not quite safe adventure which verged on uneasiness. Drake seemed more at home in these surroundings. He made knowing remarks, mentioning easily and carelessly the names of engineers and firemen, brakemen and flagmen. Parris was impressed. He felt very young and inexperienced.

They walked along the tracks toward the Elroy icehouse. Long rows of empty cars stood on the siding. The worn flanges of the wheels caught the sun and made a succession of diminishing arcs down the line. They looked like rows of drawn and glittering scimitars.

Drake picked up a thin iron rod and tapped the wheels as they passed. He read the lettering on the cars and recited the long railroad names they stood for. It sounded highly romantic.

“Chesapeake and Ohio.”

“Chicago and Alton.”

“Chicago and Northwestern.”

“Mobile and Ohio.”

“Illinois Central.”

“Baltimore and Ohio.”

“Wabash—that’s a fine railroad! They run the fastest trains in the state.”

Parris regarded the freight car with respect. He could imagine those wheels singing along endless lines of steel rails across vast reaches of strange country, past farms and houses he had never seen, and through towns whose names were in his geography book. He could see the weeds and grass along the track bending in the cyclone of speed that roared over them.

“Look, there’s one from ’way out West. Denver and Rio Grande. I bet that’s a good railroad, don’t you?”

“I bet so, too.”

“I wish we lived on a main line. This ain’t nothin’ but a branch. You ought to see the flyers go through Camperville. Some of ’em don’t even stop there. Great big engines with three drive wheels on each side! You’ve been to St. Louis, ain’t you?”

Parris nodded. “Two times.”

“Did you ride the Wabash or the Chicago and Alton?”

“I don’t know which it was.”

“Did you go by Rhode House?”

“Yes, I remember that.”

“It was the Chicago and Alton. The Wabash is better.”

They came to the end of the line of cars. Drake walked backward and squinted along the rails.

“Hello, Drake! Hello, Parris!”

They looked around for the voice.

“Up here—on the fence.”

It was Randy Monaghan hanging over the tall fence at the top of the embankment.

Drake answered gaily. “Hello, there. What you doin’ up there?”

“This is where I live. What you all doin’?”

“Nothin’, just walkin’.”

“What you doin’ way down here, Parris?”

“I just came with Drake.”

Drake spoke quickly. “We’re goin’ down to Elroy’s icehouse.”

“What for?”

“Nothin’ much. Swing on the rings maybe.”

“Jake ain’t down there.”

“How do you know?”

“Seen him and a whole gang of boys goin’ out towards Nichols Pond. Guess they went swimmin’.”

“Well, I guess we’ll go to the icehouse anyhow. Jake won’t care.”

“It’s cool down there.”

“Why don’t you come, too?”

Randy was evidently waiting for the invitation. She looked back over her shoulder.

“All right,” she called softly. “You go on. I’ll catch up with you.”

Drake and Parris walked slowly. “Why didn’t she come right along with us?” Parris asked.

Drake looked at him and grinned. “ ’Fraid of her old man, I guess.”

“Why?”

“Say, you don’t know much, do you? I guess her old man knows better’n to let Randy go round with these tough kids down here. She’s kinder tough, too. I bet she can give as good as they can send. You ought to hear her cuss.”

They had come in sight of the icehouse—a long, low structure, half wood and half stone, with a high-gabled roof. It stood at the edge of what was called the Railroad Pond, a body of water that supplied the railroad tanks.

They opened a heavy door and jumped down on a great pile of sawdust. The air was damp and cool. It was dark, too, after the glare. Long streaks of sunlight cut across the high space from a small window in the west gable.

“Gee, most of the ice is gone. See how low it’s gettin’?” Drake seized the two rings and swung far out from the tall heap. He let go and landed on his feet, half burying himself in the loose dry sawdust.

Someone banged on the door. “Let me in! Drake!”

“It’s Randy. Push on the door.” The door swung out, letting in a great gust of hot air. Randy climbed over the high sill and dropped down. She rolled over and over.

“Gosh darn! Look at me. Sawdust all over me.”

“You got to know how to jump on sawdust.”

“Shoot. I just slipped.” She removed her shoes and peeled off her long black stockings. “There. That feels better. Ain’t it cool?”

She struggled up to the rings which swung from the rafters. “Can you skin the cat?”

“Sure!” Drake scoffed. “But I bet you can’t.”

She executed the feat, her stout legs cutting her hold neatly, and landed upright.

“Pretty good.”

“I can do the double roll on the par’llel bars, too.”

“Bet you can’t.”

“Don’t think I could do it very good with my Sunday clothes on, though.”

“Take ’em off,” Drake suggested with a wink at Parris. “Nobody here but us.”

“Well, you look outside and see if anybody’s comin’.”

Drake reconnoitered. “No one round anywhere. Go ahead.”

She flipped her dress over her head and hung it carefully on a projecting plank. Her frilled and starched white petticoat followed. She stood up, round and stocky in waist and drawers.

“That’s better. Now watch me.”

She swung up on the parallel bars with ease and flung herself through the double roll.

“Doggone,” Drake exclaimed. “Where’d you learn to do it?”

“Jake Elroy showed me. He can do a lot of things. Come on, Parris, you try.”

“I don’t think I could do that right away. I guess I’d have to practice. I can skin the cat, though.”

“Let’s see you. Take off your shoes and stockings and your coat. What you so dressed up for?”

Parris’ first effort was not successful. He fell on his back with a thump. It knocked the breath out of him. Randy laughed. “You got to bring yourself up better, then shoot your legs down quick. Looky.” She repeated the performance. “C’mon now, try it again.”

With her encouragement and advice Parris made rapid progress, but the double roll was beyond him.

“Your pants are too tight. Take ’em off, why don’t you?”

Parris flushed. “I haven’t got anything on under them.”

Randy shouted with laughter and slapped her knees.

“Well, I don’t care, but maybe you can do it anyway. Try again.” She considered his effort seriously. “You could do it pretty soon. I’m tired now. Let’s set down and rest.”

Drake found a roll of building paper on the ledge. “Spread this out and you can lay down.”

The trio dropped down panting. Randy stood on her head as a final gesture.

“Gee, I’m glad we came down here. Feels good to be cool.” Drake rolled over and whispered something in her ear. She put her foot in his side and thrust him away. He rolled down the slope laughing. She laughed, too, but her face was very red.

“You shut your old dirty mouth.”

Parris thought she did not look angry, despite her words.

Drake grinned impishly and brushed sawdust from his hair. “Well,” he said airily, “Parris don’t know much. You could ’nitiate him.” He pronounced the unfamiliar word “knee-shade.”

Randy looked sidewise at Parris. “You shut up, you old fool,” she replied to Drake.

Drake flung himself back in the sawdust and laughed. “You ain’t mad. You’re just pretendin’.”

“ ’Course I ain’t mad, but I ain’t goin’ to do it.”

“All right, don’t then.”

“I ain’t.”

An awkward silence fell. Drake tried one or two swings on the flying rings, but it was a halfhearted activity.

Randy arose. “I better be goin’. I’ll get Hail Columbia if they catch me out here with you all.”

Parris was somehow pleased at this. It gave the afternoon an additional zest. He didn’t know why, exactly, but the cool shadowy icehouse seemed like a sort of secret meeting place. Randy dressed quickly.

“Drake, you or Parris will have to help me up to the door, an’ then I’ll pull you up.”

Drake lifted her, but she couldn’t reach the sill. He let her down again. “Gosh, you’re heavy.”

“Catch me lower down so you can lift me up higher.”

Drake grasped her around the knees. “Hold stiff now.” This time she reached the sill and pulled herself up.

“Now, you all come on. I’ll yank you up.”

They retraced their way along the railroad track. Randy walked along the rail, balancing herself from time to time by a touch on Parris’ shoulder. He felt quite happy when she did this and stayed carefully in easy reach.

Drake walked on the other rail, flapping his arms with a great show. “It’s hard to walk fast and not fall off,” he explained. “Say,” he said, “I bet you’re Jake Elroy’s girl.”

“I am not any such.” She made the denial without any apparent rancor.

“I bet if he’d a-said to you what I said back there in the icehouse, you wouldn’t a-kicked him in the ribs.”

“You’re a liar, Drake McHugh,” she replied calmly.

Drake laughed and lost his balance. “All the same, he told me something ’bout you.”

“What?”

“ ’Bout you and him.”

“It was a lie if he said it.”

“Honest?”

“ ’Course it was. Wasn’t it, Parris?”

“I don’t know. What did he say?”

Both Randy and Drake lost their balance this time.

“I told you Parris didn’t know much of anything, didn’t I?”

“I guess he knows enough to know you’re tellin’ lies. Anyway,” she added, “I think Parris is nice.”

Parris turned fiery red.

Randy ran up the embankment. “ ’By, you all.”

“I’m comin’ down this way again sometimes,” Drake said. Parris thought there seemed to be some sort of special meaning to the words.

“All right,” she answered carelessly. “It’s a free country, I guess.”

Parris trudged toward home. He was tired and his feet felt heavy. It had been a very long day—like a whole week. The sunlight was beginning to slant now. He hastened his pace a little. It must be nearly suppertime. He realized that he was hungry.

He felt strangely happy. Nothing much ever happened at home. One day was like another. Today had been different—this afternoon he had entered on a wider experience. Drake seemed to know so much, and to understand and be familiar with many things that he vaguely guessed about. He felt that he was a closer friend of Drake’s than he had ever been before. It would be exciting to see him often. And Randy, too. He had never imagined she would be so amusing. He thought of Renée with a sudden stab of contrition. He hadn’t thought of her all day, and she was certainly his best friend. It might be best not to tell her about Randy. Renée had such a queer way of looking at him when he told her about anyone else. He thought, too, that he wouldn’t talk to Drake about Renée. It was all right for Drake to joke the way he did with Randy, but he wouldn’t like him to talk that way to Renée. Renée was so quiet, and it would hurt her feelings, maybe.

It gave him a very pleasant sensation to think about Renée as his best friend—his very best friend. Randy was like a boy—sort of. He remembered the way she looked when she swung from the rings. He knew that Renée made him feel—another kind of way entirely. He supposed it was because he liked her so much better.