Читать книгу Henry Is Twenty: A Further Episodic History of Henry Calverly, 3rd - Merwin Samuel, Webster Henry Kitchell - Страница 8

It was nearly five o’clock when Humphrey reached his barn at the rear of the Parmenter place. He found the outside door ajar.

‘Hen’s here now,’ he thought.

He stepped within the dim shop, that had once been a carriage room, called, ‘Hello there!’ and crossed to the narrow stairway. There was no answer. He went on up.

On the rug in the centre of the living-room floor was a heap consisting of an old trunk, a suit-case, a guitar in an old green woollen bag, two canes, an umbrella, and various loose objects – books, a small stand of shelves, two overcoats, hats, and a wire rack full of photographs.

The polished oak post at the head of the stairs was chipped, where they had pushed the trunk around. Humphrey fingered the spot; found the splinter on the floor; muttered, ‘I’ll glue it on, and rub over the cracks.’

He looked again at the disorderly heap in the centre of the room. ‘It didn’t occur to him to stow’em away,’ he mused. ‘Probably didn’t know where to put ‘em.’

He set to work, hauling the trunk into a little unfinished room next to his own bedroom. He had meant to make a kitchen of this some day. He carried in the other things; then got a dust-pan and brushed off the rug.

The rooms were clean and tidy. Humphrey was a born bachelor; he had the knack of living, alone in comfort. His books occupied all one wall of his bedroom, handy for night reading. He had running water there, and electric lights placed conveniently by the books, beside his mirror, and at the head of his bed.

He stood now in the living-room, humming softly and looking around with knit brows. After a few moments he stopped humming. He was struggling against a slight but definite depression. He had known it would be hard to give up room in his comfortable quarters to another; he had not known it would be as hard as it was now plainly to be. He started humming again, and moved about, straightening the furniture. This oddly pleasant home was his citadel. He had himself evolved it, in every detail, from a dusty, cobwebby old bam interior. He had run the wires and installed the water pipes and fixtures with his own hands. He seldom even asked his acquaintances in. There seemed no strong reason why he should do so.

‘Hen shouldn’t have left the door open like that,’ he mused.

He thrust his hands into his pockets and whistled a little. Then he sighed.

‘Well,’ he thought, ‘needn’t be a hog. It’s my chance to do a fairly decent turn. The boy hasn’t a soul. Not yet.

He isn’t the sort you can safely leave by himself. Got to be organised. Very likely I’ve got to build him over from the ground up. Might try making him read history. God knows he needs background. It’ll take time. And patience. All I’ve got. Help him, little by little, to get hold of his self-esteem. Teach the kid to laugh again. That’s it. I’ve taken it on. Can’t quit. It seems to be my job.’ And he sighed again. ‘Have to get him a key of his own.’

There were footsteps below. Henry, his arms full of personal treasures and garments he had overlooked in packing, came slowly up the stairs.

‘I put your things in there,’ Humphrey pointed. ‘We’ll move the box couch in for you to-night.’

‘That’ll be fine,’ said Henry, aimless of eye, weak of voice.

Humphrey’s eyes followed him as he passed into the improvised bedroom; and he compressed his lips and shook his head.

Shortly Henry came out and sank mournfully on a chair. It was time for the first lesson. ‘There’s simply no life in the boy,’ thought Humphrey. He cleared his throat, and said aloud: —

‘Tell you what, Hen. We’ll celebrate a little, this first evening. I’ve got a couple of chafing dishes and some odds and ends of food. And I make excellent drip coffee. If you’ll go over to Berger’s and get a pound or so of cheese for the rabbit, I’ll look the situation over and figure out a meal. Charge it to me. I have an account there.’

Henry, without change of expression, got slowly up, said, ‘All right,’ hung around for a little time, wandering about the room, and finally wandered off down the stairs and out.

He returned at twenty minutes past midnight.

Humphrey was abed, reading Smith’ on Torsion. He put down the book and waited. He had left lights on downstairs and in the living-room. Since six o’clock he had passed through many and extreme states of feeling; at present he was in a state of suspense between worry and strongly suppressed wrath.

Henry came into the room – a little flushed, bright of eye, the sensitive corners of his mouth twitching nervously, alertly, happily upward. He even actually chuckled.

‘Well, where – on – earth…

Henry waved a light hand. ‘Queerest thing happened. But say, I guess I owe you an apology, sorta. I ought to have sent word or something. Everything happened so quickly. You know how it is. When you’re sorta swept off your feet like that – ’

‘Like what!’

‘Oh – well, it was like this. I went over to get the cheese… Funny, it doesn’t seem as if it could have been to-day! Seems as if it was weeks ago that I moved my things over.’ His eyes roved about the room; lingered on the books; followed out the details of the neat surface wiring with sudden interest.

‘Go on!’ From Humphrey, this, with grim emphasis that was wholly lost on the self-absorbed youth.

‘Oh yes! Well, you see, I went over to Berger’s and got the cheese; and just as I was coming out I ran into Mrs Henderson and Corinne.’

‘Who!’

‘Corinne Doag. You know. She’s visiting there. Well, sir, I could have died right there. Fussed me so I turned around and was going back into the store. I was just plain rattled. And you were right about Mrs Henderson. She was kinda mad. She made me stand right up and take a scolding. Shook her finger at me right, there in front of Berger’s. That fussed me worse. Gee! I was red all over. But you see it sorta fussed Corinne Doag too – she was standing right there – and she got a little red. Wasn’t it a scene, though! Sorta made us acquainted right off. You know, threw us together. Then she – Mrs Henderson – said I didn’t deserve to meet a girl with verve and timbre, but just to show she wasn’t the kind to harbour angry feelings she’d introduce us. And – and – I walked along home with’em.’

He was looking again at the solid ranks of books that extended, floor to ceiling, across the end wall.

‘Say, Hump, you don’t mean to say you really read all those!’

‘You walked home with them. Go on.’

‘Oh, well, they asked me to stay to supper, and I did, and some folks came in, and we sang and things, and then we – oh, yes, how much was the cheese?’

‘How in thunder do I know?’

‘Well – there was a pound of it – Mrs Henderson made a rabbit.

The none too subtle chill in the atmosphere about Humphrey seemed at last to be meeting and somewhat subduing the exuberant good cheer that radiated from Henry. He fell to fingering his moustache, and studying the bed-posts. Once or twice, he looked up, hesitated on the brink of speech, only to lower his eyes again.

Then, unexpectedly, he chuckled aloud, and said, ‘She’s a wonderful girl. At first she seems quiet, but when you get to know her… going to take a walk with me to-morrow morning. She was going to church with Mrs H., but I told her we’d worship in God’s great outdoor temple.’

He yawned now. And stretched, deliberately, luxuriously like a healthy animal, his arms above his head.

‘Well,’ said he, ‘it’s late as all get out. I suppose you want to go to sleep.’ He got as far as the door, then leaned confidingly against the wall. ‘Look here, Hump, I don’t want you to think I don’t appreciate your taking me in like this. It’s dam nice of you. Don’t know what I’d have done if it wasn’t for you. Well, good-night.’

He got part way out the door this time; then, brushed by a wave of his earlier moody self-consciousness, turned back. He even came in and leaned over the foot of the bed, and flushed a little. It occurred to Humphrey that the boy appeared to be momentarily ashamed of his present happiness.

‘Do you know what was the matter with me?’ he broke out. ‘It was just what you said. I was taking things too hard. The great thing is to be rational, normal. Thing with me was I used to go to one extreme and now these last two years I’ve been going with all my might to the other. Of course it wouldn’t work… Do you know who’s helped me a whole lot? You’d never guess.’ Rather shamefaced, he drew from his pocket a little book bound in olive-green ‘ooze’ leather. ‘It’s this old fellow. Epictetus. Listen to what he says – “To the rational animal only is the irrational intolerable.” That was the trouble with me. I just wasn’t a rational animal. I wasn’t… Well, I’ve got to say good-night.’

This time he went.

Humphrey heard him getting out of his clothes and into the bed that Humphrey himself had made up on the box couch. It seemed only a moment later that he was snoring – softly, slowly, comfortably, like a rational animal.

The minute hand of the alarm clock on Humphrey’s bureau crept up to twelve, the hour hand to one. Then came a single resonant, reverberating boom from the big clock up at the university.

Slowly, lips compressed, Humphrey got up, and in his pyjamas and slippers went downstairs and switched off the door light he found burning there. The stair light could be turned off upstairs.

Then, instead of going up, he opened the door and stood looking out on the calm village night.

‘Of all the – ’ he muttered inconclusively. ‘Why it’s – he’s a – Good God! It’s the limit! It’s – it’s intolerable.’

The word, floating from his own lips, caught his ear. His frown began, very slowly, to relax. A dry, grudging smile wrinkled its way across his mobile face. And he nodded, deliberately. ‘Epictetus,’ he remarked, ‘was right.’