Читать книгу The Tennessee Shad - Owen Johnson - Страница 5

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Doc Macnooder bore no grudge. Even the recollected spasms of what might properly be termed his youthful Indigestion, brought with them no feeling of malice toward the Tennessee Shad. On the contrary though his attempts at a mercantile union were continually repulsed, the determination held fast within him to turn to profit what was now only turned to mischief, and accident finally supplied the welding touch in the following manner.

In those days when the Gymnasium was still an oft-promised land, the winter term, from January to April, was to the embattled Faculty what the Indian season was to the early pioneers. Four hundred-odd, combustible boys, deprived of outlet, cooped up for days by slush and sleet, presented in miniature that same state of frothy unrest from which spout forth South American somersaults and Balkan explosions.

It takes usually two weeks for the exhausted boy to recuperate from the Christmas vacation, but from about the twentieth of January the physical body overtakes the imagination and things begin to happen.

Toward the first week of February there gathered in the Triumphant Egghead’s room ten disgusted members of the House, utterly wearied with life, especially bored with the present and without the slightest hope for the future.

Outside a steady, sleety downpour brought feeble icicles from the roof and ran rivulets through the muddied snowbanks.

“Now, it’s turned to rain again,” announced Hungry Smeed, with his nose applied to the window-pane while his waving heels cast shadows on the wall. “Nice, wet, oozy, luscious rain.”

“Let’s all go bicycling,” said Lovely Mead facetiously.

“What time is it?” asked the Gutter Pup from the crowd on the couch.

“Just two o’clock.”

A groan went up.

“Is that all?”

“Thought it was after four.”

“What is there to do?”

“It’s still raining, fellows,” said Smeed from the window, and the conversation ceased.

“Do you think Yale’ll beat Princeton?” asked Turkey Reiter at last.

“Stop trying to make conversation,” said Doc Macnooder resentfully, “and don’t move any more; you’re the deuce of a sofa pillow.”

“Who’s going to the Prom?” inquired Crazy Opdyke feebly.

“Crazy, you annoy me,” said Butcher; “you annoy me and disturb my rest. Don’t propound questions.”

“Say, fellows!” said Smeed in great excitement.

“What?”

“It’s snowing!”

The door opened a crack and the Tennessee Shad slipped in.

“What’s doing, fellows?”

“We’re exhausted with excitement!” said Old Ironsides Smith sarcastically. “We’re trying to rest up for the next debauch, you precocious young skeleton.”

“Say, fellows, I’ve got an idea,” said the Tennessee Shad, draping himself over the desk.

“Oh, go away!”

“It’s a corker!”

“Huh! Another of those witch-hazel rabbits?”

“No, no,” said the Tennessee Shad, hurriedly skipping that disastrous episode. “This is a sensation!”

“Of course!”

“Never mind—let him speak his piece.”

“Let’s form,” said the Tennessee Shad slowly—“let’s form a Criminal Club.”

“A what?”

Macnooder, with an awakening hope, sat up, wondering if the brain factory was again working.

“Criminal Club—convicts and that sort of thing. We’ll shave off our heads and go about lock-step.”

“And initiate new members?” cried Goat Finney.

“Sure.”

“And go into chapel to-morrow morning lock-step?”

“Of course!”

“Gee, what a peach of an idea!”

“Can you see the Doctor’s face?”

“Oh, mother!”

“Hurray!”

“Hurrah!”

“Hurroo!”

Into the dry pit of baffled energy an idea had fallen, and in a moment all was flame and fury.

“Shad, this is a good one,” said Turkey, rousing himself. “We’ll call it quits on that rabbit—only—only, remembering the past, we would like to have assurances from you, assurances and guarantees.”

“I second the motion most emphatically,” said the Gutter Pup revengefully.

The fate of the Criminal Club hung in the balance.

“Look at this,” said the Tennessee Shad. And he removed his sombrero.

From ear to ear, from the nape of his neck to the blade of his nose, he was as smooth as a china egg. The day was won in a rollicking cheer.

“Oh, look at him! Look at him!”

“Isn’t he wonderful?”

“Bee-oo-tiful!”

“Me for a convict!”

“Can you see the sensation?”

“Bully for the Shad!”

“Let’s do it now.”

“Come on!”

Five minutes of scurrying to and fro, for scissors and shaving kits, and the Triumphant Egghead’s room presented the spectacle of an improvised barber shop.

“How’ll we begin?” said the Gutter Pup.

“Who goes first?”

“Supposin’ we draw for it.”

“Who does the shaving?”

“We can’t shave back of our own ears.”

“The way to do it,” said Macnooder, looking at the Tennessee Shad, “is for one-half of us to shave the other half.”

“That’s it.”

“Let her go at that.”

“Who first?”

But here a difficulty arose. No one cared to go first.

“This won’t do,” said the fiery-headed Gutter Pup, repulsing the offers of Doc Macnooder. “If I’m going to shed my shade trees—I don’t trust any man, least of all Doc Macnooder.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean no one scalps any of my hair till I get a guarantee off his.”

“Rats!” said the Tennessee Shad. “Gutter Pup’s a natural-born kicker. Go ahead, Doc, and give him an object-lesson.”

But Macnooder, though sympathetic to the Tennessee Shad, was on the defensive as far as it concerned the Gutter Pup.

“In the present state of the Gutter Pup’s mind—no!” he said thoughtfully. “No, I’ve got to see a nice white boulevard on those red lands before I consent to laying out mine.”

“Will some one else start her up?”

In the silence that ensued Old Ironsides noisily dropped a pin.

“Shad,” said the pessimistic Egghead, “it’s a good scheme of yours, a bully good scheme; the only trouble is there doesn’t seem to be enough mutual confidence. I guess the verdict’ll have to be premature death.”

“Shad, old sporting print,” said Turkey, “have you any suggestion for harmony?”

“Nothing easier,” said the Tennessee Shad, locking the door and pocketing the key. “There’s one guarantee and here’s another. Stand up, form a circle, every one face the man to his right, grab the shoulders of the man in front of you, sit down slowly on the knees of the fellow behind you, the fellow in front sits down on yours, slowly, slowly. There you are. That’s the way the Zouaves do it.”

The ten found themselves in a circle, comfortably seated and seating.

“There’s the answer,” said the ringmaster triumphantly; “you shave and get shaved, no first and no last; the happy family; safety razors only. Now, get up, stick on the towels and start with the scissors first.”

The Tennessee Shad enthroned himself on a table as master of ceremonies, while the hilarious circle formed about him in a bedlam of exclamation.

“How the deuce is Hungry Smeed going to reach up to Turkey?”

“Stick him on a chair, you chump!”

“I don’t want the Gutter Pup.”

“Aw, send him over here.”

“Stop bobbing that head, you Butcher.”

“Shorten the circle.”

“I can’t get Crazy’s scalp lock.”

“When do we begin?”

“Say when, Shad.”

“All ready.”

“Let her go!” said the Tennessee Shad from his perch.

Pretty soon protests broke out.

“Ouch!”

“Do you think you’re biting them off?”

“Be a little careless back there.”

“Say, who’s got the Gutter Pup? Murder him!”

“Moses!”

“Kezowy!”

“Help!”

“Better be careful,” said the Tennessee Shad warningly; “in a moment you’re going to face the other way.”

The shears snipped more gently.

“What do we do when we get through the back?” said Goat Finney.

“You lather it and shave.”

“What about the rest?”

“The front’s easy enough; any one can do that.”

In an hour every head was as bald as a sapling in a hurricane. They stood and gazed at one another, shrieking with laughter. They hugged one another, rolled on the floor in joyful battling groups, and blessed the imagination that had turned a slough of despond into a vaudeville. On the last stroke of the dinner-bell, solemnly, in lock-step, led by Hungry Smeed and grading up to the mighty Turkey Reiter, eleven glistening heads in sequence descended on the dining-room. At the same moment, from the north entrance, appeared a chain-gang of eight, equally void of hair, led by Mucker Reilly, followed by Snorky Green, Beauty Sautelle, Tough McCarthy, Charlie DeSoto, Piggy Moore, Pink Rabbit and the Waladoo Bird!

The duplicity of the Tennessee Shad was forgotten in the masterly climax he had imagined. The rival clubs met and agreed to proselyte and divide the school.

At eight o’clock the next morning, when the Doctor, all unaware, stood in his pulpit, rubbing his glasses and shooting careful glances along the crowded pews, suddenly a shriek went up. Marching proudly with gleeful faces, two gangs of bald-headed boys suddenly appeared abreast, and in rhythmic step came down the aisles amid the gasps, the shrieks and roars of the school.

Now, there are two things a head master must control: his temper and, above all, his sense of humor. The situation was serious; a smile would have been fatal. Something had to be done at once or within a day there would not be enough hair left in the excited school to tuft the head of a Japanese doll. He set his teeth and stared his most terrific stare at a point where the double row of bald heads faded from the vision. Luckily the service allowed him to stifle his amusement and fan up his wrath by calling up the horrible vision of the threatening epidemic.

“Never in my experience, in my whole experience as a scholar or a teacher,” he began, glaring with painful ferocity at the denuded culprits, “never have I known such willful, malicious and outrageous desecration of the house of the Lord as you young scalawags have shown to-day. I do not know whether I shall expel you outright or deprive you of your diplomas; I shall wait until I can consider the matter more calmly. But this I can say right now, if any other incipient imbecile in this school dares to imitate this exhibition of monumental asininity that boy will leave this school within an hour and never return. I will see these deluded boys in my study after lunch.”

The members of the newly-formed Housebreakers’ Union went out quietly, stealing apprehensive glances at one another.

At two o’clock, as they huddled together in the solemn study, each striving to occupy an unexposed position, T. Dean Smith, secretary, appeared, and, after gazing in fascination at them, said:

“Well, boys, you certainly have riled the Doctor this time. You’d better go back quietly.”

“Oh, Smithy, won’t he see us?” said the Pink Rabbit in a panic, while others exclaimed:

“Is he going to fire us?”

“Will he take away our dips?”

“What does he say?”

“Is he mad as a hornet?”

“He says he won’t trust himself to see you now,” said Smith gravely, without mentioning the reason why the mirth-tortured Doctor wouldn’t trust himself to face that side-splitting spectacle. “I’d lay pretty quiet for a while, if I were you fellows. Let it blow over a little.”

“Gee!” said the Tennessee Shad in disgust, as they filed through the gloomy portals. “Can’t he have a sense of humor?”

T. Dean Smith glanced at the curtains of the Doctor’s sanctum, but did not reply. Instead he stood on the top step gazing down on them with a sardonic smile.

“You’ll be a beautiful sight at the Prom, you will!” he said and entered the house. His words fell like a bomb.

“Geewhilikens!”

“Holy cats and mice!”

“I never thought of that!”

“Give me the dunce cap!”

“Of all the fools!”

“Goats!”

“Asses!”

“Idiots!”

“My whole family’s coming.”

“The family’s not what’s worrying me.”

“Who started us on this fool stunt?”

“The Tennessee Shad.”

“Rough-house him!”

“Hold up! I’m in the same boat,” cried the Tennessee Shad. “Don’t lose your blooming heads; the Prom’s two weeks off!”

“Two weeks?” shouted the Gutter Pup, with a glitter in his eye. “What’s two weeks going to do? Do you think we can get respectable in two weeks?”

“Nothing easier,” said the Tennessee Shad. “Hair tonic!”

“Fall in line,” said Macnooder, seizing instantly the suggestion.

The eleven convicts and the eight housebreakers assumed a chain-gang formation.

“About face!”

“Mark time!”

“Right, left!”

“Forward, march!”

Lock-step, pounding the ground, they went swiftly toward the village and descended on the vendors of hair lotions.

That night the commercial Macnooder appeared at the rooms of the Tennessee Shad and found the door barricaded. He knocked gently in a coaxing friendly way.

“Who’s that?” said the Tennessee Shad after their eyes had met, through the keyhole.

“Hist! It’s Doc Macnooder. Open up.”

“I’m studying,” said the Tennessee Shad, too tired to choose his lies.

“Shad I come not to take your hard-earned money but to do you good,” said Macnooder soothingly, using his well known formula. “Will you listen?”

“Elucidate,” said the Tennessee Shad, drawing up a chair on his side of the door.

Macnooder camping down said with the confidence that a great idea alone can inspire:

“Shad, I’ve approached you many a time and oft with a few little suggestions for adding a few coupons and bonds to our worldly possessions. You have rejected my partnership.”

“I have a soul above money,” said the Shad, moving his ear however, a little closer to the keyhole.

“This is my last, positively last offer,” said Macnooder firmly. “Accept it and we sign articles of partnership, share and share alike, in a month you will drive your own horse and carriage, wear diamond studs and sport a jewel-studded gold pencil,—refuse and—”

“And what?” said The Tennessee Shad.

“You won’t refuse, you can’t refuse! Now listen.”

Three minutes later the bolts slipped and the Tennessee Shad led Doc Macnooder to the easy chair and propped him up with cushions.

That night the joyful Macnooder transformed his room into a barber shop, with rows of lotions and glassy ointments, announced the Tennessee Shad as partner and hung out this shingle:

THE IMPERIAL TONSORIAL PARLORS

MACNOODER AND THE TENNESSEE SHAD

BOSS BARBERS

CASH, MORE CASH, AND NOTHING BUT

CASH!

Massage	$ .03
Friction with any hair encourager	.05
Vaselining	.03
Three-in-One	.10
Two weeks’ treatment	1.25

No towels supplied.

The Macnooder treatment coaxes forth the hair, seizes and stretches it, makes it long and curly. Long and curly hair means social success at the Prom; social success means retaining the affections of the fair!

Don’t hesitate, don’t calculate, do it now!

Come early, come often and bring the children!

Two weeks to cover their nakedness, two weeks to meet the all-seeing feminine eye. That night, each greased hopeful went to bed with a prayer for the morrow.

At the stroke of the rising bell the Gutter Pup catapulted out of bed and flung himself anxiously before his mirror and remained transfixed with despair at the sight of two elephantine ears flanking a snow-white cranium that had not been covered over night with hair. At this moment a groan arose from Lovely Mead’s room across the study.

“Is that you, Lovely?” said the Gutter Pup, fascinated by the horrible caricature in the mirror.

“It is.”

“What luck?”

“Nothing!”

“Nothing here.”

The door opened on the Triumphant Egghead and Hungry Smeed in pajamas.

“What luck, you fellows?”

“Don’t ask!”

“I’ve got a couple of shoots on top,” said the Egghead; “but that’s where Butcher Stevens’ razor missed me. Isn’t it awful?”

“When do you suppose it’ll come out again?”

“There must be something to-morrow morning.”

“What will we look like at the Prom?”

“I’m desperate,” said the Triumphant Egghead. “I’ve got an Apollo Belvedere rival who stays at home. Jerusalem, where will I be now when she sees this!”

“We must load up with starchy food and drink lots of phosphates at the jigger shop,” said Hungry Smeed wisely.

“Do you think anything’ll show up by to-morrow?”

“Oh, Lovely, it must!”

“How’re the others?”

“Smooth as a rink.”

Every spare hour was spent in following a new theory; if persistency and ingenuity could have done it they would have succeeded, or had there been any faith in newspaper advertisements or honor in the labels of patent hair-restorers.

They rubbed and greased and dosed themselves, they caught at the first shoots and shut their jaws and pulled, morning, afternoon and night, and at last, when the inexorable Prom. came galloping in, they went in hangdog fashion, balking and blushing, to meet the shrieks that greeted their first bow.

That night the Tennessee Shad sat among the lonely anti-fussers who roosted on the chilly edges of the Esplanade and scoffed at the gayety within.

It was cold, uncomfortably cold, and one by one the frost-nipped spectators slipped away until only the Tennessee Shad remained, fascinated. As each stubble-covered, flap-eared dupe bumped his embarrassed way into view he half closed his eyes and smiled a contented, far-away smile.

The Tennessee Shad had never danced!