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  CHAPTER XXVII CONCLUSION OF THE QUIET AFTERNOON

  It was during the discussion of the details of this enterprise thatGeorgie's mother, a short distance down the street, received a fewfemale callers, who came by appointment to drink a glass of iced teawith her, and to meet the Rev. Mr. Kinosling. Mr. Kinosling was provingalmost formidably interesting to the women and girls of his ownand other flocks. What favour of his fellow clergymen a slightprecociousness of manner and pronunciation cost him was more thanbalanced by the visible ecstasies of ladies. They blossomed at histouch.

  He had just entered Mrs. Bassett's front door, when the son of thehouse, followed by an intent and earnest company of four, opened thealley gate and came into the yard. The unconscious Mrs. Bassett wasabout to have her first experience of a fatal coincidence. It was herfirst, because she was the mother of a boy so well behaved that he hadbecome a proverb of transcendency. Fatal coincidences were plentifulin the Schofield and Williams families, and would have been familiar toMrs. Bassett had Georgie been permitted greater intimacy with Penrod andSam.

  Mr. Kinosling sipped his iced tea and looked about, him approvingly.Seven ladies leaned forward, for it was to be seen that he meant tospeak.

  "This cool room is a relief," he said, waving a graceful hand ina neatly limited gesture, which everybody's eyes followed, his ownincluded. "It is a relief and a retreat. The windows open, the blindsclosed--that is as it should be. It is a retreat, a fastness, a bastionagainst the heat's assault. For me, a quiet room--a quiet room and abook, a volume in the hand, held lightly between the fingers. A volumeof poems, lines metrical and cadenced; something by a sound Victorian.We have no later poets."

  "Swinburne?" suggested Miss Beam, an eager spinster. "Swinburne, Mr.Kinosling? Ah, SWINBURNE!"

  "Not Swinburne," said Mr. Kinosling chastely. "No."

  That concluded all the remarks about Swinburne.

  Miss Beam retired in confusion behind another lady; and somehow therebecame diffused an impression that Miss Beam was erotic.

  "I do not observe your manly little son," Mr. Kinosling addressed hishostess.

  "He's out playing in the yard," Mrs. Bassett returned. "I heard hisvoice just now, I think."

  "Everywhere I hear wonderful report of him," said Mr. Kinosling. "Imay say that I understand boys, and I feel that he is a rare, a fine, apure, a lofty spirit. I say spirit, for spirit is the word I hear spokenof him."

  A chorus of enthusiastic approbation affirmed the accuracy of thisproclamation, and Mrs. Bassett flushed with pleasure. Georgie'sspiritual perfection was demonstrated by instances of it, related bythe visitors; his piety was cited, and wonderful things he had said werequoted.

  "Not all boys are pure, of fine spirit, of high mind," said Mr.Kinosling, and continued with true feeling: "You have a neighbour, dearMrs. Bassett, whose household I indeed really feel it quite impossibleto visit until such time when better, firmer, stronger handed, moredetermined discipline shall prevail. I find Mr. and Mrs. Schofield andtheir daughter charming----"

  Three or four ladies said "Oh!" and spoke a name simultaneously. It wasas if they had said, "Oh, the bubonic plague!"

  "Oh! Penrod Schofield!"

  "Georgie does not play with him," said Mrs. Bassett quickly--"thatis, he avoids him as much as he can without hurting Penrod's feelings.Georgie is very sensitive to giving pain. I suppose a mother should nottell these things, and I know people who talk about their own childrenare dreadful bores, but it was only last Thursday night that Georgielooked up in my face so sweetly, after he had said his prayers and hislittle cheeks flushed, as he said: 'Mamma, I think it would be right forme to go more with Penrod. I think it would make him a better boy.'"

  A sibilance went about the room. "Sweet! How sweet! The sweet littlesoul! Ah, SWEET!"

  "And that very afternoon," continued Mrs. Bassett, "he had come home ina dreadful state. Penrod had thrown tar all over him."

  "Your son has a forgiving spirit!" said Mr. Kinosling with vehemence. "Atoo forgiving spirit, perhaps." He set down his glass. "No more, I thankyou. No more cake, I thank you. Was it not Cardinal Newman who said----"

  He was interrupted by the sounds of an altercation just outside theclosed blinds of the window nearest him.

  "Let him pick his tree!" It was the voice of Samuel Williams. "Didn't wecome over here to give him one of his own trees? Give him a fair show,can't you?"

  "The little lads!" Mr. Kinosling smiled. "They have their games, theiroutdoor sports, their pastimes. The young muscles are toughening. Thesun will not harm them. They grow; they expand; they learn. They learnfair play, honour, courtesy, from one another, as pebbles grow roundin the brook. They learn more from themselves than from us. They takeshape, form, outline. Let them."

  "Mr. Kinosling!" Another spinster--undeterred by what had happenedto Miss Beam--leaned fair forward, her face shining and ardent. "Mr.Kinosling, there's a question I DO wish to ask you."

  "My dear Miss Cosslit," Mr. Kinosling responded, again waving his handand watching it, "I am entirely at your disposal."

  "WAS Joan of Arc," she asked fervently, "inspired by spirits?"

  He smiled indulgently. "Yes--and no," he said. "One must give bothanswers. One must give the answer, yes; one must give the answer, no."

  "Oh, THANK you!" said Miss Cosslit, blushing.

  "She's one of my great enthusiasms, you know."

  "And I have a question, too," urged Mrs. Lora Rewbush, after a moment'shasty concentration. "'I've never been able to settle it for myself, butNOW----"

  "Yes?" said Mr. Kinosling encouragingly.

  "Is--ah--is--oh, yes: Is Sanskrit a more difficult language thanSpanish, Mr. Kinosling?"

  "It depends upon the student," replied the oracle smiling. "One must notlook for linguists everywhere. In my own especial case--if one may citeone's self as an example--I found no great, no insurmountable difficultyin mastering, in conquering either."

  "And may _I_ ask one?" ventured Mrs. Bassett. "Do you think it is rightto wear egrets?"

  "There are marks of quality, of caste, of social distinction," Mr.Kinosling began, "which must be permitted, allowed, though perhapsregulated. Social distinction, one observes, almost invariablyimplies spiritual distinction as well. Distinction of circumstancesis accompanied by mental distinction. Distinction is hereditary; itdescends from father to son, and if there is one thing more truethan 'Like father, like son,' it is--" he bowed gallantly to Mrs.Bassett--"it is, 'Like mother, like son.' What these good ladies havesaid this afternoon of YOUR----"

  This was the fatal instant. There smote upon all ears the voice ofGeorgie, painfully shrill and penetrating--fraught with protest andprotracted, strain. His plain words consisted of the newly sanctionedand disinfected curse with a big H.

  With an ejaculation of horror, Mrs. Bassett sprang to the window andthrew open the blinds.

  Georgie's back was disclosed to the view of the tea-party. He wasendeavouring to ascend a maple tree about twelve feet from the window.Embracing the trunk with arms and legs, he had managed to squirm to apoint above the heads of Penrod and Herman, who stood close by, watchinghim earnestly--Penrod being obviously in charge of the performance.Across the yard were Sam Williams and Maurice Levy, acting as a jury onthe question of voice-power, and it was to a complaint of theirs thatGeorgie had just replied.

  "That's right, Georgie," said Penrod encouragingly. "They can, too, hearyou. Let her go!"

  "Going to heaven!" shrieked Georgie, squirming up another inch. "Goingto heaven, heaven, heaven!"

  His mother's frenzied attempts to attract his attention failed utterly.Georgie was using the full power of his lungs, deafening his own ears toall other sounds. Mrs. Bassett called in vain; while the tea-party stoodpetrified in a cluster about the window.

  "Going to heaven!" Georgie bellowed. "Going to heaven! Going to heaven,my Lord! Going to heaven, heaven, heaven!"

  He tried to climb higher, but began to slip downward, his exertionscausing damage to his appar
el. A button flew into the air, and hisknickerbockers and his waistband severed relations.

  "Devil's got my coat-tails, sinners! Old devil's got my coat-tails!" heannounced appropriately. Then he began to slide.

  He relaxed his clasp of the tree and slid to the ground.

  "Going to hell!" shrieked Georgie, reaching a high pitch of enthusiasmin this great climax. "Going to hell! Going to hell! I'm gone to hell,hell, hell!"

  With a loud scream, Mrs. Bassett threw herself out of the window,alighting by some miracle upon her feet with ankles unsprained.

  Mr. Kinosling, feeling that his presence as spiritual adviser wasdemanded in the yard, followed with greater dignity through the frontdoor. At the corner of the house a small departing figure collided withhim violently. It was Penrod, tactfully withdrawing from what promisedto be a family scene of unusual painfulness.

  Mr. Kinosling seized him by the shoulders and, giving way to emotion,shook him viciously.

  "You horrible boy!" exclaimed Mr. Kinosling. "You ruffianly creature! Doyou know what's going to happen to you when you grow up? Do you realizewhat you're going to BE!"

  With flashing eyes, the indignant boy made know his unshaken purpose. Heshouted the reply:

  "A minister!"