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Seventeen
CHAPTER XI. BEGINNING A TRUE FRIENDSHIP
Booth Tarkington
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       _ This was Miss Jane Baxter. She opened her
       eyes upon the new-born day, and her first
       thoughts were of Mr. Parcher. That is, he was
       already in her mind when she awoke, a circumstance
       to be accounted for on the ground that his
       conversation, during her quiet convalescence in
       his library, had so fascinated her that in all
       likelihood she had been dreaming of him. Then, too,
       Jane and Mr. Parcher had a bond in common,
       though Mr. Parcher did not know it. Not without
       result had William repeated Miss Pratt's
       inquiry in Jane's hearing: ``Who IS that curious
       child?'' Jane had preserved her sang-froid, but
       the words remained with her, for she was one of
       those who ponder and retain in silence.
       She thought almost exclusively of Mr. Parcher
       until breakfast-time, and resumed her thinking
       of him at intervals during the morning. Then,
       in the afternoon, a series of quiet events not
       unconnected with William's passion caused her to
       think of Mr. Parcher more poignantly than ever;
       nor was her mind diverted to a different channel
       by another confidential conversation with her
       mother. Who can say, then, that it was not by
       design that she came face to face with Mr.
       Parcher on the public highway at about five
       o'clock that afternoon? Everything urges the
       belief that she deliberately set herself in his path.
       Mr. Parcher was walking home from his office,
       and he walked slowly, gulping from time to time,
       as he thought of the inevitable evening before
       him. His was not a rugged constitution, and for
       the last fortnight or so he had feared that it was
       giving way altogether. Each evening he felt
       that he was growing weaker, and sometimes he
       thought piteously that he might go away for a
       while. He did not much care where, though what
       appealed to him most, curiously enough, was not
       the thought of the country, with the flowers and
       little birds; no, what allured him was the idea
       that perhaps he could find lodgment for a time
       in an Old People's Home, where the minimum
       age for inmates was about eighty.
       Walking more and more slowly, as he
       approached the dwelling he had once thought of as
       home, he became aware of a little girl in a
       checkered dress approaching him at a gait varied by
       the indifferent behavior of a barrel-hoop which
       she was disciplining with a stick held in her right
       hand. When the hoop behaved well, she came
       ahead rapidly; when it affected to be intoxicated,
       which was most often its whim, she zigzagged
       with it, and gained little ground. But all the
       while, and without reference to what went on
       concerning the hoop, she slowly and continuously
       fed herself (with her left hand) small, solemnly
       relished bites of a slice of bread-and-butter covered
       with apple sauce and powdered sugar.
       Mr. Parcher looked upon her, and he shivered
       slightly; for he knew her to be Willie Baxter's
       sister.
       Unaware of the emotion she produced in him,
       Jane checked her hoop and halted.
       ``G'd afternoon, Mister Parcher,'' she said,
       gravely.
       ``Good afternoon,'' he returned, without much
       spirit.
       Jane looked up at him trustfully and with a
       strange, unconscious fondness. ``You goin' home
       now, Mr. Parcher?'' she asked, turning to walk
       at his side. She had suspended the hoop over
       her left arm and transferred the bread-and-butter
       and apple sauce and sugar to her right, so that
       she could eat even more conveniently than
       before.
       ``I suppose so,'' he murmured.
       ``My brother Willie's been at your house all
       afternoon,'' she remarked.
       He repeated, ``I suppose so,'' but in a tone
       which combined the vocal tokens of misery and
       of hopeless animosity.
       ``He just went home,'' said Jane. ``I was 'cross
       the street from your house, but I guess he didn't
       see me. He kept lookin' back at your house.
       Miss Pratt was on the porch.''
       ``I suppose so.'' This time it was a moan.
       Jane proceeded to give him some information.
       ``My brother Willie isn't comin' back to your
       house to-night, but he doesn't know it yet.''
       ``What!'' exclaimed Mr. Parcher.
       ``Willie isn't goin' to spend any more evenings
       at your house at all,'' said Jane, thoughtfully.
       ``He isn't, but he doesn't know it yet.''
       Mr. Parcher gazed fixedly at the wonderful
       child, and something like a ray of sunshine
       flickered over his seamed and harried face. ``Are
       you SURE he isn't?'' he said. ``What makes you
       think so?''
       ``I know he isn't,'' said demure Jane. ``It's
       on account of somep'm I told mamma.''
       And upon this a gentle glow began to radiate
       throughout Mr. Parcher. A new feeling budded
       within his bosom; he was warmly attracted to
       Jane. She was evidently a child to be cherished,
       and particularly to be encouraged in the line of
       conduct she seemed to have adopted. He wished
       the Bullitt and Watson families each had a little
       girl like this. Still, if what she said of William
       proved true, much had been gained and life might
       be tolerable, after all.
       ``He'll come in the afternoons, I guess,'' said
       Jane. ``But you aren't home then, Mr. Parcher,
       except late like you were that day of the Sunday-
       school class. It was on account of what you
       said that day. I told mamma.''
       ``Told your mamma what?''
       ``What you said.''
       Mr. Parcher's perplexity continued. ``What
       about?''
       ``About Willie. YOU know!'' Jane smiled fraternally.
       ``No, I don't.''
       ``It was when I was layin' in the liberry, that
       day of the Sunday-school class,'' Jane told him.
       ``You an' Mrs. Parcher was talkin' in there about
       Miss Pratt an' Willie an' everything.''
       ``Good heavens!'' Mr. Parcher, summoning his
       memory, had placed the occasion and Jane
       together. ``Did you HEAR all that?''
       ``Yes.'' Jane nodded. ``I told mamma all
       what you said.''
       ``Murder!''
       ``Well,'' said Jane, ``I guess it's good I did,
       because look--that's the very reason mamma did
       somep'm so's he can't come any more except in
       daytime. I guess she thought Willie oughtn't
       to behave so's't you said so many things about
       him like that; so to-day she did somep'm, an' now
       he can't come any more to behave that loving
       way of Miss Pratt that you said you would be in
       the lunatic asylum if he didn't quit. But he
       hasn't found it out yet.''
       ``Found what out, please?'' asked Mr. Parcher,
       feeling more affection for Jane every moment.
       ``He hasn't found out he can't come back to
       your house to-night; an' he can't come back to-
       morrow night, nor day-after-to-morrow night,
       nor--''
       ``Is it because your mamma is going to tell
       him he can't?''
       ``No, Mr. Parcher. Mamma says he's too old
       --an' she said she didn't like to, anyway. She
       just DID somep'm.''
       ``What? What did she do?''
       ``It's a secret,'' said Jane. ``I could tell you
       the first part of it--up to where the secret
       begins, I expect.''
       ``Do!'' Mr. Parcher urged.
       ``Well, it's about somep'm Willie's been
       WEARIN','' Jane began, moving closer to him as
       they slowly walked onward. ``I can't tell you
       what they were, because that's the secret--but
       he had 'em on him every evening when he came
       to see Miss Pratt, but they belong to papa, an'
       papa doesn't know a word about it. Well, one
       evening papa wanted to put 'em on, because he
       had a right to, Mr. Parcher, an' Willie didn't
       have any right to at all, but mamma couldn't
       find 'em; an' she rummidged an' rummidged
       'most all next day an' pretty near every day since
       then an' never did find 'em, until don't you
       believe I saw Willie inside of 'em only last night!
       He was startin' over to your house to see Miss
       Pratt in 'em! So I told mamma, an' she said it 'd
       haf to be a secret, so that's why I can't tell you
       what they were. Well, an' then this afternoon,
       early, I was with her, an' she said, long as I had
       told her the secret in the first place, I could come
       in Willie's room with her, an' we both were
       already in there anyway, 'cause I was kind of
       thinkin' maybe she'd go in there to look for 'em,
       Mr. Parcher--''
       ``I see,'' he said, admiringly. ``I see.''
       ``Well, they were under Willie's window-seat,
       all folded up; an' mamma said she wondered
       what she better do, an' she was worried because
       she didn't like to have Willie behave so's you an'
       Mrs. Parcher thought that way about him. So
       she said the--the secret--what Willie wears,
       you know, but they're really papa's an' aren't
       Willie's any more'n they're MINE--well, she said
       the secret was gettin' a little teeny bit too tight
       for papa, but she guessed they--I mean the
       secret--she said she guessed it was already pretty
       loose for Willie; so she wrapped it up, an' I went
       with her, an' we took 'em to a tailor, an' she told
       him to make 'em bigger, for a surprise for papa,
       'cause then they'll fit him again, Mr. Parcher.
       She said he must make 'em a whole lot bigger.
       She said he must let 'em way, WAY out! So I
       guess Willie would look too funny in 'em after
       they're fixed; an' anyway, Mr. Parcher, the secret
       won't be home from the tailor's for two weeks,
       an' maybe by that time Miss Pratt'll be gone.''
       They had reached Mr. Parcher's gate; he
       halted and looked down fondly upon this child
       who seemed to have read his soul. ``Do you
       honestly think so?'' he asked.
       ``Well, anyway, Mr. Parcher,'' said Jane,
       ``mamma said--well, she said she's sure Willie
       wouldn't come here in the evening any more
       when YOU're at home, Mr. Parcher--'cause after
       he'd been wearin' the secret every night this way
       he wouldn't like to come and not have the secret
       on. Mamma said the reason he would feel like
       that was because he was seventeen years old. An'
       she isn't goin' to tell him anything about it,
       Mr. Parcher. She said that's the best way.''
       Her new friend nodded and seemed to agree.
       ``I suppose that's what you meant when you said
       he wasn't coming back but didn't know it yet?''
       ``Yes, Mr. Parcher.''
       He rested an elbow upon the gate-post, gazing
       down with ever-increasing esteem. ``Of course
       I know your last name,'' he said, ``but I'm afraid
       I've forgotten your other one.''
       ``It's Jane.''
       ``Jane,'' said Mr. Parcher, ``I should like to do
       something for you.''
       Jane looked down, and with eyes modestly
       lowered she swallowed the last fragment of the
       bread-and-butter and apple sauce and sugar
       which had been the constantly evanescent
       companion of their little walk together. She was
       not mercenary; she had sought no reward.
       ``Well, I guess I must run home,'' she said.
       And with one lift of her eyes to his and a shy
       laugh--laughter being a rare thing for Jane--
       she scampered quickly to the corner and was
       gone.
       But though she cared for no reward, the
       extraordinary restlessness of William, that evening,
       after dinner, must at least have been of
       great interest to her. He ascended to his own
       room directly from the table, but about twenty
       minutes later came down to the library, where
       Jane was sitting (her privilege until half after
       seven) with her father and mother. William
       looked from one to the other of his parents and
       seemed about to speak, but did not do so. Instead,
       he departed for the upper floor again and
       presently could be heard moving about energetically
       in various parts of the house, a remote
       thump finally indicating that he was doing something
       with a trunk in the attic.
       After that he came down to the library again
       and once more seemed about to speak, but did
       not. Then he went up-stairs again, and came
       down again, and he was still repeating this process
       when Jane's time-limit was reached and she
       repaired conscientiously to her little bed. Her
       mother came to hear her prayers and to turn out
       the light; and--when Mrs. Baxter had passed out
       into the hall, after that, Jane heard her speaking
       to William, who was now conducting what seemed
       to be excavations on a serious scale in his own
       room.
       ``Oh, Willie, perhaps I didn't tell you, but--
       you remember I'd been missing papa's evening
       clothes and looking everywhere for days and
       days?''
       ``Ye--es,'' huskily from William.
       ``Well, I found them! And where do you
       suppose I'd put them? I found them under
       your window-seat. Can you think of anything
       more absurd than putting them there and then
       forgetting it? I took them to the tailor's to
       have them let out. They were getting too tight
       for papa, but they'll be all right for him when the
       tailor sends them back.''
       What the stricken William gathered from this
       it is impossible to state with accuracy; probably
       he mixed some perplexity with his emotions.
       Certainly he was perplexed the following evening
       at dinner.
       Jane did not appear at the table. ``Poor
       child! she's sick in bed,'' Mrs. Baxter explained
       to her husband. ``I was out, this afternoon, and
       she ate nearly ALL of a five-pound box of candy.''
       Both the sad-eyed William and his father
       were dumfounded. ``Where on earth did she
       get a five-pound box of candy?'' Mr. Baxter
       demanded.
       ``I'm afraid Jane has begun her first affair,''
       said Mrs. Baxter. ``A gentleman sent it to her.''
       ``What gentleman?'' gasped William.
       And in his mother's eyes, as they slowly came
       to rest on his in reply, he was aware of an
       inscrutability strongly remindful of that inscrutable
       look of Jane's.
       ``Mr. Parcher,'' she said, gently. _