_ ``OH WILL--EE!''
Thus a shrill voice, to his ears hideously
different from that other, interrupted and dispersed
his visions. Little Jane, his ten-year-
old sister, stood upon the front porch, the door
open behind her, and in her hand she held a large
slab of bread-and-butter covered with apple
sauce and powdered sugar. Evidence that she
had sampled this compound was upon her cheeks,
and to her brother she was a repulsive sight;.
``Will-ee!'' she shrilled. ``Look! GOOD!''
And to emphasize the adjective she indelicately
patted the region of her body in which she
believed her stomach to be located. ``There's a
slice for you on the dining-room table,'' she
informed him, joyously.
Outraged, he entered the house without a word
to her, and, proceeding to the dining-room, laid
hands upon the slice she had mentioned, but
declined to eat it in Jane's company. He was in
an exalted mood, and though in no condition
of mind or body would he refuse food of almost
any kind, Jane was an intrusion he could not
suffer at this time.
He carried the refection to his own room and,
locking the door, sat down to eat, while, even as he
ate, the spell that was upon him deepened in intensity.
``Oh, eyes!'' he whispered, softly, in that cool
privacy and shelter from the world. ``Oh, eyes
of blue!''
The mirror of a dressing-table sent him the
reflection of his own eyes, which also were blue;
and he gazed upon them and upon the rest of his
image the while he ate his bread-and-butter and
apple sauce and sugar. Thus, watching himself
eat, he continued to stare dreamily at the mirror
until the bread-and-butter and apple sauce and
sugar had disappeared, whereupon he rose and
approached the dressing-table to study himself
at greater advantage.
He assumed as repulsive an expression as he
could command, at the same time making the
kingly gesture of one who repels unwelcome
attentions; and it is beyond doubt that he was thus
acting a little scene of indifference. Other symbolic
dramas followed, though an invisible observer
might have been puzzled for a key to some
of them. One, however, would have proved
easily intelligible: his expression having altered
to a look of pity and contrition, he turned
from the mirror, and, walking slowly to a
chair across the room, used his right hand in
a peculiar manner, seeming to stroke the air
at a point about ten inches above the back
of the chair. ``There, there, little girl,'' he
said in a low, gentle voice. ``I didn't know you
cared!''
Then, with a rather abrupt dismissal of this
theme, he returned to the mirror and, after a
questioning scrutiny, nodded solemnly, forming
with his lips the words, ``The real thing--the real
thing at last!'' He meant that, after many
imitations had imposed upon him, Love--the real
thing--had come to him in the end. And as he
turned away he murmured, ``And even her name
--unknown!''
This evidently was a thought that continued to
occupy him, for he walked up and down the room,
frowning; but suddenly his brow cleared and his
eye lit with purpose. Seating himself at a small
writing-table by the window, he proceeded to
express his personality--though with considerable
labor--in something which he did not doubt to be
a poem.
Three-quarters of an hour having sufficed for
its completion, including ``rewriting and polish,''
he solemnly signed it, and then read it several
times in a state of hushed astonishment. He had
never dreamed that he could do anything like
this.
MILADY
I do not know her name
Though it would be the same
Where roses bloom at twilight
And the lark takes his flight
It would be the same anywhere
Where music sounds in air
I was never introduced to the lady
So I could not call her Lass or Sadie
So I will call her Milady
By the sands of the sea
She always will be
Just M'lady to me.
--WILLIAM SYLVANUS BAXTER, Esq., July 14
It is impossible to say how many times he
might have read the poem over, always with
increasing amazement at his new-found powers,
had he not been interrupted by the odious voice
of Jane.
``Will--ee!''
To William, in his high and lonely mood, this
piercing summons brought an actual shudder, and
the very thought of Jane (with tokens of apple
sauce and sugar still upon her cheek, probably)
seemed a kind of sacrilege. He fiercely swore his
favorite oath, acquired from the hero of a work of
fiction he admired, ``Ye gods!'' and concealed his
poem in the drawer of the writing-table, for Jane's
footsteps were approaching his door.
``Will--ee! Mamma wants you.'' She tried
the handle of the door.
``G'way!'' he said.
``Will--ee!'' Jane hammered upon the door
with her fist. ``Will--ee!''
``What you want?'' he shouted.
Jane explained, certain pauses indicating that
her attention was partially diverted to another
slice of bread-and-butter and apple sauce and
sugar. ``Will--ee, mamma wants you--wants
you to go help Genesis bring some wash-tubs
home and a tin clo'es-boiler--from the second-
hand man's store.''
``WHAT!''
Jane repeated the outrageous message,
adding, ``She wants you to hurry--and I got some
more bread-and-butter and apple sauce and
sugar for comin' to tell you.''
William left no doubt in Jane's mind about
his attitude in reference to the whole matter.
His refusal was direct and infuriated, but, in the
midst of a multitude of plain statements which he
was making, there was a decisive tapping upon
the door at a point higher than Jane could reach,
and his mother's voice interrupted:
``Hush, Willie! Open the door, please.''
He obeyed furiously, and Mrs. Baxter walked
in with a deprecating air, while Jane followed, so
profoundly interested that, until almost the close
of the interview, she held her bread-and-butter
and apple sauce and sugar at a sort of way-
station on its journey to her mouth.
``That's a nice thing to ask me to do!'' stormed
the unfortunate William. ``Ye gods! Do you
think Joe Bullitt's mother would dare to--''
``Wait, dearie!'' Mrs. Baxter begged, pacifically.
``I just want to explain--''
`` `Explain'! Ye gods!''
``Now, now, just a minute, Willie!'' she said.
``What I wanted to explain was why it's necessary
for you to go with Genesis for the--''
``Never!'' he shouted. ``Never! You expect
me to walk through the public streets with that
awful-lookin' old nigger--''
``Genesis isn't old,'' she managed to interpolate.
``He--''
But her frantic son disregarded her. ``Second-
hand wash-tubs!'' he vociferated. ``And tin
clothes-boilers! THAT'S what you want your SON
to carry through the public streets in broad daylight!
Ye gods!''
``Well, there isn't anybody else,'' she said.
``Please don't rave so, Willie, and say `Ye gods'
so much; it really isn't nice. I'm sure nobody 'll
notice you--''
`` `Nobody'!'' His voice cracked in anguish.
``Oh no! Nobody except the whole town! WHY,
when there's anything disgusting has to be done
in this family--why do _I_ always have to be the
one? Why can't Genesis bring the second-hand
wash-tubs without ME? Why can't the second-
hand store deliver 'em? Why can't--''
``That's what I want to tell you,'' she
interposed, hurriedly, and as the youth lifted his
arms on high in a gesture of ultimate despair,
and then threw himself miserably into a chair, she
obtained the floor. ``The second-hand store
doesn't deliver things,'' she said. ``I bought
them at an auction, and it's going out of business,
and they have to be taken away before half past
four this afternoon. Genesis can't bring them
in the wheelbarrow, because, he says, the wheel is
broken, and he says he can't possibly carry two
tubs and a wash-boiler himself; and he can't
make two trips because it's a mile and a half,
and I don't like to ask him, anyway; and it
would take too long, because he has to get back
and finish cutting the grass before your papa
gets home this evening. Papa said he HAD to!
Now, I don't like to ask you, but it really isn't
much. You and Genesis can just slip up there
and--''
``Slip!'' moaned William. `` `Just SLIP up there''!
Ye gods!''
``Genesis is waiting on the back porch,'' she
said. ``Really it isn't worth your making all this
fuss about.''
``Oh no!'' he returned, with plaintive satire.
``It's nothing! Nothing at all!''
``Why, _I_ shouldn't mind it,'' she said; briskly,
``if I had the time. In fact, I'll have to, if you
won't.''
``Ye gods!'' He clasped his head in his hands,
crushed, for he knew that the curse was upon him
and he must go. ``Ye gods!''
And then, as he stamped to the door, his tragic
eye fell upon Jane, and he emitted a final cry of
pain:
``Can't you EVER wash your face?'' he shouted; _