Part 18 (1/2)
”Well, you needn't throw that in my face; I'm not to blame for bein'
unselfish. I've just had to be, whether I wanted or not. It's my misfortune, not my fault. Lots of people are unselfish because they're too weak to stand up for their own rights.” She paused--and then looked up at him, smiling whimsically, and added: ”Well, well, Jonathan; see here now--I'll think it over, and perhaps some day before--_go 'way_, you horrid thing! Let go my hand, I tell you.
There! You've made me drop a whole row of st.i.tches. If you don't run over home right now, before you're tempted to do any more flirtin, I'll--I'll hold you for breach of promise.”
[Ill.u.s.tration]
CHAPTER XV
NICKEY'S SOCIAL AMBITIONS
To Nickey, the Maxwells were in the nature of a revelation. At his impressionable stage of boyhood, and because of their freedom from airs and graces of any kind, he was quick to notice the difference in type--”some cla.s.s to them; not sn.o.bs or dudes, but the real thing,” as he expressed it. His ardent admiration of Donald, and his adoration of Mrs. Betty, gave him ambition to find the key to their secret, and to partake of it.
He was too shy to speak of it,--to his mother last of all, as is the nature of a boy,--and had to rely on an observant and receptive mind for the earlier steps in his quest. When Maxwell boarded with them, Nickey had discovered that he was won't to exercise with dumb-bells each morning before breakfast. The very keenness of his desire to be initiated, held him silent. A visit to the town library, on his mother's behalf, chanced to bring his eyes--generally oblivious of everything in the shape of a book--upon the t.i.tle of a certain volume designed to instruct in various parlor-feats of physical prowess.
The book was borrowed from the librarian,--a little shamefacedly. The next morning Mrs. Burke was somewhat alarmed at the noise which came from Nickey's room, and when there was a crash as if the chimney had fallen, she could stand it no longer, and hurried aloft. Nickey stood in the middle of the floor, clad in swimming trunks, gripping a large weight (purloined from the barn) in either hand, very red in the face, and much out of breath.
As the door unexpectedly opened he dived for bed and pulled the clothes under his chin.
”Land Sakes!” Hepsey breathed, aghast. ”What's all this about? If there's a nail loose in the flooring I can lend you a hammer for the asking,” and she examined several jagged dents in the boards.
”Say ma,” urged Nickey in moving tones. ”If I'd a pair of dumb-bells like Mr. Maxwell's, I c'd hold onto 'em. I've pretty near smashed my feet with them things--gosh darn it,” he added ruefully, nursing the bruised member under the clothes.
”I guess you can get 'em, next time you go to Martin's Junction; but if it's exercise you want,” his parent remarked unsympathetically, ”there's plenty of kindlin' in the woodshed wants choppin'.”
She retired chuckling to herself, as she caught a glimmer of what was working in her son's mind.
The ”reading habit” having been inculcated by this lucky find at the library, it was not long before Nickey acquired from the same source a veritable collection of volumes on the polite arts and crafts--”The Ready Letter-Writer”; ”Manners Maketh Man”; ”Seven Thousand Errors of Speech;” ”Social Culture in the Smart Set,” and the like.
Nickey laboriously studied from these authorities how to enter a ball room, how to respond to a toast at a dinner given in one's honor, how to propose the health of his hostess, and how to apologize for treading on a lady's train.
In the secrecy of his chamber he put into practice the helpful suggestions of these invaluable manuals. He bowed to the washstand, begged the favor of the next dance from the towel rack, trod on the window shade and made the prescribed apology. Then he discussed the latest novel at dinner with a distinguished personage; and having smoked an invisible cigar, interspersed with such wit as accords with walnuts and wine, after the ladies had retired, he entered the drawing-room, exchanged parting amenities with the guests, bade his hostess good night, and gracefully withdrew to the clothes-press.
Several times Hepsey caught glimpses of him going through the dumb show of ”Social Culture in the Smart Set,” and her wondering soul was filled with astonishment at his amazing evolutions. She found it in her heart to speak of it to Mrs. Betty and Maxwell, and ask for their interpretation of the matter.
So, one day, during this seizure of feverish enthusiasm for self-culture, Hepsey and Nickey received an invitation to take supper at the rectory. Nevertheless, Mrs. Burke thought it prudent to give her son some good advice in regard to his behavior. She realized, perhaps, that a book is good so far as it goes, but is apt to ignore elementals. So she called him aside before they started:
”Now, Nickey, remember to act like a gentleman, especially at the table; you must try to do credit to your bringin' up.”
”Yes, I'll do my level best if it kills me,” the boy replied.
”Well, what do you do with your napkin when you first sit down to the table?”
”Tie it 'round my neck, of course!”
”Oh, no, you mustn't do anything of the sort; you must just tuck it in your collar, like any gentleman would. And when we come home what are you goin' to say to Mrs. Maxwell?”
”Oh, I'll say, 'I'll see you later.'”
”Mercy no! Say, 'I've had a very nice time.'”