He was roused by the bluff greeting of an acquaintance not dissimilar to himself in age, manner, and apparel.
``H'lo, Silly Bill!'' said this person, William Sylvanus Baxter.``What's the news?''
William showed no enthusiasm; on the contrary, a frown of annoyance appeared upon his brow.The nickname ``Silly Bill''--long ago compounded by merry child-comrades from ``William'' and ``Sylvanus''--was not to his taste, especially in public, where he preferred to be addressed simply and manfully as ``Baxter.''
Any direct expression of resentment, however, was difficult, since it was plain that Johnnie Watson intended no offense whatever and but spoke out of custom.
``Don't know any,'' William replied, coldly.
``Dull times, ain't it?'' said Mr.Watson, a little depressed by his friend's manner.``I heard May Parcher was comin' back to town yesterday, though.''
``Well, let her!'' returned William, still severe.
``They said she was goin' to bring a girl to visit her,'' Johnnie began in a confidential tone.
``They said she was a reg'lar ringdinger and--''
``Well, what if she is?'' the discouraging Mr.
Baxter interrupted.``Makes little difference to ME, I guess!''
``Oh no, it don't.YOU don't take any interest in girls! OH no!''
``No, I do not!'' was the emphatic and heartless retort.``I never saw one in my life I'd care whether she lived or died!''
``Honest?'' asked Johnnie, struck by the conviction with which this speech was uttered.
``Honest, is that so?''
``Yes, `honest'!'' William replied, sharply.
``They could ALL die, _I_ wouldn't notice!''
Johnnie Watson was profoundly impressed.
``Why, _I_ didn't know you felt that way about 'em, Silly Bill.I always thought you were kind of--''
``Well, I do feel that way about 'em!'' said William Sylvanus Baxter, and, outraged by the repetition of the offensive nickname, he began to move away.``You can tell 'em so for me, if you want to!'' he added over his shoulder.And he walked haughtily up the street, leaving Mr.
Watson to ponder upon this case of misogyny, never until that moment suspected.
It was beyond the power of his mind to grasp the fact that William Sylvanus Baxter's cruel words about ``girls'' had been uttered because William was annoyed at being called ``Silly Bill''
in a public place, and had not known how to object otherwise than by showing contempt for any topic of conversation proposed by the offender.This latter, being of a disposition to accept statements as facts, was warmly interested, instead of being hurt, and decided that here was something worth talking about, especially with representatives of the class so sweepingly excluded from the sympathies of Silly Bill.
William, meanwhile, made his way toward the ``residence section'' of the town, and presently --with the passage of time found himself eased of his annoyance.He walked in his own manner, using his shoulders to emphasize an effect of carelessness which he wished to produce upon observers.For his consciousness of observers was abnormal, since he had it whether any one was looking at him or not, and it reached a crucial stage whenever he perceived persons of his own age, but of opposite sex, approaching.
A person of this description was encountered upon the sidewalk within a hundred yards of his own home, and William Sylvanus Baxter saw her while yet she was afar off.The quiet and shady thoroughfare was empty of all human life, at the time, save for those two; and she was upon the same side of the street that he was; thus it became inevitable that they should meet, face to face, for the first time in their lives.He had perceived, even in the distance, that she was unknown to him, a stranger, because he knew all the girls in this part of the town who dressed as famously in the mode as that! And then, as the distance between them lessened, he saw that she was ravishingly pretty; far, far prettier, indeed, than any girl he knew.At least it seemed so, for it is, unfortunately, much easier for strangers to be beautiful.Aside from this advantage of mystery, the approaching vision was piquant and graceful enough to have reminded a much older boy of a spotless white kitten, for, in spite of a charmingly managed demureness, there was precisely that kind of playfulness somewhere expressed about her.Just now it was most definite in the look she bent upon the light and fluffy burden which she carried nestled in the inner curve of her right arm: a tiny dog with hair like cotton and a pink ribbon round his neck--an animal sated with indulgence and idiotically unaware of his privilege.He was half asleep!
