``Well, when Miss Pratt first came to visit Miss May Parcher, Willie used to keep papa's evening clo'es in his window-seat, an' mamma wondered what HAD become of 'em.Then, after dinner, he'd slip up there an' put 'em on him, an' go out through the kitchen an' call on Miss Pratt.
Then mamma found 'em, an' she thought he oughtn't to do that, so she didn't tell him or anything, an' she didn't even tell papa, but she had the tailor make 'em ever an' ever so much bigger, 'cause they were gettin' too tight for papa.
An' well, so after that, even if Willie could get 'em out o' mamma's clo'es-closet where she keeps 'em now, he'd look so funny in 'em he couldn't wear 'em.Well, an' then he couldn't go to pay calls on Miss Pratt in the evening since then, because mamma says after he started to go there in that suit he couldn't go without it, or maybe Miss Pratt or the other ones that's in love of her would think it was pretty queer, an' maybe kind of expeck it was papa's all the time.
Mamma says she thinks Willie must have worried a good deal over reasons to say why he'd always go in the daytime after that, an' never came in the evening, an' now they're goin' to have this party, an' she says he's been gettin'
paler and paler every day since he heard about it.
Mamma says he's pale SOME because Miss Pratt's goin' away, but she thinks it's a good deal more because, well, if he would wear those evening clo'es just to go CALLIN', how would it be to go to that PARTY an' not have any! That's what mamma thinks--an', Genesis, you promised you'd never tell as long as you live!''
``Yes'm._I_ ain' tellin','' Genesis chuckled.
``I'm a-go'n' agit me one nem waituh suits befo'
long, myse'f, so's I kin quit wearin' 'at ole Henry Gimlet suit what b'long to Fanny, an' have me a privut suit o' my own.They's a secon'-han'
sto' ovuh on the avynoo, where they got swaller-
tail suits all way f'um sevum dolluhs to nineteem dolluhs an' ninety-eight cents.I'm a--''
Jane started, interrupting him.`` 'SH!'' she whispered, laying a finger warningly upon her lips.
William had entered the yard at the back gate, and, approaching over the lawn, had arrived at the steps of the porch before Jane perceived him.She gave him an apprehensive look, but he passed into the house absent-mindedly, not even flinching at sight of Clematis--and Mrs.
Baxter was right, William did look pale.
``I guess he didn't hear us,'' said Jane, when he had disappeared into the interior.``He acks awful funny!'' she added, thoughtfully.``First when he was in love of Miss Pratt, he'd be mad about somep'm almost every minute he was home.Couldn't anybody say ANYthing to him but he'd just behave as if it was frightful, an' then if you'd see him out walkin' with Miss Pratt, well, he'd look like--like--'' Jane paused; her eye fell upon Clematis and by a happy inspiration she was able to complete her simile with remarkable accuracy.``He'd look like the way Clematis looks at people! That's just EXACTLY the way he'd look, Genesis, when he was walkin' with Miss Pratt; an' then when he was home he got so quiet he couldn't answer questions an' wouldn't hear what anybody said to him at table or anywhere, an' papa 'd nearly almost bust.Mamma 'n' papa 'd talk an' talk about it, an' ''--she lowered her voice--``an' I knew what they were talkin' about.Well, an' then he'd hardly ever get mad any more; he'd just sit in his room, an'
sometimes he'd sit in there without any light, or he'd sit out in the yard all by himself all evening, maybe; an' th'other evening after I was in bed I heard 'em, an' papa said--well, this is what papa told mamma.'' And again lowering her voice, she proffered the quotation from her father in atone somewhat awe-struck: ``Papa said, by Gosh! if he ever 'a' thought a son of his could make such a Word idiot of himself he almost wished we'd both been girls!''
Having completed this report in a violent whisper, Jane nodded repeatedly, for emphasis, and Genesis shook his head to show that he was as deeply impressed as she wished him to be.
``I guess,'' she added, after a pause ``I guess Willie didn't hear anything you an' I talked about him, or clo'es, or anything.''
She was mistaken in part.William had caught no reference to himself, but he had overheard something and he was now alone in his room, thinking about it almost feverishly.``A secon'-
han' sto' ovuh on the avynoo, where they got swaller-tail suits all way f'um sevum dolluhs to nineteem dolluhs an' ninety-eight cents.''
...Civilization is responsible for certain longings in the breast of man--artificial longings, but sometimes as poignant as hunger and thirst.
Of these the strongest are those of the maid for the bridal veil, of the lad for long trousers, and of the youth for a tailed coat of state.To the gratification of this last, only a few of the early joys in life are comparable.Indulged youths, too rich, can know, to the unctuous full, neither the longing nor the gratification; but one such as William, in ``moderate circumstances,'' is privileged to pant for his first evening clothes as the hart panteth after the water-brook--and sometimes, to pant in vain.Also, this was a crisis in William's life: in addition to his yearning for such apparel, he was racked by a passionate urgency.
As Jane had so precociously understood, unless he should somehow manage to obtain the proper draperies he could not go to the farewell dance for Miss Pratt.Other unequipped boys could go in their ordinary ``best clothes,'' but William could not; for, alack! he had dressed too well too soon!
He was in desperate case.
The sorrow of the approaching great departure was but the heavier because it had been so long deferred.To William it had seemed that this flower-strewn summer could actually end no more than he could actually die, but Time had begun its awful lecture, and even Seventeen was listening.
Miss Pratt, that magic girl, was going home.
