Nobody's Boy Part 41

"There it is," he said, pointing to the barber's shop.

After all, why should not a professor live with a barber? We entered.

The shop was part.i.tioned off into two equal parts. On the right were brushes, combs, jars of cream, and barbers' chairs. On the left, hanging on the walls and on the shelves, were various instruments, violins, cornets, trombones, etc.

"Monsieur Espina.s.sous?" inquired Mattia.

Fluttering like a bird, the dapper little man, who was in the act of shaving a man, replied: "I am Monsieur Espina.s.sous."

I glanced at Mattia as much as to say that the barber musician was not the man we were looking for, that it would be wasting good money to consult him, but Mattia, instead of understanding my look, sat down in a chair with a deliberate air.

"Will you cut my hair after you have shaved that gentleman?" he asked.

"Certainly, young man, and I'll give you a shave also, if you like."

"Thanks," replied Mattia.

I was abashed at his a.s.surance. He looked at me out of the corner of his eye, to ask me to wait before getting annoyed.

When the man was shaved, M. Espina.s.sous, with towel over his arm, prepared to cut Mattia's hair.

"Monsieur," said Mattia, while the barber tied the sheet round his neck, "my friend and I had an argument, and as we know that you are a celebrated musician, we thought that you would give us your advice and settle the matter for us."

"What is it, young man?"

Now I knew what Mattia was driving at! First of all, he wanted to see if this barber-musician was capable of replying to our questions; if so, he intended to get a music lesson at the price of a hair cut.

All the while Mattia was having his hair cut, he asked questions. The barber-musician was highly amused, but answered each question put to him quickly and with pleasure. When we were ready to leave he asked Mattia to play something on his violin. Mattia played a piece.

"And you don't know a note of music!" cried the barber, clapping his hands, and looking affectionately at Mattia as though he had known and loved him all his life. "It is wonderful!"

Mattia took a clarionette from amongst the instruments and played on it; then a cornet.

"Why, the youngster's a prodigy!" cried M. Espina.s.sous in rapture; "if you will stay here with me I'll make you a great musician. In the mornings you shall learn to shave my customers and the rest of the day you shall study music. Don't think, because I'm a barber, I don't know music. One has to live!"

I looked at Mattia. What was he going to reply? Was I to lose my friend, my chum, my brother?

"Think for your own good, Mattia," I said, but my voice shook.

"Leave my friend?" he cried, linking his arm in mine; "that I never could, but thank you all the same, Monsieur."

M. Espina.s.sous insisted, and told Mattia that later they would find the means to send him to the Conservatoire in Paris, because he would surely be a great musician!

"Leave Remi? never!"

"Well, then," replied the barber, sorrowfully, "let me give you a book and you can learn what you do not know from that." He took a book out of one of the drawers, ent.i.tled, "The Theory of Music." It was old and torn, but what did that matter? Taking a pen, he sat down and wrote on the first page:

"To a child who, when he becomes celebrated, will remember the barber of Mendes."

I don't know if there were any other professors of music at Mendes, but that was the only one we knew, and we never forgot him.

CHAPTER XXIV

FRIENDSHIP THAT IS TRUE

I loved Mattia when we arrived at Mendes, but when we left the town I loved him even more. I could not tell him before the barber how I felt when he cried out: "Leave my friend!"

I took his hand and squeezed it as we tramped along.

"It's till death doth us part now, Mattia," I said.

"I knew that long ago," he replied, smiling at me with his great, dark eyes.

We heard that there was going to be an important cattle fair at Ussel, so we decided to go there and buy the cow. It was on our way to Chavanon. We played in every town and village on the road, and by the time we had reached Ussel we had collected two hundred and forty francs.

We had to economize in every possible manner to save this sum, but Mattia was just as interested and eager to buy the animal as I. He wanted it to be white; I wanted brown in memory of poor Rousette. We both agreed, however, that she must be very gentle and give plenty of milk.

As neither of us knew by what signs one could tell a good cow, we decided to employ the services of a veterinarian. We had heard many stories of late how people had been deceived when buying a cow, and we did not want to run any risk. It would be an expense to employ a veterinarian, but that could not be helped. We had heard of one man who had bought an animal for a very low price and when he had got her home he found that she had a false tail; another man, so we were told, had bought a cow which seemed to be in a very healthy state, and had every appearance of giving plenty of milk, but she only gave two gla.s.ses of milk in twenty-four hours. By a little trick, practiced by the cattle dealer, the animal was made to look as though she had plenty of milk.

Mattia said that as far as the false tail went we had nothing to fear, for he would hang onto the tail of every cow with all his might, before we entered into any discussion with the seller. When I told him that if it were a real tail he would probably get a kick in the stomach or on his head, his imagination cooled somewhat.

It was several years since I had arrived at Ussel with Vitalis, where he had bought me my first pair of shoes with nails. Alas! out of the six of us who started, Capi and I were the only ones left. As soon as we got to the town, after having left our baggage at the same inn where I had stayed before with Vitalis and the dogs, we began to look about for a veterinarian. We found one and he seemed very amused when we described to him the kind of a cow we wanted, and asked if he would come and buy it for us.

"But what in the world do you two boys want with a cow, and have you got the money?" he demanded.

We told him how much money we had, and how we got it, and that we were going to give a present, a surprise, to Mother Barberin of Chavanon, who had looked after me when I was a baby. He showed a very kindly interest then, and promised to meet us the next morning at the fair at seven o'clock. When we asked him his charges he refused flatly to accept anything. He sent us off laughing and told us to be at the fair on time.

The next day at daybreak the town was full of excitement. From our room at the inn we could hear the carts and wagons rolling over the cobblestones in the street below, and the cows bellowing, the sheep bleating, the farmers shouting at their animals and joking with each other. We jumped into our clothes and arrived at the fair at six o'clock, for we wanted to make a selection before the veterinarian arrived.

What beautiful cows they were, ... all colors, and all sizes, some fat, some thin, and some with their calves; there were also horses and great fat pigs, scooping holes in the ground, and little plump sucking pigs, squealing as though they were being skinned alive. But we had eyes for nothing but the cows; they stood very quiet, placidly chewing. They permitted us to make a thorough examination, merely blinking their eyelids. After one hour's inspection, we had found seventeen that pleased us, this for one quality, that for another, a third because she was red, two because they were white, which, of course, brought up a discussion between Mattia and myself. The veterinarian arrived. We showed him the cows we liked.

"I think this one ought to be a good one," Mattia said, pointing to a white animal.

"I think that is a better one," I said, indicating a red one.

The veterinarian stopped the argument we had begun by ignoring both and pa.s.sing on to a third one. This one had slim legs, red coat with brown ears and cheeks, eyes bordered with black, and a whitish circle around her muzzle.

"This is just the one you want," said the veterinarian.

It was a beauty! Mattia and I now saw that this was the best. The veterinarian asked a heavy looking peasant, who held the cow by a rope, how much he wanted for it.

"Three hundred francs," he replied.

Our mouths dropped. Three hundred francs! I made a sign to the veterinarian that we must pa.s.s on to another; he made another sign that he would drive a bargain. Then a lively discussion commenced between the veterinarian and the peasant. Our bidder went up to 170, the peasant came down to 280. When they reached this sum, the veterinarian began to examine the cow more critically. She had weak legs, her neck was too short, her horns too long, she hadn't any lungs and her teats were not well formed. No, she certainly would not give much milk.

The peasant said that as we knew so much about cows, he would let us have her for 250 francs, because he felt sure she would be in good hands. Thereupon we began to get scared, for both Mattia and I thought that it must be a poor cow then.