Plain Mary Smith Part 17

"I wonder," I said, "if it's asking too much of you to listen to me for awhile. I had a miserable time of it, as a boy, and now and then it sits on me so hard I like to speak to a friend for comfort."

It was the surest way to claim her time. She caught my hand.

"Certainly," she said. "If you only knew, Will, how anxious I am to be of some real service in this world, instead of being told that I'm--"

"Let it go!" I put in. "That you're good to look at, and so forth?"

She nodded. "I don't mean that I'm so lofty-minded that I don't like it sometimes, yet I mustn't grow to like it and--"

"For my part I'm glad there's some beauty in this little old world,"

said I. "I love to trig myself out as you see--give the folks a treat.

Honest, I can't see the harm in brightening up the landscape all you're able. But, though I ain't much of a professional beauty, I can understand that too much sugar leads to seasickness."

"You're as handsome a young man as a young man should be!" says Mary, indignant. "Don't attempt a foolish modesty. I wish I were strong, and six-foot-three, and a man!"

"Throw in the red hair?"

"You have beautiful hair! I believe you know it, you vain boy, and let it grow purposely. And now you're just leading me to sound your praises!"

I laughed. "I'd stick at nothing, for that," I answered. "Oh, why ain't I ten years older! I'd have you out of here in a minute!"

"I believe you would," she said; "I don't believe you'd care for my protests nor prayers nor tears. You'd just selfishly pick me right up and walk away with me and bully me for the rest of my days!"

"Just that--Heavens! But I'd make it awful for you! Captain Jesse would be a lambkin beside me!"

We both laughed, thinking of Jesse the Terrible.

"The dear old _Matilda_!" she said,--almost whispered,--and her eyes grew softer.

"Happy times, weren't they? And coming after what I'd left--" I shook my head.

"Tell me, Will."

"I've wondered how much was my not understanding," I went on, "and how much I had to kick about. I suppose if I was older, I'd be like Sax--keep my troubles to myself--but I haven't learned how, yet. Still, I don't want to spoil your morning."

She frowned a little at Saxton's name, not an ill-tempered, but a thoughtful frown, as a new idea struck her. She put it away from her, and turned.

"That you should come to me, Will, is a high compliment. I know you're not the kind to give your woes to the world. If--" she smiled at me, "if you won't think it heartless of me, I'll say I'll enjoy hearing 'em."

"I understand," I answered; "just as, in a way, I'll enjoy telling them.

Well, here we go."

So I put the facts to her as fair and calm as I could, patterning after Saxton's method. I hadn't his nerve; gradually heat swept into my discourse. I forgot where I was and who I was talking to, as the old wrongs boiled up.

When I finished I remembered, and sat back.

Mary was also still.

I rolled a cigarette and played for airiness. "Of course," I said, "it's all in a lifetime."

She put her hand on mine. "Don't," she said, "don't."

I shut up. The minutes slid by heavy-footed.

At last she spoke.

"For sheer inhumanity," she said, "I think that is without an equal."

"Oh, no!" I said. "I reckon the story's common enough wherever people let an idea ride 'em bareback. Father was a good man, with bad notions, that's all."

I purposely let my eye fall on the little revolutionists, standing in a melancholy line--nothing to do, nothing to think, all balloon-juice to them.

As I hoped, her eyes followed mine. She straightened, seeing the point.

Color came into her face. "Children!" she called sharply in Spanish, "why do you not run and play?"

The line fell into embarra.s.sment. They hooked the dirt with their feet and looked at each other.

"Alfonso!" said Mary, "start some game!"

The biggest boy took off his hat and smiled his grave, polite smile.

"_Si_, Senorita!" he replied; "but what is 'game'?"

"I've been so busy with--more important things that I haven't thought of amus.e.m.e.nts," Mary explained to me, aside. There was apology in the explanation; I heard with glad ears. "Is it possible they know no games?"

"Why, I suppose they do, of a kind," I answered; "but it seems to me the chief lack of these kids is real play; they're all little old men and women; the kid spring is knocked out of 'em; they've lived in war and slaughter so much they don't believe in anything else."

"Well," said she promptly, "that's a poor state of affairs."

"The worst," said I. "What kind of nation can you grow out of children who have no fun? Their G.o.d will look like a first cousin of our devil. I _did_ manage to rake some sport out of my time, or else I'd gone to the bad entirely, I reckon."

The color deepened in her face. She didn't have to be hit with a club.

"We wanted to furnish them a moral backbone, first," she apologized again. "It seemed necessary to give them some standards of conduct."

"I'd give 'em a good time, first--they're a hint young for standards."

"Just see them stand there! Why, they seem without an idea--what shall I do with them?" She was all at a loss. "It isn't right, poor children!"

She suddenly turned to me, with eagerness in her face. "Couldn't you stir them up, Will?"

"Sure!" says I, throwing away the cigarette. "Come along! Tag, you're it!" and I lit out at a gallop, Mary after me, and the revolutionists watching, altogether too polite to appear astonished. My! but that girl could run! Jump, too; I cleared the fountain, thinking she'd have to go 'round, but she gathered her skirts in her hand and was over it in a flash of black and white, clean-motioned as a greyhound.

"_Qui dado, compadres!_" I yelled. "Here comes the government army!"

Instantly they understood and scattered. By hollering at them, they finally got the idea. Tag wouldn't have interested them--revolution did.

We divided into sides. As soon as they got going good, Mary and I dropped out of it.

"There," said I, watching 'em running and hollering and giggling, "I like that better."

"It is better," agreed Mary, "and my thanks to you for the change. I'm afraid one forgets the little needs in thinking of the great ones."