The Sin of Monsieur Pettipon Part 9

At eleven Mr. Pottle went home, having uttered but two words all evening, and those monosyllables. He left Mr. Deeley holding forth in detail on the science of astronomy, with side glances at astrology and ancestor-worship.

Mr. Pottle's heart was too full for sleep. Indeed, as he walked in the moonlight through Eastman Park, it was with the partially formed intent of flinging himself in among the swans that slept on the artificial lake.

His mind went back to the conversation of Mr. Deeley in Mrs. Gallup's salon. She had been Blossom to him once, but now--this loudly learned stranger! Mr. Pottle stopped suddenly and sat down sharply on a park bench. The topics on which Mr. Deeley had conversed so fluently pa.s.sed in an orderly array before his mind: Apes, acoustics, angels, Apollo, adders, alb.u.men, auks, Alexander the Great, anarchy, adenoids----He had it! A light, bright as the sun at noon, dawned on Mr. Pottle.

Next morning when the public library opened, Mr. Pottle was waiting at the door.

A feverish week rushed by in Mr. Pottle's life.

"We'll be having to charge that little man with the bashful grin, rent or storage or something," said Miss Merk, the seventh a.s.sistant librarian, to Miss Heaslip, the ninth a.s.sistant librarian.

Sunday night firm determined steps took Mr. Pottle to the bungalow of Mrs. Gallup. He heard Mr. Deeley's sweet resonant voice in the living room. He smiled grimly.

"I was just telling Blossom about a curious little animal I take rather a special interest in," began the man from Xenia, with a condescending nod to Mr. Pottle.

Mr. Pottle checked the frown that had started to gather at "Blossom,"

and asked politely, "And what is the beast's name?"

"The aard-vark," replied Mr. Deeley. "He is----"

"The Cape ant bear," finished Mr. Pottle, "or earth pig. He lives on ants, burrows rapidly, and can be easily killed by a smart blow on his sensitive snout."

Mr. Deeley stared; Mrs. Gallup stared; Mr. Pottle sailed on serenely.

"A very interesting beast, the aard-vark. But to my mind not so interesting as the long-nosed bandicoot. You know the long-nosed bandicoot, I presume, Mr. Deeley?"

"Well, not under that name," retorted the Xenia sage. "You don't mean antelope?"

"By no means," said Mr. Pottle with a superior smile. "I said bandicoot--B-a-n-d-i-coot. He is a _Peramelidoe_ of the Marsupial family, meaning he carries his young in a pouch like a kangaroo."

"How cute!" murmured Mrs. Gallup.

"There are bandicoots and bandicoots," pursued Mr. Pottle; "the _Peragale_, or rabbit bandicoot; the _Nasuta_, or long-nosed bandicoot; the _Mysouros_, or saddle-backed bandicoot; the _Ch.o.e.ropus_, or pig-footed bandicoot; and----"

"Speaking of antelopes----" Mr. Deeley interrupted loudly.

"By all means!" said Mr. Pottle still more loudly. "I've always taken a special interest in antelopes. Let's see now--the antelope family includes the gnus, elands, hartebeests, addax, klipspringers, chamois, gazelles, chirus, pallas, saigas, nilgais, koodoos--pretty name that, isn't it, Blossom--the blessboks, duikerboks, boneboks, gemsboks, steinboks----"

He saw that the bright blue eyes of the lady of his dreams were fastened on him. He turned toward Mr. Deeley.

"You're familiar with Bambara, aren't you?" he asked.

"I beg pardon?" The brilliant conversationalist seemed a little confused. "Did you say Arabia? I should say I do know Arabia. Population 5,078,441; area----"

"One million, two hundred and twenty-two thousand square miles,"

finished Mr. Pottle. "No, I did not say Arabia; I said Bambara.

B-a-m-b-a-r-a."

"Oh, Bambara," said Mr. Deeley feebly; his a.s.surance seemed to crumple.

"Yes," said Mrs. Gallup. "Do tell us about Bambara; such an intriguing name."

"It is a country in Western Africa," Mr. Pottle tossed off grandly, "with a population of 2,004,737, made up of Negroes, Mandingoes and Foulahs. Its princ.i.p.al products are rice, maize, cotton, millet, yams, pistachio nuts, French beans, watermelons, onions, tobacco, indigo, tamarinds, lotuses, sheep, horses, alligators, pelicans, turtles, egrets, teals and Barbary ducks."

"Oh, how interesting! Do go on, Mr. Pottle." It was the voice of Mrs.

Gallup; to Mr. Pottle it seemed that there was a tender note in it.

"Bambara reminds me of baboons," he went on loudly and rapidly, checking an incipient remark from Mr. Deeley. "Baboons, you know, are _Cynocephali_ or dog-headed monkeys; the species includes drills, mandrills, sphinx, chacma and hamadryas. Most baboons have ischial callosities----"

"Oh, what do they do with them?" cried wide-eyed Mrs. Gallup.

"They--er--sit on them," answered Mr. Pottle.

"I don't believe it," Mr. Deeley challenged.

Mr. Pottle froze him with a look. "Evidently," he said, "you, Mr.

Deeley, are not familiar with the works of Dr. Oskar Baumann, author of 'Afrikanische Skizzen.' Are you?"

"I've glanced through it," said Mr. Deeley.

"Then you don't remember what he says on Page 489?"

"Can't say that I do," mumbled Mr. Deeley.

"And you appear unfamiliar with the works of Hosea Ballou."

"Who?"

"Hosea Ballou."

"I doubt if there is such a person," said Mr. Deeley stiffly. He did not appear to be enjoying himself.

"Oh, you do, do you?" retorted Mr. Pottle. "Suppose you look him up in your encyclopedia--if," he added with crushing emphasis--"if you have one. You'll find that Hosea Ballou was born in 1771, founded the Trumpet Magazine, the Universalist Expositor, the Universalist Quarterly Review, and wrote Notes on the Parables."

"What has that to do with baboons?" demanded Mr. Deeley.

"A lot more than you think," was Mr. Pottle's cryptic answer. He turned from the Xenian with a shrug of dismissal, and smiled upon Mrs. Gallup.

"Don't you think, Blossom," he said, "that Babylonia is a fascinating country?"

"Oh, very," she smiled back at him. "I dote on Babylonia."

"Perhaps," suggested Mr. Pottle, "Mr. Deeley will be good enough to tell us all about it."

Mr. Deeley looked extremely uncomfortable.

"Babylonia--let's see now--well, it just happens that Babylonia is not one of my specialties."

"Well, tell us about Baluchistan, then," suggested Mr. Pottle.