Chapter 23

THE INFANT MIND SHOOTS

Miss Minerva had bought a book for Billy entitled “Stories of Great and Good Men,” which she frequently read to him for his education and improvement. These stories related the principal events in the lives of the heroes but never mentioned any names, always asking at the end, “Can you tell me who this man was?”

Her nephew heard the stories so often that he had some expression or incident by which he could identify each, without paying much attention while she was reading.

He and his aunt had just settled themselves on the porch for a reading.

Jimmy was on his own porch cutting up funny capers, and making faces for the other child's amusement.

“Lemme go over to Jimmy's, Aunt Minerva,” pleaded her nephew, “an' you can read to me to-night. I 'd a heap ruther not hear you read right now. It'll make my belly ache.”

Miss Minerva looked at him severely.

“William,” she enjoined, “don't you want to be a smart man when you grow up?”

“Yes 'm,” he replied, without much enthusiasm. “Well, jes' lemme ask Jimmy to come over here an' set on the other sider you whils' you read. He ain't never hear 'bout them tales, an' I s'pec' he'd like to come.”

“Very well,” replied his flattered and gratified relative, “call him over.”

Billy went to the fence, where he signaled Jimmy to meet him.

“Aunt Minerva say you come over an' listen to her read some er the pretties' tales you ever hear,” he said, as if conferring a great favor.

“Naw, sirree-bob!” was the impolite response across the fence, “them 'bout the measliest tales they is. I'll come if she'll read my Uncle Remus book.”

“Please come on,” begged Billy, dropping the patronizing manner that he had assumed, in hope of inducing his chum to share his martyrdom. “You know Aunt Minerva'd die in her tracks 'fore she'd read Uncle Remus. You'll like these-here tales 'nother sight better anyway. I'll give you my stoney if you'll come.”

“Naw; you ain't going to get me in no such box as that. If she'd just read seven or eight hours I wouldn't mind; but she'll get you where she wants you and read 'bout a million hours. I know Miss Minerva.”

Billy's aunt was growing impatient.

“Come, William,” she called. “I am waiting for you.”

Jimmy went back to his own porch and the other boy joined his kinswoman.

“Why wouldn't Jimmy come?” she asked.

“He--he ain't feeling very well,” was the considerate rejoinder.

“Once there was a little boy who was born in Virginia--” began Miss Minerva.

“Born in a manger,” repeated the inattentive little boy to himself, “I knows who that was.” So, this important question settled in his mind, he gave himself up to the full enjoyment of his chum and to the giving and receiving secret signals, the pleasure of which was decidedly enhanced by the fear of imminent detection.

“Father, I can not tell a lie, I did it with my little hatchet,--” read the thin, monotonous voice at his elbow.

Billy laughed aloud--at that minute Jimmy was standing on his head waving two chubby feet in the air.

“William,” said his aunt reprovingly, peering at him over her spectacles, “I don't see anything to laugh at,”--and she did not, but then she was in ignorance of the little conspiracy.

“He was a good and dutiful son and he studied his lessons so well that when he was only seventeen years old he was employed to survey vast tracts of land in Virginia--”

Miss Minerva emphasized every word, hoping thus to impress her nephew. But he was so busy, keeping one eye on her and one on the little boy on the other porch, that he did not have time to use his ears at all and so did not hear one word.

“Leaving his camp fires burning to deceive the enemy, he stole around by a circuitous route, fell upon the British and captured--”

Billy held up his hands to catch a ball which Jimmy made believe to throw.

Miss Minerva still read on, unconscious of her nephew's inattention:

“The suffering at Valley Forge had been intense during the winter--”

Billy made a pretense behind his aunt's upright back of throwing a ball while the other child held up two fat little hands to receive it. Again he laughed aloud as Jimmy spat on his hands and ground the imaginary ball into his hip.

She looked at him sternly over her glasses:

“What makes you so silly?” she inquired, and without waiting for a reply went on with her reading; she was nearing the close now and she read carefully and deliberately.

“And he was chosen the first president of the United States.”

Billy put his hands to his ears and wriggled his fingers at Jimmy, who promptly returned the compliment.

“He had no children of his own, so he is called the Father of his Country.”

Miss Minerva closed the book, turned to the little boy at her side, and asked:

“Who was this great and good man, William?”

“Jesus,” was his ready answer, in an appropriately solemn little voice.

“Why, William Green Hill!” she exclaimed in disgust. “What are you thinking of? I don't believe you heard one word that I read.”

Billy was puzzled; he was sure she had said “Born in a manger.” “I didn't hear her say nothin' 'bout bulrushes,” he thought, “so 'tain't Moses; she didn't say 'log cabin,' so 'tain't Ab'aham Lincoln; she didn't say 'Thirty cents look down upon you,' so 'tain't Napolyon. I sho' wish I'd paid 'tention.”

“Jesus!” his aunt was saying, “born in Virginia and first president of the United States!”

“George Washin'ton, I aimed to say,” triumphantly screamed the little boy, who had received his cue.

CHAPTER, XXIV

A FLAW IN THE TITLE

“Come on over,” invited Jimmy.

“All right; I believe I will,” responded Billy, running to the fence. His aunt's peremptory voice arrested his footsteps.

“William, come here!” she called from the porch.

He reluctantly retraced his steps.

“I am going back to the kitchen to bake a cake and I want you to promise me not to leave the yard.”

“Lemme jes' go over to Jimmy's a little while,” he begged.

“No; you and Jimmy can not be trusted together; you are sure to get into mischief, and his mother and I have decided to keep the fence between you for a while. Now, promise me that you will stay right in my yard.”

Billy sullenly gave her the promise and she went back to her baking.

“That's always the way now,” he said, meeting his little neighbor at the fence, “ever sence Aunt Minerva got onto this-here promisin' business, I don' have no freedom 't all. It's 'William, promise me this,' an' it's 'William, don't ferget yo' promise now,' tell I's jes' plumb sick 'n tired of it. She know I ain't goin' back on my word an' she jest nachelly gits the 'vantage of me; she 'bout the hardest 'oman to manage I ever seen sence I's born.”

“I can nearly all time make my mama do anything 'most if I jus' keep on trying and keep on a-begging,” bragged the other boy; “I just say 'May I, mama?' and she'll all time say, 'No, go 'way from me and lemme 'lone,' and I just keep on, 'May I, mama? May I, mama? May I, mama? 'and toreckly she'll say, 'Yes, go on and lemme read in peace.'”

“Aunt Minerva won't give in much,” said Billy. “When she say 'No, William,' 'tain't no use 'tall to beg her; you jest wastin' yo' breath. When she put her foot down it got to go just like she say; she sho' do like to have her own way better 'n any 'oman I ever see.”

“She 'bout the mannishest woman they is,” agreed Jimmy. “She got you under her thumb, Billy. I don' see what womans 're made fo' if you can't beg 'em into things. I wouldn't let no old spunky Miss Minerva get the best of me that 'way. Come on, anyhow.”

“Naw, I can't come,” was the gloomy reply; “if she'd jest tol' me not to, I coulder went but she made me promise, an' I ain't never goin' back on my word. You come over to see me.”

“I can't,” came the answer across the fence; “I'm earning me a baseball mask. I done already earnt me a mitt. My mama don't never make me promise her nothing, she just pays me to be good. That's huccome I'm 'bout to get 'ligion and go to the mourner's bench. She's gone up town now and if I don't go outside the yard while she's gone, she's going to gimme a baseball mask. You got a ball what you bringed from the plantation, and I'll have a bat and mitt and mask and we can play ball some. Come on over just a little while; you ain't earning you nothing like what I'm doing.”

“Naw; I promis' her not to an' I ain't ever goin' to break my promise.”

“Well, then, Mr. Promiser,” said Jimmy, “go get your ball and we'll th'ow 'cross the fence. I can't find mine.”

Billy kept his few toys and playthings in a closet, which was full of old plunder. As he reached for his ball something fell at his feet from a shelf above. He picked it up, and ran excitedly into the yard.

“Look, Jimmy,” he yelled, “here's a baseball mask I found in the closet.”

Jimmy, forgetful of the fact that he was to be paid for staying at home, immediately rolled over the fence and ran eagerly toward his friend. They examined the article in question with great care.

“It looks perzactly like a mask,” announced Jimmy after a thorough inspection, “and yet it don't.” He tried it on. “It don't seem to fit your face right,” he said.

Sarah Jane was bearing down upon them. “Come back home dis minute, Jimmy!” she shrieked, “want to ketch some mo' contagwous 'seases, don't yuh? What dat y' all got now?” As she drew nearer a smile of recognition and appreciation overspread her big good-natured face. Then she burst into a loud, derisive laugh. “What y' all gwine to do wid Miss Minerva's old bustle?” she enquired. “Y' all sho' am de contaritest chillens in dis here copperation.”

“Bustle?” echoed Billy, “What's a bustle?”

“Dat-ar's a bustle--dat's what's a bustle. Ladies useto wear 'em 'cause dey so stylish to make they dresses stick out in the back. Come on home, Jimmy, 'fore yuh ketch de yaller jandis er de epizootics; yo' ma tol' yuh to stay right at home.”

“Well, I'm coming, ain't I?” scowled the little boy. “Mama needn't to know nothing 'thout you tell.”

“Would you take yo' mama's present now, Jimmy?” asked Billy; “you ain't earnt it.”

“Wouldn't you?” asked Jimmy, doubtfully.

“Naw, I would n't, not 'thout I tol' her.”

“Well, I'll tell her I just comed over a minute to see 'bout Miss Minerva's bustle,” he agreed as he again tumbled over the fence.

A little negro boy, followed by a tiny, white dog, was passing by Miss Minerva's gate.

Billy promptly flew to the gate and hailed him. Jimmy, looking around to see that Sarah Jane had gone back to the kitchen, as promptly rolled over the fence and joined him.

“Lemme see yo' dog,” said the former.

“Ain't he cute?” said the latter.

The little darkey picked up the dog and passed it across the gate.

“I wish he was mine,” said the smaller child, as he took the soft, fluffy little ball in his arms; “what'll you take for him?”

The negro boy had never seen the dog before, but he immediately accepted the ownership thrust upon him and answered without hesitation, “I'll take a dollar for her.”

“I ain't got but a nickel. Billy, ain't you got 'nough money to put with my nickel to make a dollar?”

“Naw; I ain't got a red cent.”

“I'll tell you what we'll do,” suggested Jimmy; “we'll trade you a baseball mask for him. My mama's going to give me a new mask 'cause I all time stay at home; so we'll trade you our old one. Go get it, Billy.”

Thus commanded Billy ran and picked up the bustle where it lay neglected on the grass and handed it to the quasi-owner of the puppy.

The deal was promptly closed and a little black negro went grinning down the street with Miss Minerva's old bustle tied across his face, leaving behind him a curly-haired dog.

“Ain't he sweet?” said Jimmy, hugging the fluffy white ball close to his breast, “we got to name him, Billy.”

“Le's name her Peruny Pearline,” was the suggestion of the other joint owner.

“He ain't going to be name' nothing at all like that,” declared Jimmy; “you all time got to name our dogs the scalawaggest name they is. He's going to be name' 'Sam Lamb' 'cause he's my partner.”

“She's a girl dog,” argued Billy, “an' she can't be name' no man's name. If she could I'd call her Major.”

“I don't care what sort o' dog he is, girl or boy, he's going to be name' 'Sam Lamb'!” and he fondly stroked the little animal's soft head.

“Here, Peruny! Here, Peruny!” and Billy tried to snatch her away.

The boys heard a whistle; the dog heard it, too. Springing from the little boy's arms Sam Lamb Peruny Pearline ran under the gate and flew to meet her master, who was looking for her.