Part 5 (2/2)
The little boy wondered if this meant that Milo Barrus had come to the Feet, or been born again, or something. Or if it meant that his father also spelled G.o.d with a little g. He did not think of it, however, until it was too late to ask.
The flawless father went away at the end of the week, ”over the County Fair circuit, selling Chief White Cloud's Great Indian Remedy,” the little boy heard him tell Clytie. Also he heard his grandfather say to Clytie, ”Thank G.o.d, not for another year!”
The little boy liked Nancy better than ever after that, because she had liked his father so much, saying he was exactly like a prince, giving pennies and nickels to everybody and being so handsome and big and grand.
She wished her own Uncle Doctor could be as beautiful and great; and the little boy was generous enough to wish that his own plain grandfather might be _almost_ as fine.
CHAPTER VII
THE SUPERLATIVE COUSIN BILL J.
A splendid new interest had now come into the household in the person of one whom Clytemnestra had so often named as Cousin Bill J. Grandfather Delcher having been ordered south for the winter by Dr. Crealock, Cousin Bill J., upon Clytie's recommendation, was imported from up Fredonia way to look after the cow and be a man about the place. Clytie a.s.sured Grandfather Delcher that Cousin Bill J. had ”never uttered an oath, though he's been around horses all his life!” This made him at once an object of interest to the little boy, though doubtless he failed to appraise the restraint at anything like its true value. It had sufficed Grandfather Delcher, however, and Cousin Bill J., securing leave of absence from the livery-stable in Fredonia, arrived the day the old man left, making a double excitement for the household.
He proved to be a fascinating person; handsome, affable, a ready talker upon all matters of interest--though sarcastic, withal--and fond of boys.
True, he had not long hair like the little boy's father. Indeed, he had not much hair at all, except a sort of curtain of black curls extending from ear to ear at the back of his bare, pink head. But the little boy had to admit that Cousin Bill J.'s moustache was even grander than his father's. It fell in two graceful festoons far below his chin, with a little eyelet curled into each tip, and, like the ringlets, it showed the blue-black l.u.s.tre of the crow's wing. In the full sunlight, at times, it became almost a royal purple.
Later observation taught the little boy that this splendid hue was applied at intervals by Cousin Bill J. himself. He did it daintily with a small brush, every time the moustache began to show a bit rusty at the roots; Bernal never failed to be present at this ceremony; nor to resolve that his own moustache, when it came, should be as scrupulously cared for--not left, like Dr. Crealock's, for example, to become speckled and gray.
Cousin Bill J.'s garments were as splendid as his character. He had an overcoat and cap made from a buffalo hide; his high-heeled boots had maroon tops set with purple crescents; his watch-charm was a large gold horse in full gallop; his cravat was an extensive area of scarlet satin in the midst of which was caught a precious stone as large as a robin's egg; and in smoking, which his physician had prescribed, he used a superb meerschaum cigar-holder, all tinted a golden brown, upon which lightly perched a carven angel dressed like those that ride the big white horse in the circus.
But aside from these mere matters of form, Cousin Bill J. was a man with a history. Some years before he had sprained his back, since which time he had been unable to perform hard labour; but prior to that mishap he had been a perfect specimen of physical manhood--one whose prowess had been the marvel of an extensive territory. He had split and laid up his three hundred and fifty rails many a day, when strong men beside him had blus.h.i.+ngly to stop with three hundred or thereabouts; he had also cradled his four acres of grain in a day, and he could break the wildest horse ever known. Even the great Budd Doble, whom he personally knew, had said more than once, and in the presence of unimpeachable witnesses, that in some ways he, Budd Doble, knew less about a horse than Cousin Bill J. did.
The little boy was wrought to enthusiasm by this tribute, resolving always to remember to say ”hoss” for horse; and, though he had not heard of Budd Doble before, the name was magnetic for him. After you said it over several times he thought it made you feel as if you had a cold in your head.
Still further, Cousin Bill J. could throw his thumbs out of joint, sing tenor in the choir, charm away warts, recite ”Roger and I” and ”The Death of Little Nell,” and he knew all the things that would make boys grow fast, like bringing in wood, splitting kindling, putting down hay for the cow, and other out-of-door exercises that had made him the demon of strength he once was. The little boy was not only glad to perform these acts for his own sake, but for the sake of lightening the labours of his hero, who wrenched his back anew nearly every time he tried to do anything, and was always having to take a medicine for it which he called ”peach-and-honey.” The little boy thought the name attractive, though his heart bled for the sufferer each time he was obliged to take it; for after every swallow of the stuff he made a face that told eloquently how nauseous it must be.
As for the satire and wit of Cousin Bill J., they were of the dry sort. He would say to one he met on the street when the mud was deep, ”Fine weather overhead”--then adding dryly, after a significant pause--”_but few going that way!”_ Or he would exclaim with feigned admiration, when the little boy shot at a bird with his bow and arrow, ”My! you made the feathers fly _that_ time!”--then, after his terrible pause--_”only, the bird flew with them_.” Also he could call it ”Fourth of Ju-New-Years” without ever cracking a smile, though it cramped the little boy in helpless laughter.
Altogether, Cousin Bill J. was a winning and lovely character of merits both spiritual and spectacular, and he brought to the big house an exotic atmosphere that was spicy with delights. The little boy prayed that this hero might be made again the man he once was; not because of any flaw that he could see in him--but only because the sufferer appeared somewhat less than perfect to himself. To Bernal's mind, indeed, nothing could have been superior to the n.o.ble melancholy with which Cousin Bill J. looked back upon his splendid past. There was a perfect dignity in it. Surely no mere electric belt could bring to him an attraction surpa.s.sing this--though Cousin Bill J. insisted that he never expected any real improvement until he could save up enough money to buy one. He showed the little boy a picture cut from a newspaper--the picture of a strong, proud-looking man with plenteous black whiskers, girded about with a wide belt that was projecting a great volume of electricity into the air in every direction.
It was interesting enough, but the little boy thought this person by no means so beautiful as Cousin Bill J., and said so. He believed, too, though this he did not say, from tactful motives, that it would detract from the dignity of Cousin Bill J. to go about clad only in an electric belt, like the proud-looking gentleman in the picture--even if the belt did send out a lot of electric wiggles all the time. But, of course, Cousin Bill J. knew best. He looked forward to having his father meet this new hero--feeling that each was perfect in his own way.
CHAPTER VIII
SEARCHING THE SCRIPTURES
Around the evening lamp that winter the little boys studied Holy Writ, while Allan made summaries of it for the edification of the proud grandfather in far-off Florida.
Tersely was the creation and the fall of man set forth, under promptings and suggestions from Clytie and Cousin Bill J., who was no mean Bible authority: how G.o.d, ”walking in the garden in the cool of the day,” found his first pair ashamed of their nakedness, and with his own hands made them coats of skins and clothed them. ”What a treasure those garments would be in this evil day,” said Clytie--”what a silencing rebuke to all heretics!” But the Lord drove out the wicked pair, lest they ”take also of the tree of life and live forever,” saying, ”Behold, the man is become as one of _us!_” This provoked a lengthy discussion the very first evening as to whether it meant that there was more than one G.o.d. And Clytie's view--that G.o.d called himself ”Us” in the same sense that kings and editors of newspapers do--at length prevailed over the polytheistic hypothesis of Cousin Bill J.
On they read to the Deluge, when man became so very bad indeed that G.o.d was sorry for ever having made him, and said: ”I will destroy man whom I have created from the face of the earth; both man and the beast and the creeping thing, and the fowls of the air, for it repenteth me that I have made them.”
Hereupon Bernal suggested that all the white rabbits at least should have been saved--thinking of his own two in the warm nest in the barn. He was unable to see how white rabbits with twitching pink noses and pink rims around their eyes could be an offense, or, indeed, other than a pure joy even to one so good as G.o.d. But he gave in, with new admiration for the ready mind of Cousin Bill J., who pointed out that white rabbits could not have been saved because they were not fish. He even relished the dry quip that maybe he, the little boy, thought white rabbits _were_ fish; but Cousin Bill J. didn't, for his part.
Past the Tower of Babel they went, when the Lord ”came down to see the city and the tower,” and made them suddenly talk strange tongues to one another so they could not build their tower actually into Heaven.
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