Part 17 (1/2)
”Is Karl here?”
”Oh! No, ma'am.”
”I gave him permission to come here and play tennis!” she cried with visible irritation. ”Hasn't he been here?”
”No, ma'am. We ain't seen him this mornin'.”
Mrs. Westfall was annoyed. ”He's going driving with us!” she informed them. ”Do you know where he is?”
”No, ma'am! He hasn't been around here!”
At that moment a movement at the rear of the house and in the immediate neighborhood of the cellar door caught Mrs. Westfall's eye. An animated ma.s.s of dirt and potato sprouts that might by some stretch of the imagination have been taken for a human being, emerged and paused to regard itself. For a moment it brushed desperately at the place where trousers might have been expected to hang had it been a male member of the human family. A cloud of stifling dust arose; and out of the midst of the cloud came a wail of distress that Mrs. Westfall recognized as the voice of her missing son.
Her astonishment gave way to annoyance, quickly followed by a surge of red anger. She handed the reins to her escort and leaped from the surrey with the agility of a tigress.
Sube involuntarily fell back a few steps muttering: ”Why! That must be him! I wonder where he's been!”
But he need have no fear, for this was his day. He was immune from disaster of any kind. The enraged woman rushed past him, and seizing Biscuit by the nape of the neck, hauled him over her knee and repeatedly applied to his person a large red hand, utterly regardless of the nebulous ma.s.ses of dust that arose at each stroke.
At first Biscuit put up a terrified resistance, attempting desperately to get a hearing for his plea of justification; but when the blows began to rain down on him he gave himself up to such solace as the human voice affords.
He cried; then he bawled; and as the chastis.e.m.e.nt proceeded he bellowed l.u.s.tily. It was not so much the physical pain, nor the anguish of outraged innocence, although he felt both keenly, as it was the burning disgrace of being chastised in the presence of his fellows.
But his lamentations had little effect on his mother. She ceased her ministrations only when her strength was spent.
”There!” she gasped with her final blow. ”You--dirty--boy!!--Look at your bare feet!”
Biscuit looked at them. They were indeed bare, and very, very dirty.
”You know you are forbidden to go barefooted!” she charged with a gesture that seemed to indicate that she contemplated a renewal of the a.s.sault. ”And look at your beautiful new trousers! They're _ruined_!!”
Biscuit glanced down at them, at the same time keeping up a defensive blubbering.
”You deceived me!” she continued the arraignment. ”You told me you wanted to come here and play tennis!--And you never came near here!--When I stop for you I find the other boys playing like little gentlemen, while you are off by yourself getting into--Goodness knows what!--Go home, you dirty boy, as fast as ever you can get there! I'll finish with you in private!”
The thing was beyond Biscuit; it was too much for him. The harm was done. It was too late for explanations. He made no attempt to reply, but limped, still blubbering, in the direction of his shoes, the coa.r.s.e turf torturing his tender feet.
Mrs. Westfall followed menacingly at a little distance with further animadversions, when suddenly she remembered her guest, whose presence she had entirely overlooked in the stress of her emotions. She did not doubt that he was looking on with mortification and horror; and, accordingly, with such moderation of her angry voice as she could command, she added:
”Go home, you wicked boy, and pray to G.o.d to forgive you.”
As the Westfall family withdrew, practical Sube whispered to his companions, ”If Biscuit's on to his job he'll put on an extra pair of pants before he does any prayin'.”
CHAPTER XI
A FLYER IN CATS
Fate gave indications of having designed Sube for a business career, and although he tried to keep out of the clutches of trade during vacation he was not entirely successful.