Part 27 (1/2)

”His name,” replied Frowenfeld, betraying a slight embarra.s.sment, ”is--Innerarity; Mr. Raoul Innerarity; he is--”

”Ee pain' dad pigtu' w'at 'angin' in yo' window?”

Clotilde's remonstrance rose to a slight movement and a murmur.

Frowenfeld answered in the affirmative, and possibly betrayed the faint shadow of a smile. The response was a peal of laughter from both ladies.

”He is an excellent drug clerk,” said Frowenfeld defensively.

Whereat Aurora laughed again, leaning over and touching Clotilde's knee with one finger.

”An' excellen' drug cl'--ha, ha, ha! oh!”

”You muz podden uz, M'sieu' Frowenfel',” said Clotilde, with forced gravity.

Aurora sighed her partic.i.p.ation in the apology; and, a few moments later, the apothecary and both ladies (the one as fond of the abstract as the other two were ignorant of the concrete) were engaged in an animated, running discussion on art, society, climate, education,--all those large, secondary _desiderata_ which seem of first importance to young ambition and secluded beauty, flying to and fro among these subjects with all the liveliness and uncertainty of a game of p.u.s.s.y-wants-a-corner.

Frowenfeld had never before spent such an hour. At its expiration, he had so well held his own against both the others, that the three had settled down to this sort of entertainment: Aurora would make an a.s.sertion, or Clotilde would ask a question; and Frowenfeld, moved by that frankness and ardent zeal for truth which had enlisted the early friends.h.i.+p of Dr. Keene, amused and attracted Honore Grandissime, won the confidence of the f.m.c., and tamed the fiery distrust and enmity of Palmyre, would present his opinions without the thought of a reservation either in himself or his hearers. On their part, they would sit in deep attention, s.h.i.+elding their faces from the fire, and responding to enunciations directly contrary to their convictions with an occasional ”yes-seh,” or ”ceddenly,” or ”of coze,” or,--prettier affirmation still,--a solemn drooping of the eyelids, a slight compression of the lips, and a low, slow declination of the head.

”The bane of all Creole art-effort”--(we take up the apothecary's words at a point where Clotilde was leaning forward and slightly frowning in an honest attempt to comprehend his condensed English)--”the bane of all Creole art-effort, so far as I have seen it, is amateurism.”

”Amateu--” murmured Clotilde, a little beclouded on the main word and distracted by a French difference of meaning, but planting an elbow on one knee in the genuineness of her attention, and responding with a bow.

”That is to say,” said Frowenfeld, apologizing for the homeliness of his further explanation by a smile, ”a kind of ambitious indolence that lays very large eggs, but can neither see the necessity for building a nest beforehand, nor command the patience to hatch the eggs afterward.”

”Of coze,” said Aurora.

”It is a great pity,” said the sermonizer, looking at the face of Clotilde, elongated in the bra.s.s andiron; and, after a pause: ”Nothing on earth can take the place of hard and patient labor. But that, in this community, is not esteemed; most sorts of it are contemned; the humbler sorts are despised, and the higher are regarded with mingled patronage and commiseration. Most of those who come to my shop with their efforts at art hasten to explain, either that they are merely seeking pastime, or else that they are driven to their course by want; and if I advise them to take their work back and finish it, they take it back and never return. Industry is not only despised, but has been degraded and disgraced, handed over into the hands of African savages.”

”Doze Creole' is _lezzy_,” said Aurora.

”That is a hard word to apply to those who do not _consciously_ deserve it,” said Frowenfeld; ”but if they could only wake up to the fact,--find it out themselves--”

”Ceddenly,” said Clotilde.

”'Sieur Frowenfel',” said Aurora, leaning her head on one side, ”some pipple thing it is doze climade; 'ow you lag doze climade?”

”I do not suppose,” replied the visitor, ”there is a more delightful climate in the world.”

”Ah-h-h!”--both ladies at once, in a low, gracious tone of acknowledgment.

”I thing Louisiana is a paradize-me!” said Aurora. ”W'ere you goin' fin'

sudge a h-air?” She respired a sample of it. ”W'ere you goin' fin' sudge a so ridge groun'? De weed' in my bag yard is twenny-five feet 'igh!”

”Ah! maman!”

”Twenty-six!” said Aurora, correcting herself. ”W'ere you fin' sudge a reever lag dad Mississippi? _On dit_,” she said, turning to Clotilde, ”_que ses eaux ont la propriete de contribuer meme a multiplier l'espece humaine_--ha, ha, ha!”

Clotilde turned away an unmoved countenance to hear Frowenfeld.