Part 23 (1/2)

And yet nothing could have been simpler: as a matter of fact, Jane and Genesis (attended by Clematis) were talking about society. That is to say, their discourse was not sociologic; rather it was of the frivolous and elegant. Watteau prevailed with them over John Stuart Mill--in a word, they spoke of the beau monde.

Genesis turned the handle of the freezer with his left hand, allowing his right the freedom of gesture which was an intermittent necessity when he talked. In the matter of dress, Genesis had always been among the most informal of his race, but to-day there was a change almost unnerving to the Caucasian eye. He wore a balloonish suit of purple, strangely scalloped at pocket and cuff, and more strangely decorated with lines of small parasite b.u.t.tons, in color blue, obviously b.u.t.tons of leisure. His bulbous new shoes flashed back yellow fire at the embarra.s.sed sun, and his collar (for he had gone so far) sent forth other sparkles, playing upon a polished surface over an inner graining of soot. Beneath it hung a simple, white, soiled evening tie, draped in a manner unintended by its manufacturer, and heavily overburdened by a green gla.s.s medallion of the Emperor Tiberius, set in bra.s.s.

”Yesm,” said Genesis. ”Now I'm in 'at Swim--flyin' roun' ev'y night wif all lem blue-vein people--I say, 'Mus' go buy me some blue-vein clo'es!

Ef I'm go'n' a START, might's well start HIGH!' So firs', I buy me thishere gol' necktie pin wi' thishere lady's face carved out o' green di'mon', sittin' in the middle all 'at gol'. 'Nen I buy me pair Royal King shoes. I got a frien' o' mine, thishere Blooie Bowers; he say Royal King shoes same kine o' shoes HE wear, an' I walk straight in 'at sto'

where they keep 'em at. 'Don' was'e my time showin' me no ole-time shoes,' I say. 'Run out some them big, yella, lump-toed Royal Kings befo' my eyes, an' firs' pair fit me I pay price, an' wear 'em right off on me!' 'Nen I got me thishere suit o' clo'es--OH, oh! Sign on 'em in window: 'Ef you wish to be bes'-dress' man in town take me home fer six dolluhs ninety-sevum cents.' ”At's kine o' suit Genesis need,' I say.

'Ef Genesis go'n' a start dressin' high, might's well start top!'”

Jane nodded gravely, comprehending the reasonableness of this view.

”What made you decide to start, Genesis?” she asked, earnestly. ”I mean, how did it happen you began to get this way?”

”Well, suh, 'tall come 'bout right like kine o' slidin' into it 'stid o' hoppin' an' jumpin'. I'z spen' the even' at 'at lady's house, f.a.n.n.y, what cook nex' do', las' year. Well, suh, 'at lady f.a.n.n.y, she quit privut cookin', she kaytliss--”

”She's what?” Jane asked. ”What's that mean, Genesis--kaytliss?”

”She kaytuhs,” he explained. ”Ef it's a man you call him kaytuh; ef it's a lady, she's a kaytliss. She does kaytun fer all lem blue-vein fam'lies in town. She make ref'eshmuns, bring waituhs--'at's kaytun. You' maw give big dinnuh, she have f.a.n.n.y kaytuh, an' don't take no trouble 'tall herself. f.a.n.n.y take all 'at trouble.”

”I see,” said Jane. ”But I don't see how her bein' a kaytliss started you to dressin' so high, Genesis.”

”Thishere way. f.a.n.n.y say, 'Look here, Genesis, I got big job t'morra night an' I'm man short, 'count o' havin' to have a 'nouncer.'”

”A what?”

”f.a.n.n.y talk jes' that way. Goin' be big dinnuh-potty, an' thishere blue-vein fam'ly tell f.a.n.n.y they want whole lot extry sploogin'; tell her put fine-lookin' cullud man stan' by drawin'-room do'--ask ev'ybody name an' holler out whatever name they say, jes' as they walk in.

Thishere fam'ly say they goin' show what's what, 'nis town, an' they boun' f.a.n.n.y go git 'em a 'nouncer. 'Well, what's mattuh YOU doin' 'at 'nouncin'?' f.a.n.n.y say. 'Who--me?' I tell her. 'Yes, you kin, too!' she say, an' she say she len' me 'at waituh suit yoosta b'long ole Henry Gimlet what die' when he owin' f.a.n.n.y sixteen dolluhs--an' f.a.n.n.y tuck an' keep 'at waituh suit. She use 'at suit on extry waituhs when she got some on her hands what 'ain't got no waituh suit. 'You wear 'at suit,'

f.a.n.n.y say, 'an' you be good 'nouncer, 'cause you' a fine, big man, an'

got a big, gran' voice; 'nen you learn befo' long be a waituh, Genesis, an' git dolluh an' half ev'y even' you waitin ', 'sides all 'at money you make cuttin' gra.s.s daytime.' Well, suh, I'z stan' up doin' 'at 'nouncin' ve'y nex' night. White lady an' ge'lmun walk todes my do', I step up to 'em--I step up to 'em thisaway.”

Here Genesis found it pleasant to present the scene with some elaboration. He dropped the handle of the freezer, rose, a.s.sumed a stately, but ingratiating, expression, and ”stepped up” to the imagined couple, using a pacing and rhythmic gait--a conservative prance, which plainly indicated the simultaneous operation of an orchestra. Then bending graciously, as though the persons addressed were of dwarfish stature, ”'Scuse me,” he said, ”but kin I please be so p'lite as to 'quiah you' name?” For a moment he listened attentively, then nodded, and, returning with the same aristocratic undulations to an imaginary doorway near the freezer, ”Misto an' Missuz Orlosko Rinktum!” he proclaimed, sonorously.

”WHO?” cried Jane, fascinated. ”Genesis, 'nounce that again, right away!”

Genesis heartily complied.

”Misto an' Missuz Orlosko Rinktum!” he bawled.

”Was that really their names?” she asked, eagerly.

”Well, I kine o' fergit,” Genesis admitted, resuming his work with the freezer. ”Seem like I rickalect SOMEBODY got name good deal like what I say, 'cause some mighty blue-vein names at 'at dinnuh-potty, yessuh! But I on'y git to be 'nouncer one time, 'cause f.a.n.n.y tellin' me nex' fam'ly have dinnuh-potty make heap o' fun. Say I done my 'nouncin' GOOD, but say what's use holler'n' names jes' fer some the neighbors or they own aunts an' uncles to walk in, when ev'ybody awready knows 'em? So f.a.n.n.y pummote me to waituh, an' I roun' right in amongs' big doin's mos' ev'y night. Pa.s.s ice-cream, lemonade, lemon-ice, cake, samwitches. 'Lemme han' you li'l' mo' chicken salad, ma'am'--' 'Low me be so kine as to git you f'esh cup coffee, suh'--'S way ole Genesis talkin' ev'y even' 'ese days!”

Jane looked at him thoughtfully. ”Do you like it better than cuttin'

gra.s.s, Genesis?” she asked.

He paused to consider. ”Yes'm--when ban' play all lem TUNES! My goo'ness, do soun' gran'!”

”You can't do it to-night, though, Genesis,” said Jane. ”You haf to be quiet on Sunday nights, don't you?”