Gentle Julia | Page 3

Florence
was doing now, except that she rehearsed no rôle in particular, and the
words formed by her lips were neither sequential nor consequential,
being, in fact, the following: "Oh, the darkness ... never, never, never! ...
you couldn't ... he wouldn't ... Ah, mother! ... Where the river swings so
slowly ... Ah, no!" Nevertheless, she was doing all she could for the
elderly stranger, and as they came closer, encountered, and passed on,
she had the definite impression that he did indeed take her to be a

struggling young actress who would some day be famous--and then he
might see her on a night of triumph and recognize her as the girl he had
passed on the street, that day, so long ago! But by this time, the episode
was concluded; the footsteps of him for whom she was performing had
become inaudible behind her, and she began to forget him; which was
as well, since he went out of her life then, and the two never met again.
The struggling young actress disappeared, and the previous superiority
was resumed. It became elaborately emphasized as a boy of her own
age emerged from the "side yard" of a house at the next corner and
came into her view.
The boy caught sight of Florence in plenty of time to observe this
emphasis, which was all too obviously produced by her sensations at
sight of himself; and, after staring at her for a moment, he allowed his
own expression to become one of painful fatigue. Then he slowly
swung about, as if to return into that side-yard obscurity whence he had
come; making clear by this pantomime that he reciprocally found the
sight of her insufferable. In truth, he did; for he was not only her
neighbour but her first-cousin as well, and a short month older, though
taller than she--tall beyond his years, taller than need be, in fact, and
still in knickerbockers. However, his parents may not have been
mistaken in the matter, for it was plain that he looked as well in
knickerbockers as he could have looked in anything. He had no visible
beauty, though it was possible to hope for him that by the time he
reached manhood he would be more tightly put together than he
seemed at present; and indeed he himself appeared to have some
consciousness of insecurity in the fastenings of his members, for it was
his habit (observable even now as he turned to avoid Miss Atwater) to
haul at himself, to sag and hitch about inside his clothes, and to
corkscrew his neck against the swathing of his collar. And yet there
were times, as the most affectionate of his aunts had remarked, when,
for a moment or so, he appeared to be almost knowing; and, seeing him
walking before her, she had almost taken him for a young man; and
sometimes he said something in a settled kind of way that was almost
adult. This fondest aunt went on to add, however, that of course, the
next minute after one of these fleeting spells, he was sure to be
overtaken by his more accustomed moods, when his eye would again

fix itself with fundamental aimlessness upon nothing. In brief, he was
at the age when he spent most of his time changing his mind about
things, or, rather, when his mind spent most of its time changing him
about things; and this was what happened now.
After turning his back on the hateful sight well known to him as his
cousin Florence at her freshest, he turned again, came forth from his
place of residence, and joining her upon the pavement, walked beside
her, accompanying her without greeting or inquiry. His expression of
fatigue, indicating her insufferableness, had not abated; neither had her
air of being a duchess looking at bugs.
"You are a pretty one!" he said; but his intention was perceived to be
far indeed from his words.
"Oh, am I, Mister Herbert Atwater?" Florence responded. "I'm awf'ly
glad you think so!"
"I mean about what Henry Rooter said," her cousin explained. "Henry
Rooter told me he made you believe you were goin' to have a grapevine
climbin' up from inside of you because you ate some grapes with the
seeds in 'em. He says you thought you'd haf to get a carpenter to build a
little arbour so you could swallow it for the grapevine to grow on. He
says----"
Florence had become an angry pink. "That little Henry Rooter is the
worst falsehooder in this town; and I never believed a word he said in
his life! Anyway, what affairs is it of yours, I'd like you to please be so
kind and obliging for to tell me, Mister Herbert Illingsworth Atwater,
Exquire!"
"What affairs?"