Java Head | Page 6

I'll harry you." He
stood aside while Laurel and Janet filed into the library. Geography
was the only subject their grandfather proposed for his instruction, and
the lesson, she knew, might take any one of several directions. He
sometimes heard it with the precision of Miss Gomes herself; he might
substitute for the regular questions such queries, drawn from his wide
voyages, as he thought to be of infinitely greater use and interest; or,
better still, he frequently gave them the benefit of long reminiscences,
through which they sat blinking in a mechanical attention or slightly
wriggling with minds far away from the old man's periods, full of
outlandish names and places, and, when he got excited, shocking
swears.
He turned the easy-chair--the one which Laurel had thought of as a
ship--away from the fireplace, now covered with a green slatted blind
for the summer; and they drew forward two of the heavy chairs with
shining claw feet that stood against the wall. Smiley's Geography, a
book no larger than the shipmaster's hand, was found and opened to
Hindoostan, or India within the Ganges. There was a dark surprising
picture of Hindoos doing Penance under the Banyan tree, and a
confusing view of the Himaleh Mountains.
"Stuff," he proceeded, gazing with disfavor at the illustrations. "This
ought to be written by men who have seen the world and know its tides
and landmarks. Do you suppose," he demanded heatedly of Janet, "that
the fellow who put this together ever took a ship through the Formosa
Channel against the northeast monsoon?"
"No, sir," Janet replied hastily.
"Here are Climate and Face of the country and Religion," he located

these items with a blunt finger, "but I can't find exports. I'll lay he won't
know a Bengal chintz from a bundle handkerchief."
"I don't think it says anything about exports," Laurel volunteered. "We
have the boundaries and--"
"Bilge," he interrupted sharply. "I didn't fetch boundaries back in the
Two Capes, did I?" He thrust the offending volume into a crevice of his
chair. "Laurel," he added, "what is the outport of St. Petersburg?"
"Cronstadt," she answered, after a violent searching of her memory.
"And for Manilla?" he turned to Janet.
"I can't think," she admitted.
"Laurel?"
"Cavite," the latter pronounced out of a racking mental effort.
"Just so, and--" he looked up at the ceiling, "the port for Boston?"
"I don't believe we've had that," she said firmly. His gaze fastened on
her so intently that she blushed into her lap. "Don't believe we've had
it," he echoed.
"Why, confound it--" he paused and regarded her with a new doubt.
"Laurel," he demanded, "what is an outport?"
She had a distinct feeling of justifiable injury. A recognized part of the
present system of examination was its strict limitation to questions
made familiar by constant repetition; and this last was entirely new.
She was sure of several kinds of ports--one they had after dinner,
another indicated a certain side of a vessel, and still a third was Salem.
But an outport--Cronstadt, Cavite, what it really meant, what they were,
had escaped her. She decided to risk an opinion.
"An outport," she said slowly, "is a--a part of a ship," that much seemed
safe--"I expect it's the place where they throw things like potato peels

through."
"You suppose what!" he cried, breathing quite hard. "A place where
they--" he broke off. "And you're Jeremy Ammidon's granddaughter!
By heaven, it would make a coolie laugh. It's like William, who never
would go to sea, to have four daughters in place of a son. I'm done with
you; go tinker on the piano." They got down from their chairs and
departed with an only half concealed eagerness. "Do you think he
means it," Janet asked hopefully, "and he'll never have any geography
again?"
"No, I don't," Laurel told her shortly. She was inwardly ruffled, and
further annoyed at Janet's placid acceptance of whatever the day
brought along. Janet was a stick! She turned away and found herself
facing the parlor and the memory of the impending hour of practice.
Well, it had to be done before dinner, and she went forward with
dragging feet.
Within the formal shaded space of the chamber she stopped to
speculate on the varied and colorful pictures of the wall paper reaching
from the white paneling above her waist to the deep white carving at
the ceiling. The scene which absorbed her most showed, elevated above
a smooth stream, a marble pavilion with sweeping steps and a polite
company about a reclining gentleman with bare arms and a wreath on
his head and a lady in flowing robes playing pipes. To the right, in deep
green shadow, a charmer was swinging from ropes of flowers, lovers
hid behind a brown mossy trunk; while