Seventeen | Page 6

street did not seem quite empty; there was still
something warm and fragrant about it, and a rosy glamor lingered in
the air. William rested an elbow upon the gate-post, and with his chin
reposing in his hand gazed long in the direction in which the unknown
had vanished. And his soul was tremulous, for she had done her work
but too well.
`` `Indifferink'!'' he murmured, thrilling at his own exceedingly
indifferent imitation of her voice. ``Indifferink!'' that was just what he
would have her think--that he was a cold, indifferent man. It was what
he wished all girls to think. And ``sarcastic''! He had been envious one
day when May Parcher said that Joe Bullitt was ``awfully sarcastic.''
William had spent the ensuing hour in an object-lesson intended to
make Miss Parcher see that William Sylvanus Baxter was twice as

sarcastic as Joe Bullitt ever thought of being, but this great effort had
been unsuccessful, because William, failed to understand that Miss
Parcher had only been sending a sort of message to Mr. Bullitt. It was a
device not unique among her sex; her hope was that William would
repeat her remark in such a manner that Joe Bullitt would hear it and
call to inquire what she meant.
`` `SO indifferink'!'' murmured William, leaning dreamily upon the
gate-post. ``Indifferink!'' He tried to get the exact cooing quality of the
unknown's voice. ``Indifferink!'' And, repeating the honeyed word, so
entrancingly distorted, he fell into a kind of stupor; vague, beautiful
pictures rising before him, the one least blurred being of himself, on
horseback, sweeping between Flopit and a racing automobile. And then,
having restored the little animal to its mistress, William sat carelessly
in the saddle (he had the Guardsman's seat) while the perfectly trained
steed wheeled about, forelegs in the air, preparing to go. ``But shall I
not see you again, to thank you more properly?'' she cried, pleading.
``Some other day--perhaps,'' he answered.
And left her in a cloud of dust.

III
THE PAINFUL AGE
``OH WILL--EE!''
Thus a shrill voice, to his ears hideously different from that other,
interrupted and dispersed his visions. Little Jane, his ten-year- old sister,
stood upon the front porch, the door open behind her, and in her hand
she held a large slab of bread-and-butter covered with apple sauce and
powdered sugar. Evidence that she had sampled this compound was
upon her cheeks, and to her brother she was a repulsive sight;.
``Will-ee!'' she shrilled. ``Look! GOOD!'' And to emphasize the
adjective she indelicately patted the region of her body in which she
believed her stomach to be located. ``There's a slice for you on the
dining-room table,'' she informed him, joyously.
Outraged, he entered the house without a word to her, and, proceeding
to the dining-room, laid hands upon the slice she had mentioned, but
declined to eat it in Jane's company. He was in an exalted mood, and
though in no condition of mind or body would he refuse food of almost
any kind, Jane was an intrusion he could not suffer at this time.

He carried the refection to his own room and, locking the door, sat
down to eat, while, even as he ate, the spell that was upon him
deepened in intensity.
``Oh, eyes!'' he whispered, softly, in that cool privacy and shelter from
the world. ``Oh, eyes of blue!''
The mirror of a dressing-table sent him the reflection of his own eyes,
which also were blue; and he gazed upon them and upon the rest of his
image the while he ate his bread-and-butter and apple sauce and sugar.
Thus, watching himself eat, he continued to stare dreamily at the mirror
until the bread-and-butter and apple sauce and sugar had disappeared,
whereupon he rose and approached the dressing-table to study himself
at greater advantage.
He assumed as repulsive an expression as he could command, at the
same time making the kingly gesture of one who repels unwelcome
attentions; and it is beyond doubt that he was thus acting a little scene
of indifference. Other symbolic dramas followed, though an invisible
observer might have been puzzled for a key to some of them. One,
however, would have proved easily intelligible: his expression having
altered to a look of pity and contrition, he turned from the mirror, and,
walking slowly to a chair across the room, used his right hand in a
peculiar manner, seeming to stroke the air at a point about ten inches
above the back of the chair. ``There, there, little girl,'' he said in a low,
gentle voice. ``I didn't know you cared!''
Then, with a rather abrupt dismissal of this theme, he returned to the
mirror and, after a questioning scrutiny, nodded solemnly, forming with
his lips the words, ``The real thing--the