Sonnie-Boys People | Page 4

with his head to one side and his little round eye rolling out at me, and he says: 'Did Sonnie-Boy's godfather send him that steam-engine from Japan yet, what you told us about? 'Cause if he did, we have a fine pome about it.'
"'Yes, he did send him a fine steam-engine from Japan,' I said, 'and you go on and let me hear your pome, and if it's a good pome I'll give you all a fine ripe mango to eat.' And so they all puffs out their fat little cheeks and they begins:
"'Godfather bought him an engine, red and black, It wabbles slightly and the wheels don't track----'"
"But it don't, papa, 'n' the wheels do track."
"But that's what they said.
"'But Sonnie-Boy felt prouder than England's queen When it puffed real smoke and sure-enough steam.'"
"But it's a king in England, papa."
"I know, but that's the way the Little Green Men told me. Some things they don't know yet, they're so little.
"'He named it Lightning 'cause of its speed, And the 'casional spills he did not heed. All big roads had accidents, people knew-- There was danger sure when the whistle blew.'"
"It's true, 'bout th' accidents, isn't it, papa?"
"Nothing truer. Now, let me see. What else? Oh, yes:
"'The Lightning Express is coming back, Clear the way there, people, off the track! Or Sonnie-Boy's engine, red and black, Will knock you down and hit you whack!'"
"How's that?"
"That's great, papa. And did they have a band with them?"
"No. No band, but one little six-toed fellow--I 'most forgot him--was playing on a hook-a-zoo. That's a sausage-shaped thing, with things like rabbit's ears on it. The music comes out the ears."
"And what kind of music, papa?"
"Oh, like a jew's-harp something, only being bigger 'twas louder. Zoo-zoo, zoo-zoo-zoo it went."
"I like those Little Green Men, papa, but where was the Little Blue Men to-day, did they say?"
"Oh, they'd gone to a wedding, the hook-a-zoo player said."
"They know everything, don't they, papa?"
"M-m-most everything."
"And will the Little Men tell me things when I'm a big man, papa?"
"If they don't, I won't let 'em have any more mangoes."
"An' what the bugle men play 'n' what the flags say when they hoists them up in the air on the big gun-ships, papa?"
"If you're a good boy, they will. And now what d'y' say if we go in and you tell Diana your papa wants some hot water out of the kettle. And while you're doing that and auntie and godfather are talking things over to themselves, I'll be laying out my razor and my soap 'n' things all ready to shave. There you are, there's the boy!"
* * * * *
It was after dinner on Welkie's veranda. The two friends had been smoking for some time in silence. Young Greg had just left with his aunt to go to bed. Balfe was thinking what a pity it was the boy's mother had not lived to see him now. He turned in his chair. "What would you do without him, Greg?"
Welkie understood what his friend had in mind. "It would be like the days having no sunrise. I'd be groping in the dark, and almost no reason for me to keep on groping. Splashed in concrete and slaked in lime, from head to toe, steaming under that eternal sun, five hundred spiggities and not half enough foremen to keep 'em jumping, I find myself saying to myself, 'What in God's name is the use?' and then I'll see a picture of his shining face running to meet me on the beach, and, Andie, it's like the trade-wind setting in afresh. The men look around to see what I'm whistling about. But"--Welkie sniffed and stood up--"get it?"
Balfe caught a faint breath, the faintest tang borne upon the wings of the gentlest of breezes.
Welkie went inside. Presently he returned with bottles and glasses. "When a little breeze stirs, as it sometimes does of a hot night here, and there's beer in the ice-box and the ice not all melted, life's 'most worth living. Try some, Andie--from God's country. And one of these Porto Ric' cigars. Everybody'll be smoking 'em soon, and then we poor chaps'll have to be paying New York prices for 'em, which means we'll have to make a new discovery somewhere."
"Wait, Greg--I almost forgot." Balfe stepped to his suit-case, took out a box of cigars, and handed it to Welkie. "From Key West. Hernando Cabada. When I told him I was going to see you, he sat down and rolled out that boxful, which took him three hours, and gave them to me for you. 'For my friend, Mis-ter Wel-keey-ay,' he said."
"Good old Hernando!" Welkie opened the box. Balfe took one, Welkie took one; they lit up.
"Ah-h--" Welkie woofed a great gob of smoke toward the veranda roof. "Andie, you