The Cruise of the Dazzler | Page 3

Jack London

"Come home," he finished for her.
Bessie nodded her head. Joe put his hands in his pockets again, and
walked up and down.
"A sissy outfit, that 's what it is," he said abruptly; "and a sissy program.
None of it in mine, please."
She tightened her trembling lips and struggled on bravely. "What
would you rather do?" she asked.
"I 'd sooner take Fred and Charley and go off somewhere and do
something--well, anything."
He paused and looked at her. She was waiting patiently for him to
proceed. He was aware of his inability to express in words what he felt
and wanted, and all his trouble and general dissatisfaction rose up and
gripped hold of him.
"Oh, you can't understand!" he burst out. "You can't understand. You
're a girl. You like to be prim and neat, and to be good in deportment
and ahead in your studies. You don't care for danger and adventure and
such things, and you don't care for boys who are rough, and have life
and go in them, and all that. You like good little boys in white collars,
with clothes always clean and hair always combed, who like to stay in
at recess and be petted by the teacher and told how they're always up in
their studies; nice little boys who never get into scrapes--who are too
busy walking around and picking flowers and eating lunches with girls,
to get into scrapes. Oh, I know the kind--afraid of their own shadows,
and no more spunk in them than in so many sheep. That 's what they

are--sheep. Well, I 'm not a sheep, and there 's no more to be said. And
I don't want to go on your picnic, and, what 's more, I 'm not going."
The tears welled up in Bessie's brown eyes, and her lips were trembling.
This angered him unreasonably. What were girls good for,
anyway?--always blubbering, and interfering, and carrying on. There
was no sense in them.
"A fellow can't say anything without making you cry," he began, trying
to appease her. "Why, I did n't mean anything, Sis. I did n't, sure. I--"
He paused helplessly and looked down at her. She was sobbing, and at
the same time shaking with the effort to control her sobs, while big
tears were rolling down her cheeks.
"Oh, you--you girls!" he cried, and strode wrathfully out of the room.
CHAPTER II
"THE DRACONIAN REFORMS"
A few minutes later, and still wrathful, Joe went in to dinner. He ate
silently, though his father and mother and Bessie kept up a genial flow
of conversation. There she was, he communed savagely with his plate,
crying one minute, and the next all smiles and laughter. Now that was
n't his way. If he had anything sufficiently important to cry about, rest
assured he would n't get over it for days. Girls were hypocrites, that
was all there was to it. They did n't feel one hundredth part of all that
they said when they cried. It stood to reason that they did n't. It must be
that they just carried on because they enjoyed it. It made them feel
good to make other people miserable, especially boys. That was why
they were always interfering.
Thus reflecting sagely, he kept his eyes on his plate and did justice to
the fare; for one cannot scorch from the Cliff House to the Western
Addition via the park without being guilty of a healthy appetite.
Now and then his father directed a glance at him in a certain mildly

anxious way. Joe did not see these glances, but Bessie saw them, every
one. Mr. Bronson was a middle-aged man, well developed and of heavy
build, though not fat. His was a rugged face, square-jawed and
stern-featured, though his eyes were kindly and there were lines about
the mouth that betokened laughter rather than severity. A close
examination was not required to discover the resemblance between him
and Joe. The same broad forehead and strong jaw characterized them
both, and the eyes, taking into consideration the difference of age, were
as like as peas from one pod.
"How are you getting on, Joe?" Mr. Bronson asked finally. Dinner was
over and they were about to leave the table.
"Oh, I don't know," Joe answered carelessly, and then added: "We have
examinations to-morrow. I'll know then."
"Whither bound?" his mother questioned, as he turned to leave the
room. She was a slender, willowy woman, whose brown eyes Bessie's
were, and likewise her tender ways.
"To my room," Joe answered. "To work," he supplemented.
She rumpled his hair affectionately, and bent and kissed him. Mr.
Bronson smiled approval at him as he went out, and he hurried up the
stairs, resolved to dig hard and pass
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