The Wrong Twin | Page 7

Wilbur twin was aghast at her downright methods. He had a feeling that she should have retired for this change. How was he to know that an emergency had lifted her above prejudices sacred to the meaner souled? But now he raised a new objection, for beneath her gown the girl had been still abundantly and intricately clad, girded, harnessed.
"I can't ever put on all those other things," he declared, indicating the elaborate underdressing.
"Very well, I'll keep 'em on under the pants and waist till I get to the great city," said the girl, obligingly. "But why don't you hurry?"
She tossed him the discarded dress. He was seized with fresh panic as he took the thing.
"I don't like to," he said, sullenly.
"Look at all the money we'll have!" urged the brother.
"Here," said the girl, beguilingly, "when you've done it I'll give you two long sucks of my lemon candy."
She took the enticing combination from Merle and held it fair before his yearning eyes; the last rite of a monstrous seduction was achieved. The victim wavered and was lost. He took the dress.
"Whistle if any one comes," he said, and withdrew behind the headstone of the late Jonas Whipple. He--of the modest sex--would not disrobe in public. At least it was part modesty; in part the circumstance that his visible garments were precisely all he wore. He would not reveal to this child of wealth that the Cowans had not the habit of multifarious underwear. Over the headstone presently came the knee pants, the faded calico waist with bone buttons. The avid buyer seized and apparelled herself in them with a deft facility. The Merle twin was amazed that she should so soon look so much like a boy. From behind the headstone came the now ambiguous and epicene figure of the Wilbur twin, contorted to hold together the back of his waist.
"I can't button it," he said in deepest gloom.
"Here!" said the girl.
"Not you!"
It seemed to him that this would somehow further degrade him. At least another male should fasten this infamous thing about him. When the buttoning was done he demanded the promised candy and lemon. He glutted himself with the stimulant. He had sold his soul and was taking the price. His wrists projected far from the gingham sleeves, and in truth he looked little enough like a girl. The girl looked much more like a boy. The further price of his shame was paid in full.
"I'd better take charge of it," said Merle, and did so with an air of large benevolence. "I just don't know what all we'll spend it for," he added.
The Wilbur twin's look of anguish deepened.
"I got a pocket in this dress to hold my money," he suggested.
"You might lose it," objected Merle. "I better keep it for us."
The girl had transferred her remaining money to the pockets which, as a boy, she now possessed. Then she tried on the cap. But it proved to be the cap of Merle.
"No; you must take Wilbur's cap," he said, "because you got his clothes."
"And he can wear my hat," said the girl.
The Wilbur twin viciously affirmed that he would wear no girl's hat, yet was presently persuaded that he would, at least when he sneaked home. It was agreed by all finally that this would render him fairly a girl in the eyes of the world. But he would not yet wear it. He was beginning to hate this girl. He shot hostile glances at her as--with his cap on her head, her hands deep in the money-laden pockets--she swaggered and swanked before them.
"I'm Ben Blunt--I'm Ben Blunt," she muttered, hoarsely, and swung her shoulders and brandished her thin legs to prove it.
He laughed with scorn.
"Yes, you are!" he gibed. "Look at your hair! I guess Ben Blunt didn't have long girl's hair, did he--stringy old red hair?"
Her hands flew to her pigtail.
"My hair is not red," she told him. "It's just a decided blonde." Then she faltered, knowing full well that Ben Blunt's hair was not worn in a braid. "Of course I'm going to cut it off," she said. "Haven't you boys got a knife?"
They had a knife. It was Wilbur's, but Merle quite naturally took it from him and assumed charge of the ensuing operation. Wilbur Cowan had to stand by with no place to put his hands--a mere onlooker. Yet it was his practical mind that devised the method at last adopted, for the early efforts of his brother to sever the braid evoked squeals of pain from the patient. At Wilbur's suggestion she was backed up to the fence and the braid brought against a board, where it could be severed strand by strand. It was not neatly done, but it seemed to suffice. When the cap was once more