CHAPTER XVIII MUSIC
Boyhood is the longest time in life for a boy. The last term of theschool-year is made of decades, not of weeks, and living through them islike waiting for the millennium. But they do pass, somehow, and at lastthere came a day when Penrod was one of a group that capered outfrom the gravelled yard of "Ward School, Nomber Seventh," carolling aleave-taking of the institution, of their instructress, and not evenforgetting Mr. Capps, the janitor.
"Good-bye, teacher! Good-bye, school! Good-bye, Cappsie, dern ole fool!"
Penrod sang the loudest. For every boy, there is an age when he "findshis voice." Penrod's had not "changed," but he had found it. Inevitablythat thing had come upon his family and the neighbours; and his father,a somewhat dyspeptic man, quoted frequently the expressive words ofthe "Lady of Shalott," but there were others whose sufferings were aspoignant.
Vacation-time warmed the young of the world to pleasant languor; anda morning came that was like a brightly coloured picture in a child'sfairy story. Miss Margaret Schofield, reclining in a hammock upon thefront porch, was beautiful in the eyes of a newly made senior, wellfavoured and in fair raiment, beside her. A guitar rested lightly uponhis knee, and he was trying to play--a matter of some difficulty, asthe floor of the porch also seemed inclined to be musical. From directlyunder his feet came a voice of song, shrill, loud, incredibly piercingand incredibly flat, dwelling upon each syllable with incomprehensiblereluctance to leave it.
"I have lands and earthly pow-wur. I'd give all for a now-wur, Whi-ilst setting at MY-Y-Y dear old mother's knee-ee, So-o-o rem-mem-bur whilst you're young----"
Miss Schofield stamped heartily upon the musical floor.
"It's Penrod," she explained. "The lattice at the end of the porch isloose, and he crawls under and comes out all bugs. He's been havinga dreadful singing fit lately--running away to picture shows andvaudeville, I suppose."
Mr. Robert Williams looked upon her yearningly. He touched a thrillingchord on his guitar and leaned nearer. "But you said you have missedme," he began. "I----"
The voice of Penrod drowned all other sounds.
"So-o-o rem-mem-bur, whi-i-ilst you're young, That the day-a-ys to you will come, When you're o-o-old and only in the way, Do not scoff at them BEE-cause----"
"PENROD!" Miss Schofield stamped again.
"You DID say you'd missed me," said Mr. Robert Williams, seizinghurriedly upon the silence. "Didn't you say----"
A livelier tune rose upward.
"Oh, you talk about your fascinating beauties, Of your dem-O-zells, your belles, But the littil dame I met, while in the city, She's par excellaws the queen of all the swells. She's sweeter far----"
Margaret rose and jumped up and down repeatedly in a well-calculatedarea, whereupon the voice of Penrod cried chokedly, "QUIT that!" andthere were subterranean coughings and sneezings.
"You want to choke a person to death?" he inquired severely, appearingat the end of the porch, a cobweb upon his brow. And, continuing, heput into practice a newly acquired phrase, "You better learn to be moreconsiderick of other people's comfort."
Slowly and grievedly he withdrew, passed to the sunny side of the house,reclined in the warm grass beside his wistful Duke, and presently sangagain.
"She's sweeter far than the flower I named her after, And the memery of her smile it haunts me YET! When in after years the moon is soffly beamun' And at eve I smell the smell of mignonette I will re-CALL that----"
"Pen-ROD!"
Mr. Schofield appeared at an open window upstairs, a book in his hand.
"Stop it!" he commanded. "Can't I stay home with a headache ONE morningfrom the office without having to listen to--I never DID hear suchsquawking!" He retired from the window, having too impulsively calledupon his Maker. Penrod, shocked and injured, entered the house, butpresently his voice was again audible as far as the front porch. He washolding converse with his mother, somewhere in the interior.
"Well, what of it? Sam Williams told me his mother said if Bob ever didthink of getting married to Margaret, his mother said she'd like to knowwhat in the name o' goodness they expect to----"
Bang! Margaret thought it better to close the front door.
The next minute Penrod opened it. "I suppose you want the whole familyto get a sunstroke," he said reprovingly. "Keepin' every breath of airout o' the house on a day like this!"
And he sat down implacably in the doorway.
The serious poetry of all languages has omitted the little brother;and yet he is one of the great trials of love--the immemorial burden ofcourtship. Tragedy should have found place for him, but he has been leftto the haphazard vignettist of Grub Street. He is the grave andreal menace of lovers; his head is sacred and terrible, his powerillimitable. There is one way--only one--to deal with him; but RobertWilliams, having a brother of Penrod's age, understood that way.
Robert had one dollar in the world. He gave it to Penrod immediately.
Enslaved forever, the new Rockefeller rose and went forth upon thehighway, an overflowing heart bursting the floodgates of song.
"In her eyes the light of love was soffly gleamun', So sweetlay, So neatlay. On the banks the moon's soff light was brightly streamun', Words of love I then spoke TO her. She was purest of the PEW-er: 'Littil sweetheart, do not sigh, Do not weep and do not cry. I will build a littil cottige just for yew-EW-EW and I.'"
In fairness, it must be called to mind that boys older than Penrod havethese wellings of pent melody; a wife can never tell when she is toundergo a musical morning, and even the golden wedding brings her nosecurity, a man of ninety is liable to bust-loose in song, any time.
Invalids murmured pitifully as Penrod came within hearing; and peopletrying to think cursed the day that they were born, when he wentshrilling by. His hands in his pockets, his shining face uplifted to thesky of June, he passed down the street, singing his way into the heart'sdeepest hatred of all who heard him.
"One evuning I was sturow-ling Midst the city of the DEAD, I viewed where all a-round me Their PEACE-full graves was SPREAD. But that which touched me mostlay----"
He had reached his journey's end, a junk-dealer's shop wherein laythe long-desired treasure of his soul--an accordion which mighthave possessed a high quality of interest for an antiquarian, beingunquestionably a ruin, beautiful in decay, and quite beyond thesacrilegious reach of the restorer. But it was still able to disgorgesounds--loud, strange, compelling sounds, which could be heard for aremarkable distance in all directions; and it had one rich calf-liketone that had gone to Penrod's heart. He obtained the instrument fortwenty-two cents, a price long since agreed upon with the junk-dealer,who falsely claimed a loss of profit, Shylock that he was! He had foundthe wreck in an alley.
With this purchase suspended from his shoulder by a faded green cord,Penrod set out in a somewhat homeward direction, but not by the routehe had just travelled, though his motive for the change was nothumanitarian. It was his desire to display himself thus troubadouringto the gaze of Marjorie Jones. Heralding his advance by continuousexperiments in the music of the future, he pranced upon his blithesomeway, the faithful Duke at his heels. (It was easier for Duke than itwould have been for a younger dog, because, with advancing age, he hadbegun to grow a little deaf.)
Turning the corner nearest to the glamoured mansion of the Joneses,the boy jongleur came suddenly face to face with Marjorie, and, inthe delicious surprise of the encounter, ceased to play, his hands, inagitation, falling from the instrument.
Bareheaded, the sunshine glorious upon her amber curls, Marjorie wasstrolling hand-in-hand with her baby brother, Mitchell, four yearsold. She wore pink that day--unforgettable pink, with a broad, blackpatent-leather belt, shimmering reflections dancing upon its surface.How beautiful she was! How sacred the sweet little baby brother, whoseprivilege it was to cling to that small hand, delicately powdered withfreckl
es.
"Hello, Marjorie," said Penrod, affecting carelessness.
"Hello!" said Marjorie, with unexpected cordiality. She bent over herbaby brother with motherly affectations. "Say 'howdy' to the gentymuns,Mitchy-Mitch," she urged sweetly, turning him to face Penrod.
"WON'T!" said Mitchy-Mitch, and, to emphasize his refusal, kicked thegentymuns upon the shin.
Penrod's feelings underwent instant change, and in the sole occupationof disliking Mitchy-Mitch, he wasted precious seconds which might havebeen better employed in philosophic consideration of the startlingexample, just afforded, of how a given law operates throughout theuniverse in precisely the same manner perpetually. Mr. Robert Williamswould have understood this, easily.
"Oh, oh!" Marjorie cried, and put Mitchy-Mitch behind her with too muchsweetness. "Maurice Levy's gone to Atlantic City with his mamma," sheremarked conversationally, as if the kicking incident were quite closed.
"That's nothin'," returned Penrod, keeping his eye uneasilyupon Mitchy-Mitch. "I know plenty people been better places thanthat--Chicago and everywhere."
There was unconscious ingratitude in his low rating of Atlantic City,for it was largely to the attractions of that resort he owed Miss Jones'present attitude of friendliness.
Of course, too, she was curious about the accordion. It would bedastardly to hint that she had noticed a paper bag which bulgedthe pocket of Penrod's coat, and yet this bag was undeniablyconspicuous--"and children are very like grown people sometimes!"
Penrod brought forth the bag, purchased on the way at a drug store, andtill this moment UNOPENED, which expresses in a word the depth of hissentiment for Marjorie. It contained an abundant fifteen-cents' worth oflemon drops, jaw-breakers, licorice sticks, cinnamon drops, and shopwornchoclate creams.
"Take all you want," he said, with off-hand generosity.
"Why, Penrod Schofield," exclaimed the wholly thawed damsel, "you niceboy!"
"Oh, that's nothin'," he returned airily. "I got a good deal of money,nowadays."
"Where from?"
"Oh--just around." With a cautious gesture he offered a jaw-breaker toMitchy-Mitch, who snatched it indignantly and set about its absorptionwithout delay.
"Can you play on that?" asked Marjorie, with some difficulty, her cheeksbeing rather too hilly for conversation.
"Want to hear me?"
She nodded, her eyes sweet with anticipation.
This was what he had come for. He threw back his head, lifted his eyesdreamily, as he had seen real musicians lift theirs, and distended theaccordion preparing to produce the wonderful calf-like noise which wasthe instrument's great charm.
But the distention evoked a long wail which was at once drowned inanother one.
"Ow! Owowaoh! Wowohah! WaowWOW!" shrieked Mitchy-Mitch and the accordiontogether.
Mitchy-Mitch, to emphasize his disapproval of the accordion, opening hismouth still wider, lost therefrom the jaw-breaker, which rolled in thedust. Weeping, he stooped to retrieve it, and Marjorie, to prevent him,hastily set her foot upon it. Penrod offered another jaw-breaker; butMitchy-Mitch struck it from his hand, desiring the former, which hadconvinced him of its sweetness.
Marjorie moved inadvertently; whereupon Mitchy-Mitch pounced upon theremains of his jaw-breaker and restored them, with accretions, to hismouth. His sister, uttering a cry of horror, sprang to the rescue,assisted by Penrod, whom she prevailed upon to hold Mitchy-Mitch's mouthopen while she excavated. This operation being completed, and Penrod'sright thumb severely bitten, Mitchy-Mitch closed his eyes tightly,stamped, squealed, bellowed, wrung his hands, and then, unexpectedly,kicked Penrod again.
Penrod put a hand in his pocket and drew forth a copper two-cent piece,large, round, and fairly bright.
He gave it to Mitchy-Mitch.
Mitchy-Mitch immediately stopped crying and gazed upon his benefactorwith the eyes of a dog.
This world!
Thereafter did Penrod--with complete approval from Mitchy-Mitch--playthe accordion for his lady to his heart's content, and hers. Never hadhe so won upon her; never had she let him feel so close to her before.They strolled up and down upon the sidewalk, eating, one thought betweenthem, and soon she had learned to play the accordion almost as well ashe. So passed a happy hour, which the Good King Rene of Anjou would haveenvied them, while Mitchy-Mitch made friends with Duke, romped about hissister and her swain, and clung to the hand of the latter, at intervals,with fondest affection and trust.
The noon whistles failed to disturb this little Arcady; only thesound of Mrs. Jones' voice for the third time summoning Marjorie andMitchy-Mitch to lunch--sent Penrod on his way.
"I could come back this afternoon, I guess," he said, in parting.
"I'm not goin' to be here. I'm goin' to Baby Rennsdale's party."
Penrod looked blank, as she intended he should. Having thus satisfiedherself, she added:
"There aren't goin' to be any boys there."
He was instantly radiant again.
"Marjorie----"
"Hum?"
"Do you wish I was goin' to be there?"
She looked shy, and turned away her head.
"MARJORIE JONES!" (This was a voice from home.) "HOW MANY MORE TIMESSHALL I HAVE TO CALL YOU?"
Marjorie moved away, her face still hidden from Penrod.
"Do you?" he urged.
At the gate, she turned quickly toward him, and said over her shoulder,all in a breath: "Yes! Come again to-morrow morning and I'll be on thecorner. Bring your 'cordion!"
And she ran into the house, Mitchy-Mitch waving a loving hand to the boyon the sidewalk until the front door closed.
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