by Bret Harte
JOHNNYBOY.
The vast dining-room of the Crustacean Hotel at Greyport, U. S., wasempty and desolate. It was so early in the morning that there was abedroom deshabille in the tucked-up skirts and bare legs of thelittle oval breakfast-tables as they had just been left by the dustingservants. The most stirring of travelers was yet abed, the mostenterprising of first-train catchers had not yet come down; there wasa breath of midsummer sleep still in the air; through the half-openedwindows that seemed to be yawning, the pinkish blue Atlantic beyondheaved gently and slumberously, and drowsy early bathers crept into itas to bed. Yet as I entered the room I saw that one of the littletables in the corner was in reality occupied by a very small and veryextraordinary child. Seated in a high chair, attended by a dreamilyabstracted nurse on one side, an utterly perfunctory negro waiter on theother, and an incongruous assortment of disregarded viands beforehim, he was taking--or, rather, declining--his solitary breakfast. Heappeared to be a pale, frail, but rather pretty boy, with a singularlypathetic combination of infant delicacy of outline and maturity ofexpression. His heavily fringed eyes expressed an already weary anddiscontented intelligence, and his willful, resolute little mouth was, Ifancied, marked with lines of pain at either corner. He struck me as notonly being physically dyspeptic, but as morally loathing his attendantsand surroundings.
My entrance did not disturb the waiter, with whom I had no financialrelations; he simply concealed an exaggerated yawn professionally behindhis napkin until my own servitor should appear. The nurse slightly awokefrom her abstraction, shoved the child mechanically,--as if startingup some clogged machinery,--said, "Eat your breakfast, Johnnyboy," andsubsided into her dream. I think the child had at first some faint hopeof me, and when my waiter appeared with my breakfast he betrayed someinterest in my selection, with a view of possible later appropriation,but, as my repast was simple, that hope died out of his infant mind.Then there was a silence, broken at last by the languid voice of thenurse:--
"Try some milk then--nice milk."
"No! No mik! Mik makes me sick--mik does!"
In spite of the hurried infantine accent the protest was so emphatic,and, above all, fraught with such pent-up reproach and disgust, that Iturned about sympathetically. But Johnnyboy had already thrown down hisspoon, slipped from his high chair, and was marching out of the room asfast as his little sandals would carry him, with indignation bristlingin every line of the crisp bows of his sash.
I, however, gathered from Mr. Johnson, my waiter, that the unfortunatechild owned a fashionable father and mother, one or two blocks ofhouses in New York, and a villa at Greyport, which he consistently andintelligently despised. That he had imperiously brought his parentshere on account of his health, and had demanded that he should breakfastalone in the big dining-room. That, however, he was not happy. "Nuffinpeahs to agree wid him, Sah, but he doan' cry, and he speaks his mind,Sah; he speaks his mind."
Unfortunately, I did not keep Johnnyboy's secret, but related the sceneI had witnessed to some of the lighter-hearted Crustaceans of eithersex, with the result that his alliterative protest became a sort ofcatchword among them, and that for the next few mornings he had a largeaudience of early breakfasters, who fondly hoped for a repetition ofhis performance. I think that Johnnyboy for the time enjoyedthis companionship, yet without the least affectation orself-consciousness--so long as it was unobtrusive. It so chanced,however, that the Rev. Mr. Belcher, a gentleman with bovine lightnessof touch, and a singular misunderstanding of childhood, chose topresume upon his paternal functions. Approaching the high chair in whichJohnnyboy was dyspeptically reflecting, with a ponderous wink at theother guests, and a fat thumb and forefinger on Johnnyboy's table, heleaned over him, and with slow, elephantine playfulness said:--
"And so, my dear young friend, I understand that 'mik makes yousick--mik does.'"
Anything approaching to the absolute likeness of this imitation ofJohnnyboy's accents it is impossible to conceive. Possibly Johnnyboyfelt it. But he simply lifted his lovely lashes, and said with greatdistinctness:--
"Mik don't--you devil!"
After this, closely as it had knitted us together, Johnnyboy's morningpresence was mysteriously withdrawn. It was later pointed out to us byMr. Belcher, upon the veranda, that, although Wealth had its privileges,it was held in trust for the welfare of Mankind, and that the childrenof the Rich could not too early learn the advantages of Self-restraintand the vanity of a mere gratification of the Senses. Early and frequentmorning ablutions, brisk morning toweling, half of a Graham biscuit ina teacup of milk, exercise with the dumb-bells, and a littlerough-and-tumble play in a straw hat, check apron, and overalls wouldeventually improve that stamina necessary for his future Position, andrepress a dangerous cerebral activity and tendency to give way to--Hesuddenly stopped, coughed, and absolutely looked embarrassed. Johnnyboy,a moving cloud of white pique, silk, and embroidery, had just turnedthe corner of the veranda. He did not speak, but as he passed raisedhis blue-veined lids to the orator. The look of ineffable scorn andsuperiority in those beautiful eyes surpassed anything I had ever seen.At the next veranda column he paused, and, with his baby thumbs insertedin his silk sash, again regarded him under his half-dropped lashes asif he were some curious animal, and then passed on. But Belcher wassilenced for the second time.
I think I have said enough to show that Johnnyboy was hopelesslyworshiped by an impressible and illogical sex. I say HOPELESSLY, forhe slipped equally from the proudest silken lap and the humblest oneof calico, and carried his eyelashes and small aches elsewhere. I thinkthat a secret fear of his alarming frankness, and his steady rejectionof the various tempting cates they offered him, had much to do withtheir passion. "It won't hurt you, dear," said Miss Circe, "and it's soawfully nice. See!" she continued, putting one of the delicacies inher own pretty mouth with every assumption of delight. "It's SO good!"Johnnyboy rested his elbows on her knees, and watched her with a grievedand commiserating superiority. "Bimeby, you'll have pains in yousetommick, and you'll be tookt to bed," he said sadly, "and thenyou'll--have to dit up and"--But as it was found necessary here torepress further details, he escaped other temptation.
Two hours later, as Miss Circe was seated in the drawing-room with herusual circle of enthusiastic admirers around her, Johnnyboy--who wasissued from his room for circulation, two or three times a day, as agenteel advertisement of his parents--floated into the apartment in anew dress and a serious demeanor. Sidling up to Miss Circe he laid aphial--evidently his own pet medicine--on her lap, said, "For yousetommikake to-night," and vanished. Yet I have reason to believe thatthis slight evidence of unusual remembrance on Johnnyboy's part morethan compensated for its publicity, and for a few days Miss Circe wasquite "set up" by it.
It was through some sympathy of this kind that I first gainedJohnnyboy's good graces. I had been presented with a small pocket caseof homoeopathic medicines, and one day on the beach I took out one ofthe tiny phials and, dropping two or three of the still tinier pelletsin my hand, swallowed them. To my embarrassment, a small hand presentlygrasped my trouser-leg. I looked down; it was Johnnyboy, in a new andravishing smuggler suit, with his questioning eyes fixed on mine.
"Howjer do dat?"
"Eh?"
"Wajer do dat for?"
"That?--Oh, that's medicine. I've got a headache."
He searched the inmost depths of my soul with his wonderful eyes. Then,after a pause, he held out his baby palm.
"You kin give Johnny some."
"But you haven't got headache--have you?"
"Me alluz has."
"Not ALWAYS."
He nodded his head rapidly. Then added slowly, and with greatelaboration, "Et mo'nins, et affernoons, et nights, 'nd mo'nins adain.'N et becker" (i. e., breakfast).
There was no doubt it was the truth. Those eyes did not seem to be inthe habit of lying. After all, the medicine could not hurt him. Hisnurse was at a little distance gazing absently at the sea. I sat downon a bench, and dropped a few o
f the pellets into his palm. He atethem seriously, and then turned around and backed--after the well-knownappealing fashion of childhood--against my knees. I understood themovement--although it was unlike my idea of Johnnyboy. However, Iraised him to my lap--with the sensation of lifting a dozen lace-edgedhandkerchiefs, and with very little more effort--where he sat silentlyfor a moment, with his sandals crossed pensively before him.
"Wouldn't you like to go and play with those children?" I asked,pointing to a group of noisy sand levelers not far away.
"No!" After a pause, "You wouldn't neither."
"Why?"
"Hediks."
"But," I said, "perhaps if you went and played with them and ran up anddown as they do, you wouldn't have headache."
Johnnyboy did not answer for a moment; then there was a perceptiblegentle movement of his small frame. I confess I felt brutally likeBelcher. He was getting down.
Once down he faced me, lifted his frank eyes, said, "Do way and playden," smoothed down his smuggler frock, and rejoined his nurse.
But although Johnnyboy afterwards forgave my moral defection, he did notseem to have forgotten my practical medical ministration, and our briefinterview had a surprising result. From that moment he confounded hisparents and doctors by resolutely and positively refusing to take anymore of their pills, tonics, or drops. Whether from a sense ofloyalty to me, or whether he was not yet convinced of the efficacy ofhomoeopathy, he did not suggest a substitute, declare his preferences,or even give his reasons, but firmly and peremptorily declined hispresent treatment. And, to everybody's astonishment, he did not seem abit the worse for it.
Still he was not strong, and his continual aversion to childish sportsand youthful exercise provoked the easy criticism of that large partof humanity who are ready to confound cause and effect, and such briefmoments as the Sluysdaels could spare him from their fashionable dutieswere made miserable to them by gratuitous suggestions and plans fortheir child's improvement. It was noticeable, however, that few of themwere ever offered to Johnnyboy personally. He had a singularly directway of dealing with them, and a precision of statement that wasembarrassing.
One afternoon, Jack Bracy drove up to the veranda of the Crustaceanwith a smart buggy and spirited thoroughbred for Miss Circe's especialdriving, and his own saddle-horse on which he was to accompany her.Jack had dismounted, a groom held his saddle-horse until the young ladyshould appear, and he himself stood at the head of the thoroughbred. AsJohnnyboy, leaning against the railing, was regarding the turnoutwith ill-concealed disdain, Jack, in the pride of his triumph over hisrivals, good-humoredly offered to put him in the buggy, and allow him totake the reins. Johnnyboy did not reply.
"Come along!" continued Jack, "it will do you a heap of good! It'sbetter than lazing there like a girl! Rouse up, old man!"
"Me don't like that geegee," said Johnnyboy calmly. "He's a silly fool."
"You're afraid," said Jack.
Johnnyboy lifted his proud lashes, and toddled to the steps. Jackreceived him in his arms, swung him into the seat, and placed the slimyellow reins in his baby hands.
"Now you feel like a man, and not like a girl!" said Jack. "Eh, what?Oh, I beg your pardon."
For Miss Circe had appeared--had absolutely been obliged to wait awhole half-minute unobserved--and now stood there a dazzling but poutingapparition. In eagerly turning to receive her, Jack's foot slipped onthe step, and he fell. The thoroughbred started, gave a sickening plungeforward, and was off! But so, too, was Jack, the next moment, on his ownhorse, and before Miss Circe's screams had died away.
For two blocks on Ocean Avenue, passersby that afternoon saw a strangevision. A galloping horse careering before a light buggy, in which asmall child, seated upright, was grasping the tightened reins. But soerect and composed was the little face and figure--albeit as whiteas its own frock--that for an instant they did not grasp its awfulsignificance. Those further along, however, read the whole awful storyin the drawn face and blazing eyes of Jack Bracy as he, at last, swunginto the Avenue. For Jack had the brains as well as the nerve of yourtrue hero, and, knowing the dangerous stimulus of a stern chase toa frightened horse, had kept a side road until it branched into theAvenue. So furious had been his pace, and so correct his calculation,that he ranged alongside of the runaway even as it passed, grasped thereins, and, in half a block, pulled up on even wheels.
"I never saw such pluck in a mite like that," he whispered afterwards tohis anxious auditory. "He never dropped those ribbons, by G--, until Igot alongside, and then he just hopped down and said, as short and coolas you please, 'Dank you!'"
"Me didn't," uttered a small voice reproachfully.
"Didn't you, dear! What DID you say then, darling?" exclaimed asympathizing chorus.
"Me said: 'Damn you!' Me don't like silly fool geegees. Silly foolgeegees make me sick--silly fool geegees do!"
Nevertheless, in spite of this incident, the attempts at Johnnyboy'sphysical reformation still went on. More than that, it was argued bysome complacent casuists that the pluck displayed by the child was theactual result of this somewhat heroic method of taking exercise, and NOTan inherent manliness distinct from his physical tastes. So he was madeto run when he didn't want to--to dance when he frankly loathed hispartners--to play at games that he despised. His books and pictures weretaken away; he was hurried past hoardings and theatrical posters thatengaged his fancy; the public was warned against telling him fairytales, except those constructed on strictly hygienic principles.His fastidious cleanliness was rebuked, and his best frocks takenaway--albeit at a terrible sacrifice of his parents' vanity--to suitthe theories of his critics. How long this might have continued is notknown--for the theory and practice were suddenly arrested by anothersensation.
One morning a children's picnic party was given on a rocky point onlyaccessible at certain states of the tide, whither they were taken in asmall boat under the charge of a few hotel servants, and, possibly aspart of his heroic treatment, Johnnyboy, who was included in the party,was not allowed to be attended by his regular nurse.
Whether this circumstance added to his general disgust of the wholeaffair, and his unwillingness to go, I cannot say, but it is to beregretted, since the omission deprived Johnnyboy of any impartialwitness to what subsequently occurred. That he was somewhat roughlyhandled by several of the larger children appeared to be beyond doubt,although there was conflicting evidence as to the sequel. Enough thatat noon screams were heard in the direction of certain detached rockson the point, and the whole party proceeding thither found three of thelarger boys on the rocks, alone and cut off by the tide, having beenleft there, as they alleged, by Johnnyboy, WHO HAD RUN AWAY WITH THEBOAT. They subsequently admitted that THEY had first taken the boat andbrought Johnnyboy with them, "just to frighten him," but they adhered tothe rest. And certainly Johnnyboy and the boat were nowhere to be found.The shore was communicated with, the alarm was given, the telegraph,up and down the coast trilled with excitement, other boats weremanned--consternation prevailed.
But that afternoon the captain of the "Saucy Jane," mackerel fisher,lying off the point, perceived a derelict "Whitehall" boat driftinglazily towards the Gulf Stream. On boarding it he was chagrined to findthe expected flotsam already in the possession of a very small child,who received him with a scornful reticence as regarded himself and hisintentions, and some objurgation of a person or persons unknown. It wasJohnnyboy. But whether he had attempted the destruction of the threeother boys by "marooning" them upon the rocks--as their parents firmlybelieved--or whether he had himself withdrawn from their company simplybecause he did not like them, was never known. Any further attempt toimprove his education by the roughing gregarious process was, however,abandoned. The very critics who had counseled it now clamored forrestraint and perfect isolation. It was ably pointed out by the Rev.Mr. Belcher that the autocratic habits begotten by wealth and pamperingshould be restricted, and all intercourse with their possessor promptlywithheld.
But the season
presently passed with much of this and other criticism,and the Sluysdaels passed too, carrying Johnnyboy and his small achesand long eyelashes beyond these Crustacean voices, where it was to behoped there was peace. I did not hear of him again for five years,and then, oddly enough, from the lips of Mr. Belcher on the deck ofa transatlantic steamer, as he was being wafted to Europe for hisrecreation by the prayers and purses of a grateful and enduring flock."Master John Jacob Astor Sluysdael," said Mr. Belcher, speakingslowly, with great precision of retrospect, "was taken from his privategoverness--I may say by my advice--and sent to an admirable school inNew York, fashioned upon the English system of Eton and Harrow, andconducted by English masters from Oxford and Cambridge. Here--I mayalso say at my suggestion--he was subjected to the wholesome disciplineequally of his schoolmates and his masters; in fact, sir, as you areprobably aware, the most perfect democracy that we have yet known,in which the mere accidents of wealth, position, luxury, effeminacy,physical degeneration, and over-civilized stimulation, are notrecognized. He was put into compulsory cricket, football, and rounders.As an undersized boy he was subjected to that ingenious preparation forfuture mastership by the pupillary state of servitude known, I think,as 'fagging.' His physical inertia was stimulated and quickened, and hisintellectual precocity repressed, from time to time, by the exuberantplayfulness of his fellow-students, which occasionally took the formof forced ablutions and corporal discomfort, and was called, I amtold, 'hazing.' It is but fair to state that our young friend had somesingular mental endowments, which, however, were promptly checked torepress the vanity and presumption that would follow." The Rev. Mr.Belcher paused, closed his eyes resignedly, and added, "Of course, youknow the rest."
"Indeed, I do not," I said anxiously.
"A most deplorable affair--indeed, a most shocking incident! It washushed up, I believe, on account of the position of his parents." Heglanced furtively around, and in a lower and more impressive voice said,"I am not myself a believer in heredity, and I am not personally awarethat there was a MURDERER among the Sluysdael ancestry, but it seemsthat this monstrous child, in some clandestine way, possessed himself ofa huge bowie-knife, sir, and on one of those occasions actually rushedfuriously at the larger boys--his innocent play-fellows--and absolutelyforced them to flee in fear of their lives. More than that, sir, aLOADED REVOLVER was found in his desk, and he boldly and shamelesslyavowed his intention to eviscerate, or--to use his own revoltinglanguage--'to cut the heart out' of the first one who again 'laid afinger on him.'" He paused again, and, joining his two hands togetherwith the fingers pointing to the deck, breathed hard and said, "Hisinstantaneous withdrawal from the school was a matter of publicnecessity. He was afterwards taken, in the charge of a private tutor, toEurope, where, I trust, we shall NOT meet."
I could not resist saying cheerfully that, at least, Johnnyboy had for ashort time made it lively for the big boys.
The Rev. Mr. Belcher rose slowly, but painfully, said with a deeplygrieved expression, "I don't think that I entirely follow you," andmoved gently away.
The changes of youth are apt to be more bewildering than those of age,and a decade scarcely perceptible in an old civilization often meansutter revolution to the new. It did not seem strange to me, therefore,on meeting Jack Bracy twelve years after, to find that he had forgottenMiss Circe, or that SHE had married, and was living unhappily with amiddle-aged adventurer by the name of Jason, who was reputed to have haddomestic relations elsewhere. But although subjugated and exorcised,she at least was reminiscent. To my inquiries about the Sluysdaels, sheanswered with a slight return of her old vivacity:--
"Ah, yes, dear fellow, he was one of my greatest admirers."
"He was about four years old when you knew him, wasn't he?" suggestedJason meanly. "Yes, they usually WERE young, but so kind of you torecollect them. Young Sluysdael," he continued, turning to me, "is--butof course you know that disgraceful story."
I felt that I could stand this no longer. "Yes," I said indignantly,"I know all about the school, and I don't call his conduct disgracefuleither."
Jason stared. "I don't know what you mean about the school," hereturned. "I am speaking of his stepfather."
"His STEPFATHER!"
"Yes; his father, Van Buren Sluysdael, died, you know--a year after theyleft Greyport. The widow was left all the money in trust for Johnny,except about twenty-five hundred a year which he was in receipt of as aseparate income, even as a boy. Well, a glib-tongued parson, a fellow bythe name of Belcher, got round the widow--she was a desperate fool--and,by Jove! made her marry him. He made ducks and drakes of not only hermoney, but Johnny's too, and had to skip to Spain to avoid the trustees.And Johnny--for the Sluysdaels are all fools or lunatics--made over hiswhole separate income to that wretched, fashionable fool of a mother,and went into a stockbroker's office as a clerk."
"And walks to business before eight every morning, and they say eventakes down the shutters and sweeps out," broke in Circe impulsively."Works like a slave all day, wears out his old clothes, has given up hisclubs and amusements, and shuns society."
"But how about his health?" I asked. "Is he better and stronger?"
"I don't know," said Circe, "but he LOOKS as beautiful as Endymion."
*****
At his bank, in Wall Street, Bracy that afternoon confirmed all thatJason had told me of young Sluysdael. "But his temper?" I asked. "Youremember his temper--surely."
"He's as sweet as a lamb, never quarrels, never whines, never alludes tohis lost fortune, and is never put out. For a youngster, he's the mostpopular man in the street. Shall we nip round and see him?"
"By all means."
"Come. It isn't far."
A few steps down the crowded street we dived into a den of plate-glasswindows, of scraps of paper, of rattling, ticking machines, more volubleand excited than the careworn, abstracted men who leaned over them. But"Johnnyboy"--I started at the familiar name again--was not there. He wasat luncheon.
"Let us join him," I said, as we gained the street again and turnedmechanically into Delmonico's.
"Not there," said Bracy with a laugh. "You forget! That's notJohnnyboy's gait just now. Come here." He was descending a few stepsthat led to a humble cake-shop. As we entered I noticed a young fellowstanding before the plain wooden counter with a cake of gingerbread inone hand and a glass of milk in the other. His profile was before me;I at once recognized the long lashes. But the happy, boyish, carelesslaugh that greeted Bracy, as he presented me, was a revelation.
Yet he was pleased to remember me. And then--it may have beenembarrassment that led me to such tactlessness, but as I glanced at himand the glass of milk he was holding, I could not help reminding him ofthe first words I had ever heard him utter.
He tossed off the glass, colored slightly, as I thought, and said with alight laugh:--
"I suppose I have changed a good deal since then, sir."
I looked at his demure and resolute mouth, and wondered if he had.
