It was apparent from Jimmie's manner that he felt some kind of desire
to efface himself. He went down to the stable. Henry Johnson, the
negro who cared for the doctor's horses, was sponging the buggy. He
grinned fraternally when he saw Jimmie coming. These two were pals. In
regard to almost everything in life they seemed to have minds
precisely alike. Of course there were points of emphatic divergence.
For instance, it was plain from Henry's talk that he was a very
handsome negro, and he was known to be a light, a weight, and an
eminence in the suburb of the town, where lived the larger number of
the negroes, and obviously this glory was over Jimmie's horizon; but
he vaguely appreciated it and paid deference to Henry for it mainly
because Henry appreciated it and deferred to himself. However, on all
points of conduct as related to the doctor, who was the moon, they
were in complete but unexpressed understanding. Whenever Jimmie became
the victim of an eclipse he went to the stable to solace himself with
Henry's crimes. Henry, with the elasticity of his race, could usually
provide a sin to place himself on a footing with the disgraced one.
Perhaps he would remember that he had forgotten to put the
hitching-strap in the back of the buggy on some recent occasion, and
had been reprimanded by the doctor. Then these two would commune
subtly and without words concerning their moon, holding themselves
sympathetically as people who had committed similar treasons. On the
other hand, Henry would sometimes choose to absolutely repudiate this
idea, and when Jimmie appeared in his shame would bully him most
virtuously, preaching with assurance the precepts of the doctor's
creed, and pointing out to Jimmie all his abominations. Jimmie did not
discover that this was odious in his comrade. He accepted it and lived
in its shadow with humility, merely trying to conciliate the saintly
Henry with acts of deference. Won by this attitude, Henry would
sometimes allow the child to enjoy the felicity of squeezing the
sponge over a buggy-wheel, even when Jimmie was still gory from
unspeakable deeds.
Whenever Henry dwelt for a time in sackcloth, Jimmie did not patronize
him at all. This was a justice of his age, his condition. He did not
know. Besides, Henry could drive a horse, and Jimmie had a full sense
of this sublimity. Henry personally conducted the moon during the
splendid journeys through the country roads, where farms spread on all
sides, with sheep, cows, and other marvels abounding.
"Hello, Jim!" said Henry, poising his sponge. Water was dripping from
the buggy. Sometimes the horses in the stalls stamped thunderingly on
the pine floor. There was an atmosphere of hay and of harness.
For a minute Jimmie refused to take an interest in anything. He was
very downcast. He could not even feel the wonders of wagon washing.
Henry, while at his work, narrowly observed him.
"Your pop done wallop yer, didn't he?" he said at last.
"No," said Jimmie, defensively; "he didn't."
After this casual remark Henry continued his labor, with a scowl of
occupation. Presently he said: "I done tol' yer many's th' time not to
go a-foolin' an' a-projjeckin' with them flowers. Yer pop don' like it
nohow." As a matter of fact, Henry had never mentioned flowers to the
boy.
Jimmie preserved a gloomy silence, so Henry began to use seductive
wiles in this affair of washing a wagon. It was not until he began to
spin a wheel on the tree, and the sprinkling water flew everywhere,
that the boy was visibly moved. He had been seated on the sill of the
carriage-house door, but at the beginning of this ceremony he arose
and circled towards the buggy, with an interest that slowly consumed
the remembrance of a late disgrace.
Johnson could then display all the dignity of a man whose duty it was
to protect Jimmie from a splashing. "Look out, boy! look out! You done
gwi' spile yer pants. I raikon your mommer don't 'low this
foolishness, she know it. I ain't gwi' have you round yere spilin' yer
pants, an' have Mis' Trescott light on me pressen'ly. 'Deed I ain't."
He spoke with an air of great irritation, but he was not annoyed at
all. This tone was merely a part of his importance. In reality he was
always delighted to have the child there to witness the business of
the stable. For one thing, Jimmie was invariably overcome with
reverence when he was told how beautifully a harness was polished or a
horse groomed. Henry explained each detail of this kind with unction,
procuring great joy from the child's admiration.