A PAIR OF CHECKED TROUSERS.
From the waist down, Moses’ masculine and uncouth figure seemed to
utter a dull protest against cut-me-downs. There are many forces in
life that growing youths are not able to control. One of these, in the
career of Moses, was the inexorable will of his mother that ordained
homemade garments for his nether limbs. Made from his father’s
discarded trousers of black and grey check, the new pair of
abominations that adorned the legs of the youthful Wopp bore evidence
to the unskilled fingers of the maker. They had the generous
dimensions allowed by an imaginative and economical mind that could
look into the future and could see legs lengthening and a general
expansion. In fact, the coarse checked tweed fell in slight gathers,
fore and aft. The dingy greenish-grey coat that slouched from Moses’
shoulders did not fail to heighten the effect, but seemed to set the
costume in italics.
Going home from school one Friday afternoon, Moses heard sniggering
half-suppressed comments behind him. He walked along slowly,
contemplating his big toe that protruded pathetically from a large
hole in his shoe. It reached his ears that one aesthetic youth was
dazzled by the kaleidoscopic effect of his checked trousers; in other
words, it made him sea-sick. Moses quickened his pace slightly, but
his face looked like an advance notice of calamity. Presently he
turned and glowered at his tormenters.
“Smile, Moses, dern yer empty corn-cob face! Smile!” shouted one.
Betty Wopp was gambolling along the road with other little
school-girls and heard the jeers addressed to the wretched boy. The
penetrating sense of Moses’ need of her brought her to a halt.
Indignation made her tight little braids of hair assume an aspect as
terrific as Medusa’s snaky coils. She ran lightly up to Moses and
walked beside him.
“Never mind, Mosey, we’ll tell Miss Gordon. She’ll give them sulphur
an’ brimstone to-morrer.”
“S’Gordon won’t care,” grunted Moses. “She never had to wear Par’s old
pants, an’ she won’t un’erstan’ how a feller feels.”
“Oh, Mosey, she un’erstan’s everything, she’s jist wonderful.” Betty’s
voice was positive.
“Jist hold on there, Mose, we wanter play a game of checkers on yer
pants.” At this jibe Moses turned and held up a clenched fist as
warning of a potential thrashing which the boys knew would never
materialize. Moses was slow to active wrath.
One bullying boy, to punctuate his last taunt to Moses before turning
into another road, picked up a stone and hurled it at his dejected
victim. The stone glanced and struck Jethro who was bounding along the
road to meet his mistress. A piteous yelp followed by a loud howl, and
Betty was on her knees beside the wounded animal. She turned and
shouted fiery imprecations after the fleeing boys.
“Where is the dern dog hurt?” commiserated Moses.
Betty’s tears by now were flowing too fast for her to make an answer.
She picked up the whimpering dog and proceeded to carry him home. From
time to time Moses stroked the quivering head and murmured low phrases
of comfort.
When the house was reached, Eliza Wopp was standing, an effective
barricade, at the door, waving her large hands in a gesture indicative
of dismay. Moses stoically told his tale of assault.
“But, Mose, you shorely didn’t fergit a sorft answer turneth away
wrarth?”
“Oh!” interposed Betty, “but they didn’t throw a sorft stone. I don’t
b’lieve in sorft answers no more.”
“To-morrer’ll see my revenge,” growled Moses, now thoroughly roused to
action under the protection of his own roof.
After supper, Betty was sought diligently, but without success. At
last Moses discovered her underneath the huge red tablecloth that
covered the dining-room table. She was sound asleep on the floor with
Jethro in her arms and his head on her bosom. Her face was smeared
with tear-stains.
“Come, Betty Girl,” said Moses, “Mar wants you to go to bed.”
“Yes, Mosey, I jist want to go to my mornin’-glory garding to tell it
good-night.” She rubbed her sleepy tear-stained eyes.
“Come, Jethro, Betty’ll carry her li’l white puppykins, pore li’l
footsy’s so sore.”
Betty staggered with her burden out into the garden to leave with her
flowers the benediction of her presence and also to crave a few small
favors for herself.
“Jethro,” she whispered in the ear of her playmate, “I hated jist
orful to-day, an’ I didn’t hev a cheerful liver. Let’s pray together
if the Lord will fergive all of us, me an’ those hateful boys, too.”
As Betty stood in her garden whispering to Jethro, Nell Gordon came
slowly down the path. For many weary weeks Howard Eliot had evaded her
in every way. Was his jealousy so strong as to part them irrevocably?
She remembered with remorse the flutterings of her heart when genius
had knocked. She had learned since that greatness and domestic
felicity are seldom associated even in the mind of the most ardent
lover. Zalhambra was a human cyclone, he had simply carried her away
for the moment with his magnetic personality. She had come through the
experience with the conviction that ordinary everyday capabilities
make for happiness, while genius is an abnormal condition bringing joy
to the multitude, but disaster to the individual. All her femininity
called out now for the support of a strong nature unhampered by
genius.
Nell looked toward the morning-glory garden and there she saw Betty
kneeling in the moonlight. Jethro was sitting up on his hind legs
beside the little figure, holding his paws before him. The moonlight
fell on his penitential white body, on the stiff braids of the
sorrowful and contrite Betty, and lighted up the bright yellow
nasturtiums that filled the air with their pungent odor. The
morning-glory leaves gleamed in the pure white light.
“Oh, Lord,” prayed Betty, “it was Murf Bliggins as throwed the stone,
please don’t fergit. Make Jethro’s foot better. Mar allers says, ‘arsk
an’ it’ll be given.’ All I arsk is fer Jethro’s foot. He is so l’il,
Oh, Lord, an’ the stone was so big. An’ don’t fergit it was Murf
Bliggins as done it. Please put it in Miss Gordon’s heart to smite the
Philistones with the edge of the sword. Mebbe you could put it inter
Mar’s heart to buy Mose a pair of pants that won’t be so hard on him,
Oh, Lord. Amen!”
Nell Gordon’s eyes were wet with something else than mirth when Betty
entered the house later with her pet in her arms. She had heard of the
assault upon the innocent Moses and Jethro and resolved to assist
mightily in the smiting of the Philistines. She also held a private
consultation with her purse and decided to send off at once to a
popular mail-order house for a pair of trousers for Moses of a
distinctly different cut from those that had been his undoing.