LOST BOYS

About four o’clock that afternoon somebody in the Gaitskill home asked

where Orren Randolph Gaitskill was. He had not been seen since he left

the house that morning to attend the Sunday-school.

Miss Virginia Gaitskill called Captain Kerley Kerlerac on the telephone

and asked if Orren had been in his class that morning.

When a devilish boy happens to be the brother of an angelic girl, even a

disillusioned war-veteran finds that lad possessed of qualities which he

loves and admires for the boy’s sister’s sake.

Kerlerac informed her that he had missed Orren very much, that he was

the brightest boy in his class, that all the others had made anxious

inquiry about him, that he was about to call at the Gaitskill home to

inquire if Orren was sick.

The answer which he heard to this panegyric was a giggle.

“Hello! Hello! What’s that?” he exclaimed.

The telephone clicked in his ear, indicating that she had hung up the

receiver.

Kerley stood at the telephone scratching his head, a wry smile on his

lips.

“I believe that giggle meant that she called me a liar,” he announced to

his immortal soul. A reminiscent light beamed in his eyes. “She hasn’t

changed in the past fifteen years—little spitfire!”

For half an hour Miss Virginia found something else to think about

besides her wandering brother, but as the evening wore on, and he did

not appear, she began to get uneasy again.

“That dang boy has played hookey and gone out in the woods with that

pickaninny,” Colonel Gaitskill announced.

“Oh, maybe he’s lost in the swamp!” Virginia gasped.

“No danger of that,” Gaitskill said easily. “These little niggers around

here can go across that swamp like a fox. They can’t get lost.”

But as the shadows lengthened across the Gaitskill lawn the women of the

household were thrown into a panic. They insisted that it was not a

natural or ordinary thing for Orren to miss his meals; that a hungry boy

might be having a very good time at some amusement, but he would always

be willing to postpone his play to eat, resuming his play after this

meal.

“That’s so,” Gaitskill admitted. “When I was a boy nothing was ever more

attractive to me than the consumption of food, and I enjoy being regular

at my meals now. But, maybe he ate his lunch somewhere else?”

By telephone they made inquiry of every place where they thought Orren

could have eaten. He had not been seen at any of those places.

Gaitskill saw that he was going to have to get out and hunt that boy.

The prospect did not appeal to him. That boy was a nuisance. If he was

lost, it was good riddance. He wasn’t worth finding—let him find

himself. He went to the telephone and called up Captain Kerley Kerlerac.

“Say, Kerl, where’s that damn little pet nigger of yours?”

“Haven’t seen him to-day, Colonel.”

“He’s run off somewhere with Orren, and Orren hasn’t come home yet.”

“I’ll find him,” Kerley said eagerly.

“Oh, no! Don’t trouble yourself,” Gaitskill smiled. “I just wanted to

know about Little Bit.”

Gaitskill sat down with a sly grin. He was getting old, he reflected,

and the strenuous life was no longer attractive. If a searching party

should have to be organized, he had now laid its foundation. It was a

certainty that Kerlerac would organize the party and lead the search.

Good old Kerl would see that Virginia’s brother was not lost.

It does not take a rumor long to spread over a little village. In a

brief time, it was known to the remotest parts of Tickfall that Little

Bit and Orren Gaitskill were lost.

Little Bit’s mother, in spite of the fact that she had fourteen others

just like him in her cabin, aroused all the negro section of the town by

her frantic wails. She announced in a voice like a calliope that she

knew that her angel child had fallen into a well, had been eaten by an

alligator, had been bitten by a snake, had been drowned in a bayou, had

been stolen and carried away by white folks, had been lost in the

swamp—and she howled like a banshee over each one of these

possibilities, and others of the same general nature as she thought of

them.

A great bellow of excitement went up from all the negroes, and a band of

them hurried to the home of Captain Kerlerac to inquire the latest

information about Little Bit. Their excitement was contagious, and the

captain caught it, the white citizens of the town were inoculated, and

in an incredibly short time the town was seething with an intense desire

to organize a search-party and explore the woods for the lost boys.

“We’ll wait until night, men,” Kerlerac said. “If the boys don’t come in

by dark, we will go out on the Little Moccasin Road and build fires on

the highway for ten miles. Wherever they may be in the swamp, they will

see that trail of fire and come to it.”

“That’s the way to do it,” several approving voices spoke.

“Don’t bother Colonel Gaitskill with it,” Kerley suggested. “He’s

getting too old to be running around at night and exposing himself. If

the boys don’t come in by dark, I will ring the court-house bell. Meet

me there.”

It had not been very long since Kerlerac had been a boy himself. He knew

every spot in that vicinity which was dear to boys, white and black. He

listed each one in his mind and started on a lone search to each of

these places.

His automobile carried him first to all the swimming-holes, then to the

old picnic-grounds, then to the old tabernacle, where the negro

camp-meetings were held, to the pool where the colored members of the

Shoofly church conducted their baptizings, to the old stables and sheds

around the fair-grounds. Finally, he left his machine beside the road

and walked across the field to the old cotton-shed beside the sand pit.

The noise of shouting and laughter came to him before he arrived upon

the scene. It was no trouble to locate the two boys as they splashed and

paddled and fought with water and dived to the bottom to rise with a

handful of sand to throw at each other.

Time had ceased to move for those two youngsters. Sunrise and sunset

were just the same to them. A score of apple-cores strewn along the

sandy shore indicated that they had lunched well and were not hungry.

“Hey, you!” Kerley called.

The two boys looked up with surprise.

“Come out of that water!” Kerley commanded. “Don’t you know it is nearly

night?”

The astonishment on their faces when informed of the passage of time

indicated that they had been completely engrossed with their amusement.

They climbed out of the water near Kerlerac and gave that gentleman a

surprise.

“You’ve both got on your clothes!” he exclaimed. “Are you too lazy to

strip when you take a Sunday swim?”

“Naw, suh. But our fust swim wus a mistake, Marse Cap’n,” Little Bit

chattered, chilled by the wind after his day of activity in the water.

“Us got on a raff an’ de raff wouldn’t hol’ us up.”

“Don’t report to me,” Kerley laughed. “March along home now! Right face!

Forward!”

A little later Kerlerac marched the two wet youngsters upon the lawn and

made them stand at attention in the presence of a dozen hysterical

women.

“Here are your mud-cats, Colonel,” he smiled. “I found them paddling in

the pond in the old sand pit.”

“I didn’t intend to get wet, Uncle Tom,” Org began, “but the raft was

not large enough——”

“That’s enough for you,” Gaitskill cut him off. “Go around to the rear

of the house.”

Miss Virginia Gaitskill stood upon the steps smiling.

“I think I knew you once, Miss Gaitskill,” Kerlerac said. “We were both

younger then.”

“You were seven and I was five,” Virginia smiled, as she extended her

hand.

“I remember,” Kerlerac answered. “You gave me a chocolate rat with a

rubber tail. I could hold the tail and bounce the rat, or I could lay

the rat down and watch it wiggle its tail very lifelike. I ate that rat,

rubber-tail and all.”

“You gave me a rabbit-foot in a green-plush box,” Virginia laughed. “I

did not eat the foot or the box. I have them both yet.”

“I have something that you did not give me,” Kerlerac said earnestly. “I

stole it from you. I carried it through three battles across the sea. It

is your picture as you were then.”

“Have I changed since then?” the girl asked, because she did not know

what else to say.

“Yes. The photograph I have of you shows a little spitfire girl astride

of a wabble-wheeled velocipede.”

“Oh—” that young lady gasped.

Further E. K. Means Is This a Title? It Is Not. It Is the Name of a Writer of Negro Stories, Who Has Made Himself So Completely the Writer of Negro Stories That This Third Book, Like the First and Second, Needs No Title · 第 16 / 80 题