The Coming of Bill Page 21
Chapter IX
At One in the Morning
William Bannister Winfield slept the peaceful sleep of childhood in hissterilized cot. The light gleamed faintly on the white tiles. It lit upthe brass knobs on the walls, the spotless curtains, the largethermometer.
An intruder, interested in these things, would have seen by a glance atthis last that the temperature of the room was exactly that recommendedby doctors as the correct temperature for the nursery of a sleepingchild; no higher, no lower. The transom over the door was closed, butthe window was open at the top to precisely the extent advocated by theauthorities, due consideration having been taken for the time of yearand the condition of the outer atmosphere.
The hour was one in the morning.
Childhood is a readily adaptable time of life, and William Bannister,after a few days of blank astonishment, varied by open mutiny, hadaccepted the change in his surroundings and daily existence withadmirable philosophy. His memory was not far-reaching, and, as timewent on and he began to accommodate himself to the new situation, hehad gradually forgotten the days at the studio, as, it is to besupposed, he had forgotten the clouds of glory which he had trailed onhis entry into this world. If memories of past bear-hunts among thecanvases on the dusty floor ever came to him now, he never mentionedit.
A child can weave romance into any condition of life in which fateplaces him; and William Bannister had managed to interest himself inhis present existence with a considerable gusto. Scraps of conversationbetween Mrs. Porter and Mamie, overheard and digested, had given him agood working knowledge of the system of hygiene of which he was thecentre. He was vague as to details, but not vaguer than most people.
He knew that something called "sterilizing" was the beginning and endof life, and that things known as germs were the Great Peril. He hadexpended much thought on the subject of germs. Mamie, questioned, couldgive him no more definite information than that they were "things whichgot at you and hurt you," and his awe of Mrs. Porter had kept him fromgoing to the fountainhead of knowledge for further data.
Building on the information to hand, he had formed in his mind an oddkind of anthropomorphic image of the germ. He pictured it as a squat,thick-set man of repellent aspect and stealthy movements, who sneakedup on you when you were not looking and did unpleasant things to you,selecting as the time for his attacks those nights when you had allowedyour attention to wander while saying your prayers.
On such occasions it was Bill's practice to fool him by repeating hisprayers to himself in bed after the official ceremony. Some times, tomake certain, he would do this so often that he fell asleep inmid-prayer.
He was always glad of the night-light. A germ hates light, preferringto do his scoundrelly work when it is so black that you can't see yourhand in front of your face and the darkness presses down on you like ablanket. Occasionally a fear would cross his mind that the night-lightmight go out; but it never did, being one of Mr. Edison's best electricefforts neatly draped with black veiling.
Apart from this he had few worries, certainly none serious enough tokeep him awake.
He was sleeping now, his head on his right arm, a sterilized Teddy-bearclutched firmly in his other hand, with the concentration of oneengaged upon a feat at which he is an expert.
* * * * *
The door opened slowly. A head insinuated itself into the room,furtively, as if uncertain of its welcome. The door continued to openand Steve slipped in.
He closed the door as gently as he had opened it, and stood thereglancing about him. A slow grin appeared upon his face, to be succeededby an expression of serious resolve. For Steve was anxious.
It was still Steve's intention to remove, steal, purloin, and kidnapWilliam Bannister that night, but now that the moment had come fordoing it he was nervous.
He was not used to this sort of thing. He was an honest ex-middleweight,not a burglar; and just now he felt particularly burglarious. Thestillness of the house oppressed him. He had not relished the long waitbetween the moment of his apparent departure and that of his entry intothe nursery.
He had acted with simple cunning. He had remained talking pugilism withKeggs in the pantry till a prodigious yawn from his host had told himthat the time was come for the breaking up of the party. Then, beggingKeggs not to move, as he could find his way out, he had hurried to theback door, opened and shut it, and darted into hiding. Presently Keggs,yawning loudly, had toddled along the passage, bolted the door, andmade his way upstairs to bed, leaving Steve to his vigil.
Steve's reflections during this period had not been of the pleasantest.Exactly what his explanation was to be, if by any mischance he shouldmake a noise and be detected, he had been unable to decide. Finally hehad dismissed the problem as insoluble, and had concentrated his mindon taking precautions to omit any such noise.
So far he had succeeded. He had found his way to the nursery easilyenough, having marked the location earnestly on his previous visits.During the whole of his conversation with Keggs in the pantry he hadbeen repeating to himself the magic formula which began: "Firststaircase to the left--turn to the right-----" and here he was now athis goal and ready to begin.
But it was just this question of beginning which exercised him sogrievously. How was he to begin? Should he go straight to the cot andwake the kid? Suppose the kid was scared and let out a howl?
A warm, prickly sensation about the forehead was Steve's silent commenton this reflection. He took a step forward and stopped again. He wasconscious of tremors about the region of the spine. The thought crossedhis mind at that moment that burglars earned their money.
As he stood, hesitating, his problem was solved for him. There came aheavy sigh from the direction of the cot which made him start as if apistol had exploded in his ear; and then he was aware of two large eyesstaring at him.
There was a tense pause. A drop of perspiration rolled down hischeek-bone and anchored itself stickily on the angle of his jaw. Ittickled abominably, but he did not dare to move for fear of unleashingthe scream which brooded over the situation like a cloud.
At any moment now a howl of terror might rip the silence and bring thehousehold on the run. And then--the explanations! A second drop ofperspiration started out in the wake of the first.
The large eyes continued to inspect him. They were clouded with sleep.Suddenly a frightened look came into them, and, as he saw it, Stevebraced his muscles for the shock.
"Here it comes!" he said miserably to himself. "Oh, Lord! We're off!"
He searched in his brain for speech, desperately, as the best man at awedding searches for that ring while the universe stands still, waitingexpectantly.
He found no speech.
The child's mouth opened. Steve eyed him, fascinated. No bird,encountering a snake, was ever so incapable of movement as he.
"Are you a germ?" inquired William Bannister.
Steve tottered to the cot and sat down on it. The relief was too muchfor him.
"Gee, kid!" he said, "you had my goat then. I've got to hand it toyou."
His sudden approach had confirmed William Bannister's worst suspicions.This was precisely how he had expected the germ to behave. He shrankback on the pillow, gulping.
"Why, for the love of Mike," said Steve, "don't you know me, kid? I'mnot a porch-climber. Don't you remember Steve who used to raise Hadeswith you at the studio? Darn it, I'm your godfather! I'm Steve!"
William Bannister sat up, partially reassured.
"What's Steve?" he inquired.
"I'm Steve."
"Why?"
"How do you mean--why?"
The large eyes inspected him gravely.
"I remember," he said finally.
"Well, don't go forgetting, kid. I couldn't stand a second session likethat. I got a weak heart."
"You're Steve."
"That's right. Stick to that and we'll get along fine."
"I thought you were a germ."
"A what?"
"Who said so?"
"Mamie."
"Are you scared of germs?"
The White Hope nodded gravely.
"I have to be sterilized because of them. Are you sterilized?"
"Nobody ever told me so. But, say, kid, you don't want to be frightenedof germs or microbes or bacilli or any of the rest of the circus. Youdon't want to be frightened of nothing. You're the White Hope, thebear-cat that ain't scared of anything on earth. What's this germ thinglike, anyway?"
"It's a----I've never seen one, but Mamie says they get at you and hurtyou. I think it's a kind of big sort of ugly man that creeps in whenyou're asleep."
"So that's why you thought I was one?"
The White Hope nodded.
"Forget it!" said Steve. "Mamie is a queen, all right, believe me, butshe's got the wrong dope on this microbe proposition. You don't need tobe scared of them any more. Why, some of me best pals are germs."
"What's pals?"
"Why, friends. You and me are pals. Me and your pop are pals."
"Where's pop?"
"He's gone away."
"I remember."
"He thought he needed a change of air. Don't you ever need a change ofair?"
"I don't know."
"Well, you do. Take it from me. This is about the punkest joint I everwas in. You don't want to stay in a dairy-kitchen like this."
"What's dairy-kitchen?"
"This is. All these white tiles and fixings. It makes me feel like apint of milk to look at 'em."
"It's because of the germs."
"Ain't I telling you the germs don't want to hurt you?"
"Aunt Lora told Mamie they do."
"Say, cull, you tell your Aunt Lora to make a noise like an ice-creamin the sun and melt away. She's a prune, and what she says don't go. Doyou want to know what a germ or a microbe--it's the same thing--reallyis? It's a fellow that has the best time you can think of. They've beenfooling you, kid. They saw you were easy, so they handed it to you on aplate. I'm the guy that can put you wise about microbes."
"Tell me."
"Sure. Well, a microbe is a kid that just runs wild out in the country.He don't have to hang around in a white-tiled nursery and eatsterilized junk and go to bed when they tell him to. He has a swelltime out in the woods, fishing and playing around in the dirt and goingafter birds' eggs and picking berries, and--oh, shucks, anything elseyou can think of. Wouldn't you like to do that?"
William Bannister nodded.
"Well, say, as it happens, there's a fine chance for you to be a germright away. I know a little place down in the Connecticut woods whichwould just hit you right. You could put on overalls----"
"What's overalls?"
"Sort of clothes. Not like the fussed-up scenery you have to wear now,but the real sort of clothes which you can muss up and nobody cares adarn. You can put 'em on and go out and tear up Jack like a regular kidall you want. Say, don't you remember the fool stunts you and me usedto pull off in the studio?"
"What studio?"
"Gee! you're a bit shy on your English, ain't you? It makes it sort ofhard for a guy to keep up what you might call a flow of talk. Still,you should worry. Why, don't you remember where you used to live beforeyou came to this joint? Big, dusty sort of place, where you and me usedto play around on the floor?"
The White Hope nodded.
"Well, wouldn't you like to do that again?"
"Yes."
"And be a regular microbe?"
"Yes."
Steve looked at his watch.
"Well, that's lucky," he said. "It happens to be exactly the right timefor starting out to be one. That's curious, ain't it?"
"Yes."
"I've got a pal--friend, you know----"
"Is he a germ?"
"Sure. He's waiting for me now in an automobile in the park----"
"Why?"
"Because I asked him to. He owns a garage. Place where automobileslive, you know. I asked him to bring out a car and wait around near by,because I might be taking a pal of mine--that's you--for a ride intothe country to-night. Of course, you don't have to come if you don'twant to. Only it's mighty nice out there. You can spend all to-morrowrolling about in the grass and listening to the birds. I shouldn'twonder if we couldn't borrow a farmer's kid for you to play with.There's lots of them around. He should show you the best time you'vehad in months."
William Bannister's eyes gleamed. The finer points of the scheme werebeginning to stand out before him with a growing clarity.
"Would I have to take my bib?" he asked excitedly.
Steve uttered a scornful laugh.
"No, _sir_! We don't wear bibs out there."
As far as William Bannister was concerned, this appeared to settle it.Of all the trials of his young life he hated most his bib.
"Let's go!"
Steve breathed a sigh of relief.
"Right, squire; we will," he said. "But I guess we had best leave aletter for Mamie, so's she won't be wondering where you've got to."
"Will Mamie be cross?"
"Not on your life. She'll be tickled to death."
He scribbled a few lines on a piece of paper and left them on the cot,from which William Bannister had now scrambled.
"Can you dress yourself?" asked Steve.
"Oh, yes." It was an accomplishment of which the White Hope wasextremely proud.
"Well, go to it, then."
"Steve."
"Hello?"
"Won't it be a surprise for Mamie?"
"You bet it will. And she won't be the only one, at that."
"Will mother be surprised?"
"She sure will."
"And pop?"
"You bet!"
William Bannister chuckled delightedly.
"Ready?" said Steve.
"Yes."
"Now listen. We've got to get out of this joint as quiet as mice. Itwould spoil the surprise if they was to hear us and come out and askwhat we were doing. Get that?"
"Yes."
"Well, see how quiet you can make it. You don't want even to breathemore than you can help."
* * * * *
They left the room and crept down the dark stairs. In the hall Stevelit a match and switched on the electric light. He unbolted the doorand peered out into the avenue. Close by, under the trees, stood anautomobile, its headlights staring into the night.
"Quick!" cried Steve.
He picked up the White Hope, closed the door, and ran.