he's carryin' on so I don't scarcely think he knows much what he's doin', Miz Baxter.He brung down some gray britches to the kitchen to see if I couldn' press an' clean 'em right quick:
they was the ones Miss Jane, when she's paintin'
all them sunsets, lef' her paint-box open, an' one them sunsets got on these here gray britches, Miz Baxter; an' hones'ly, Miz Baxter, he's fixed 'em in a condishum, tryin' to git that paint out, I don't believe it 'll be no use sendin' 'em to the cleaner.`Clean 'em an' press 'em QUICK?' I says.
`I couldn' clean 'em by Resurreckshum, let alone pressin' 'em!' No'm! Well, he had his blue britches, too, but they's so ripped an' tore an'
kind o' shredded away in one place, the cook she jes' hollered when he spread 'em out, an' he didn' even ast me could I mend 'em.An' he had two pairs o' them white flannen britches, but hones'ly, Miz Baxter, I don't scarcely think Genesis would wear 'em, the way they is now!
`Well,' I says, `ain't but one thing lef' to do _I_ can see,' I says.`Why don't you go put on that nice black suit you had las' winter?' ''
``Of course!'' Mrs.Baxter cried.``I'll go and--''
``No'm,'' said Adelia.``You don' need to.
He's up in the attic now, r'arin' roun' 'mongs'
them trunks, but seem to me like I remember you put that suit away under the heavy blankets in that big cedar ches' with the padlock.If you jes' tell me where is the key, I take it up to him.''
``Under the bureau in the spare room,'' said Mrs.Baxter.``HURRY!''
Adelia hurried; and, fifteen minutes later, William, for the last time that afternoon, surveyed himself in his mirror.His face showed the strain that had been upon him and under which he still labored; the black suit was a map of creases, and William was perspiring more freely than ever under the heavy garments.But at least he was clothed.
He emptied his pockets, disgorging upon the floor a multitude of small white spheres, like marbles.Then, as he stepped out into the hall, he discovered that their odor still remained about him; so he stopped and carefully turned his pockets inside out, one after the other, but finding that he still smelled vehemently of the ``moth-
balls,'' though not one remained upon him, he went to his mother's room and sprinkled violet toilet-water upon his chest and shoulders.He disliked such odors, but that left by the moth-
balls was intolerable, and, laying hands upon a canister labeled ``Hyacinth,'' he contrived to pour a quantity of scented powder inside his collar, thence to be distributed by the force of gravity so far as his dampness permitted.
Lo, William was now ready to go to his party!
Moist, wilted, smelling indeed strangely, he was ready.
But when he reached the foot of the stairs he discovered that there was one thing more to be done.Indignation seized him, and also a creeping fear chilled his spine, as he beheld a lurking shape upon the porch, stealthily moving toward the open door.It was the lowly Clematis, dog unto Genesis.
William instantly divined the purpose of Clematis.It was debatable whether Clematis had remained upon the premises after the departure of Genesis, or had lately returned thither upon some errand of his own, but one thing was certain, and the manner of Clematis--his attitude, his every look, his every gesture--made it as clear as day.Clematis had discovered, by one means or another, the presence of Flopit in the house, and had determined to see him personally.
Clematis wore his most misleading expression;
a stranger would have thought him shy and easily turned from his purpose--but William was not deceived.He knew that if Clematis meant to see Flopit, a strong will, a ready brain, and stern action were needed to thwart him; but at all costs that meeting must be prevented.
Things had been awful enough, without that!
He was well aware that Clematis could not be driven away, except temporarily, for nothing was further fixed upon Clematis than his habit of retiring under pressure, only to return and return again.True, the door could have been shut in the intruder's face, but he would have sought other entrance with possible success, or, failing that, would have awaited in the front yard the dispersal of the guests and Flopit's consequent emerging.This was a contretemps not to be endured.
The door of the living-room was closed, muffling festal noises and permitting safe passage through the hall.William cast a hunted look over his shoulder; then he approached Clematis.
