The Definite Object Part 40

"You see, I had an idea--a rather original idea!"

"Then take care of it, Mr. Geoffrey; nurse it careful, and we'll have ye doin' bigger things than push a peanut barrer--peanuts!"

"Mrs. Trapes, I've got a stranglehold on that idea, for it is rather brilliant."

"There's that kettle b'ilin' at last, thank goodness!" sighed Mrs.

Trapes, crossing to the stove, "tea's a luxury, I suppose, but--oh, drat Mulligan, anyway!"

So Mrs. Trapes brewed the tea, while Ravenslee gazed at Hermione again, at her shapely arms, her dimpled elbows, her preoccupied face--a face so serenely, so utterly unaware of his regard, of course, until he chanced to look away, and then--Hermione stole a glance at him.

"There, my dear," said Mrs. Trapes after a while, "there's a cup o' tea as _is_ a cup o' tea, brewed jest on the b'ile, in a hot pot, and drawed to perfection! Set right down an' drink it, slow an' deliberate. Tea ain't meant to be swallowed down careless, like a man does his beer! An'

why?" demanded Mrs. Trapes, as they sipped the fragrant beverage, all three, "why ain't you out with your precious--peanuts, Mr. Geoffrey?"

Ravenslee set down his cup and turned to Hermione.

"Mrs. Trapes has told you, I think, that I am become--er--an itinerant vendor of the ubiquitous peanut--"

"Mr. Geoffrey!" gasped Mrs. Trapes, gulping a mouthful of hot tea and blinking, "I never did! Never in all my days would I allow myself such expressions--Mr. Geoffrey, I'm ashamed at you! An' that reminds me--it was chicken frica.s.see, wasn't it? For your supper, I mean?"

"I believe it was."

"Then," said Mrs. Trapes, rising, "I'll go an' buy it. Was you wantin'

anything fetched, Hermy?"

"If you wouldn't mind bringing a bunch of asparagus--"

"Sparrergra.s.s!" exclaimed Mrs. Trapes in horror-struck tones, "why, it's anywhere from thirty to sixty cents--"

"But Arthur loves it, dear, and now that he's working so hard--"

"Arthur likes!" cried Mrs. Trapes indignantly. "Mr. Geoffrey, it's been Arthur ever since he was born, an' her scrinchin' an' pinchin' herself for the sake o' that b'y. O' course he likes sparrergra.s.s--so do I--but I make s.h.i.+ft with pertatoes or cabbidge or carrots--an' so should he.

Come now, Hermy, you take a bunch o' carrots instead; carrots is healthy an' cheap! Come now, is that sparrergra.s.s to be carrots or not?"

"Ann, that asparagus is to be--asparagus!"

"Such wicked extravagance, an' all for that b'y. Hermy, I'm surprised at ye!"

For a long moment after Mrs. Trapes had departed there was silence, while Ravenslee sat gazing where Hermione stood busy at her pastry again.

"Mr. Geoffrey," said she at last, "I want to thank you for watching over my boy. Arthur told me how good you were to him while I was away. I want you to know how grateful I am--"

"What beautiful hands you have, Hermione--and I shall dream of your arms."

"My arms?" she repeated, staring.

"They're so--smooth and white--"

"Oh, that's flour!" said she, bending over the table.

"And so--round--"

"Oh, Mr. Geoffrey! Can't you find something else to talk about?"

"Why, of course," he answered, "there are your feet, so slender and shapely--"

"In these frightful old shoes!" she added.

"Worn out mostly in other peoples' service," he nodded. "G.o.d bless them!"

"They let the wet in horribly when it rains!" she sighed.

"So heaven send us dry weather! Then there is your wonderful hair," he continued, "so long and soft and--"

"And all bunched up anyhow!" said she, touching the heavy, s.h.i.+ning braids with tentative fingers. "Please don't say any more, Mr. Geoffrey, because I just know I look a sight--I feel it! And in this old gown too--it's the one I keep to scrub the floors in--"

"Scrub the floors?" he repeated.

"Why, of course, floors must be scrubbed, and I've had plenty--oh, plenty of experience--now what are you thinking?"

"That a great many women might envy you that gown for the beauty that goes with it. You are very beautiful, you know, Hermione."

"And beauty in a woman is--everything, isn't it?" she said a little bitterly and with head suddenly averted.

"Have I offended you?"

"No," she answered without looking around, "only sometimes you are so very--personal."

"Because the First and Second Persons Singular Number are the most interesting persons in the world, and--Hermione, in all this big world there is only one person I want. Could you ever learn to love a peanut man?"

"That would all depend--on the peanut man," she answered softly, "and you--you don't talk or act a little bit like a real peanut man."

"Well, could you stoop to love this peanut man just as he is, with all his faults and failures, love him enough to trust yourself to his keeping, to follow him into the unknown, to help him find that Beautiful City of Perhaps--could you, Hermione?" As he ended he rose to his feet, but swiftly, dexterously, she eluded him.

"Wait!" she pleaded, facing him across the table, "I--I want to talk to you--to ask you some questions, and I want you to be serious, please."

"Solemn as sixty judges!" he nodded.

"Well, first, Mr. Geoffrey--why do you pretend to sell peanuts?"

"Pretend!" he repeated, trying to sound aggrieved.

"Oh, I'm not blind, Mr. Geoffrey."

"No, indeed--I think your eyes are the most beau--"

"Oh, please, please be serious!"

"As a dozen owls!"