The Literary World Seventh Reader Part 40

Always, a _pilote_ was taken into the back room; he ate with the family, he told them all the news from _l'ecole_, and, in exchange, he heard stories about the early days, stories that will never be printed, but which embody examples of the heroism and intelligence that have done their part to develop aviation.

Soon, we went in to dinner, and such a dinner! Truly, nothing is too good for an aviator at "Suzanne's," and they give of their best to these wandering strangers. They do not ask your name, they call every one _Monsieur_, but before you leave you sign the book and they all crowd around to look, without saying anything. Your name means nothing yet, but a year from now, perhaps, who can tell? In the first pages are names that have been bywords for years and some that are famous the world over.

After dinner, Suzanne slipped away, presently to reappear with a special bottle and gla.s.ses. I felt sure this was part of the entertainment afforded all their winged visitors, for they went about it in a practised manner; each was familiar with his or her part, but to me it was all delightfully new.

Our gla.s.ses were filled, and Suzanne raised hers up first. Without a word, she looked around the circle. Her eyes met them all, then rested with madame. She had not said a word; it was "papa" who proposed my health, and as the bottoms went up, Suzanne and madame both had a struggle to repress a tear. They were drinking my health, but their thoughts were far away, and in my heart I was wis.h.i.+ng that happiness might again come to them. Suzanne certainly deserves it.

When I returned to school, they asked, "Did you stop at 'Suzanne's'?"

And now to the others, just ready to make the voyage, I always say, "Be sure to stop at 'Suzanne's'."

GREAYER CLOVER.

THE MAKING OF A MAN

I

Marmaduke, otherwise Doggie, Trevor owned a pleasant home set on fifteen acres of ground. He had an income of three thousand pounds a year. Old Peddle, the butler, and his wife, the housekeeper, saved him from domestic cares. He led a well-regulated life. His meals, his toilet, his music, his wall-papers, his drawing and embroidery, his sweet peas, his chrysanthemums, his postage stamps, and his social engagements filled the hours not claimed by slumber.

In the town of Durdlebury, Doggie Trevor began to feel appreciated. He could play the piano, the harp, the viola, the flute, and the clarionette, and sing a mild tenor. Besides music, Doggie had other accomplishments. He could choose the exact shade of silk for a drawing-room sofa cus.h.i.+on, and he had an excellent gift for the selection of wedding-presents. All in all, Marmaduke Trevor was a young gentleman of exquisite taste.

After breakfast on a certain July morning, Doggie, attired in a green shot-silk dressing-gown, entered his own particular room and sat down to think. In its way it was a very beautiful room--high, s.p.a.cious, well-proportioned, facing southeast. The wall-paper, which Doggie had designed himself, was ivory white, with tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs of peac.o.c.k blue.

[v]Vellum-bound books filled the cases; delicate water-colors adorned the walls. On his writing-table lay an ivory set: inkstand, pen-tray, blotter, and calendar. Bits of old embroidery, harmonizing with the peac.o.c.k shades, were spread here and there. A spinet inlaid with ivory formed the center for the arrangement of other musical instruments--a viol, mandolins, and flutes. One tall, closed cabinet was devoted to Doggie's collection of wall-papers. Another held a collection of little dogs in china and porcelain--thousands of them; he got them from dealers from all over the world.

An unwonted frown creased Doggie's brow, for several problems disturbed him. The morning sun disclosed, beyond doubt, discolorations, stains, and streaks on the wall-paper. It would have to be renewed.

Then, his thoughts ran on to his cousin, Oliver Manningtree, who had just returned from the South Sea. It was Oliver, the strong and masculine, who had given him the name of Doggie years before, to his infinite disgust. And now every one in Durdlebury seemed to have gone crazy over the fellow. Doggie's uncle and aunt had hung on his lips while Oliver had boasted unblus.h.i.+ngly of his adventures. Even the fair cousin Peggy, with whom Doggie was mildly in love, had listened open-eyed and open-mouthed to Oliver's tales of s.h.i.+pwreck in distant seas.

Doggie had reached this point in his reflections when, to his horror, he heard a familiar voice outside the door.

"All right," it said. "Don't worry, Peddle. I'll show myself in."

The door burst open, and Oliver, pipe in mouth and hat on one side, came into the room.

"h.e.l.lo, Doggie!" he cried boisterously. "Thought I'd look you up. Hope I'm not disturbing you."

"Not at all," said Doggie. "Do sit down."

But Oliver walked about and looked at things.

"I like your water colors," he said. "Did you collect them yourself!"

"Yes."

"I congratulate you on your taste. This is a beauty."

The appreciation brought Doggie at once to his side. He took Oliver delightedly around the pictures, expounding their merits and their little histories. Doggie was just beginning to like the big fellow, when, stopping before the collection of china dogs, the latter spoiled everything.

"My dear Doggie," he said, "is that your family?"

"It's the finest collection of the kind in the world," replied Doggie stiffly, "and is worth several thousand pounds."

Oliver heaved himself into a chair--that was Doggie's impression of his method of sitting down.

"Forgive me, Doggie," he said, "but you're so funny. Pictures and music I can understand. But what on earth is the point of these little dogs?"

Doggie was hurt. "It would be useless to try to explain," he said, with dignity. "And my name is Marmaduke."

Oliver took off his hat and sent it skimming to the couch.

"Look here, old chap," he said, "I seem to have put my foot in it. I didn't mean to, really. I'll call you Marmaduke, if you like, instead of Doggie--though it's a beast of a name. I'm a rough sort of chap. I've had ten years' pretty tough training. I've slept on boards; I've slept in the open without a cent to hire a board. I've gone cold and I've gone hungry, and men have knocked me about, and I've lost most of my politeness. In the wilds if a man once gets the name, say, of Duck-Eyed Joe, it sticks to him, and he accepts it, and answers to it, and signs it."

"But I'm not in the wilds," objected Marmaduke, "and haven't the slightest intention of ever leading the unnatural and frightful life you describe. So what you say doesn't apply to me."

Oliver, laughing, clapped him on the shoulder.

"You don't give a fellow a chance," he said. "Look here, tell me, as man to man, what are you going to do with your life? Here you are, young, strong, educated, intelligent--"

"I'm not strong," said Doggie.

"A month's exercise would make you as strong as a mule," returned Oliver. "Here you are--what are you going to do with yourself?"

"I don't admit that you have any right to question me," said Doggie.

"Peggy and I had a talk," declared Oliver. "I said I'd take you out with me to the Islands and give you a taste for fresh air and salt water and exercise. I'll teach you how to sail a schooner and how to go about barefoot and swab decks."

Doggie smiled pityingly, but said politely, "Your offer is kind, Oliver, but I don't think that sort of life would suit me."

Being a man of intelligence, he realized that Oliver's offer arose from a genuine desire to do him service. But if a friendly bull out of the fulness of its affection invited you to accompany it to the meadow and eat gra.s.s, what could you do but courteously decline the invitation?

"I'm really most obliged to you, Oliver," said Doggie, finally. "But our ideas are entirely different. You're primitive, you know. You seem to find your happiness in defying the elements, whereas I find mine in adopting the resources of civilization to defeat them."

"Which means," said Oliver, rudely, "that you're afraid to roughen your hands and spoil your complexion."

"If you like to put it that way."

"You're an [v]effeminate little creature!" cried Oliver, losing his temper. "And I'm through with you. Go sit up and beg for biscuits."

"Stop!" shouted Doggie, white with sudden anger, which shook him from head to foot. He marched to the door, his green silk dressing-gown flapping about him, and threw it wide open.

"This is my house," he said. "I'm sorry to have to ask you to get out of it."

And when the door was shut on Oliver, he threw himself, shaken, on the couch, hating Oliver and all his works more than ever. Go about barefoot and swab decks! It was madness. Besides being dangerous to health, it would be excruciating discomfort. And to be insulted for not grasping at such martyrdom! It was intolerable; and Doggie remained justly indignant the whole day long.