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Page 11
Lance let loose a howl and flung himself into his chair as if
prostrated, long legs out and arms hanging to the floor. Aunt Basha
shook with laughter. This was a splendid joke and she never, never tired
of it. "You see!" he threw out, between gasps. "Look at that! _Fo'_
dollars 'n sev'nty _fo'_ cents." He sat up suddenly and pointed a big
finger, "Aunt Basha," he whispered, "somebody's been kidding you.
Somebody's lied. This palatial apartment, much as it looks like it, is
not the home of John D. Rockefeller." He sprung up, drew an imaginary
mantle about him, grasped one elbow with the other hand, dropped his
head into the free palm and was Cassius or Hamlet or Faust--all one to
Aunt Basha. His left eyebrow screwed up and his right down, and he
glowered. "List to her," he began, and shot out a hand, immediately to
replace it where it was most needed, under his elbow. "But list, ye
Heavens and protect the lamb from this ravening wolf. She chargeth--oh
high Heavens above!--she expecteth me to pay"--he gulped sobs--"the
extortioner, the she-wolf--expecteth me to pay her--_fo_' dollars 'n
sev'nty _fo_' cents!"
Aunt Basha, entranced with this drama, quaked silently like a large
coffee jelly, and with that there happened a high, rich, protracted
sound which was laughter, but laughter not to be imitated of any vocal
chords of a white race. The delicious note soared higher, higher it
seemed than the scale of humanity, and was riotous velvet and cream,
with no effort or uncertainty. Lance dropped his Mephistopheles pose and
grinned.
"It's Q sharp!" he commented. "However does she do it!"
"Naw, sir, young marse," Aunt Basha began, descending to speech. "De
she-wolf, she don' expecteth you to pay no fo' dollars 'n sev'nty fo'
cents, sir. Dat's thes what I _charges_. Dat ain' what you _pay_. You
thes pay me sev'nty fo' cents sir. Dat's all."
"Oh!" Lance let it out like a ten-year-old. It was hard to say which
enjoyed this weekly interview more, the boy or the old woman. The boy
was lonely and the humanity unashamed of her race and personality made
an atmosphere which delighted him. "Oh!" gasped Lance. "That's a relief.
I thought it was goodbye to my Sunday trousers."
Aunt Basha, comfortable and efficient, was unpacking the basket and
putting away the wash in the few bureau drawers which easily held the
boy's belongings. "Dey's all mended nice," she announced. "Young marse,
sir, you better wa' out dese yer ole' undercloses right now, endurin' de
warm weather, 'caze dey ain' gwine do you fo' de col'. You 'bleeged to
buy some new ones sir, when it comes off right cool."
Lance smiled, for there was no one but this old black woman to take care
of him and advise his haphazard housekeeping, and he liked it. "Can't
buy new ones," he made answer. "There you go again, mixing me up with
Rockefeller. I'm not even the Duke of Westminster, do you see. I haven't
got any money. Only sev'nty fo' cents for the she-wolf."
Aunt Basha chuckled. Long ago there had been a household of young people
in the South whose clothes she, a very young woman then, had mended;
there had been a boy who talked nonsense to her much as this boy--Marse
Pendleton. But trouble had come; everything had broken like a card-house
under an ocean wave. "De fambly" was lost, and she and her young
husband, old Uncle Jeems of today, had drifted by devious ways to this
Northern city. "Ef you ain't got de money handy dis week, young marse,
you kin pay me nex' week thes as well," suggested the she-wolf.
Then the big boy was standing over her, and she was being patted on the
shoulder with a touch that all but brought tears to the black, dim eyes.
"Don't you dare pay attention to my drool, or I'll never talk to you
again," Lance ordered. "Your sev'nty fo' cents is all right, and lots
more. I've got heaps of cash that size, Aunt Basha. But I want to buy
Liberty Bonds, and I don't know how in hell I'm going to get big money."
The boy was thinking aloud. "How am I to raise two hundred for a couple
of bonds, Aunt Basha? Tell me that?" He scratched into his thatch of
hair and made a puzzled face.
"What fo' you want big money, young marse?"
"Bonds. Liberty Bonds. You know what that is?"
"Naw, sir."
"You don't? Well you ought to," said Lance. "There isn't a soul in this
country who oughtn't to have a bond. It's this way. You know we're
fighting a war?"
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