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Page 38
John also pointed out that the Lizzie--his name was, incidentally,
Aristophe--had one nice quality. Of course, it was a quality which
appealed most to the beneficiary, yet it seemed well to me also to have
my guests surrounded with mercy and loving kindness. John had but to
suggest building a fire or greasing his boots or carrying a canoe over
any portage to any lake, and the Lizzie at once leaped with a bright
smile as who should say that this was indeed a pleasure. "C'est bien,
M'sieur," was his formula. He would gaze at John for sections of an
hour, with his flabby mouth open in speechless surprise as if at the
unbelievable glory and magnificence of M'sieur. A nice lad, John Dudley
was, but no subtle enchanter; a stocky and well-set-up young man with a
whole-souled, garrulous and breezy way, and a gift of slang and a
brilliant grin. What called forth hero-worship towards him I never
understood; but no more had I understood why Mildred Thornton, Colonel
Thornton's young sister, my very beautiful cousin, should have selected
him, from a large assortment of suitors, to marry. Indeed I did not
entirely understand why I liked having John in camp better than anyone
else; probably it was essentially the same charm which impelled Mildred
to want to live with him, and the Tin Lizzie to fall down and worship.
In any case the Lizzie worshipped with a primitive and unashamed and
enduring adoration, which stood even the test of fear. That was the
supreme test for the Tin Lizzie, who was a coward of cowards. Rather
cruelly I bet John on a day that his satellite did not love him enough
to go out to the club-house alone for him, and the next day John was in
sore need of tobacco, not to be got nearer than the club.
"Aristophe will go out and get it for me," he announced as
Aristophe--the Lizzie--trotted about the table at lunch-time purveying
us flapjacks.
The Tin Lizzie stood rooted a second, petrified at the revolutionary
scheme of his going to the club, companions unmentioned. There one saw
as if through glass an idea seeking a road through his smooth gray
matter. One had always gone to the club with Josef, or Maxime or
Pierre--certainly M'sieur meant that; one would of course be glad to
go--with Josef or Maxime or Pierre--to get tobacco for M'sieur John. Of
course, the idea slid through the old road in the almost unwrinkled gray
matter, and came safely to headquarters.
"C'est bien, M'sieur," answered the Lizzie smiling brightly.
And with that I knocked the silly little smile into a cocked hat. "You
may start early tomorrow, Aristophe," I said, "and get back by dark,
going light, I can't spare any other men to go with you. But you will
certainly not mind going alone--to get tobacco for M'sieur John."
The poor Tin Lizzie turned red and then white, and his weak mouth fell
open and his eyebrows lifted till the whites of his eyes showed above
the gray irises. And one saw again, through the crystal of his
unexercised brain, the operation of a painful and new thought. M'sieur
John--a day alone in the woods--love, versus fear--which would win. John
and I watched the struggle a bit mercilessly. A grown man gets small
sympathy for being a coward. And yet few forms of suffering are keener.
We watched; and the Tin Lizzie stood and gasped in the play of his
emotions. Nobody had ever given this son of the soil ideals to hold to
through sudden danger; no sense of inherited honor to be guarded came to
help the Lizzie; he had been taught to work hard and save his
skin--little else. The great adoration for John which had swept him off
his commonplace feet--was it going to make good against life-long
selfish caution? We wondered. It was curious to watch the new big
feeling fight the long-established petty one. And it was with a glow of
triumph quite out of drawing that we saw the generous instinct win the
battle.
"Oui, M'sieur," spoke Aristophe, unconscious of subtleties or watching.
"I go tomorrow--alone. _C'est bien, M'sieur_."
It was about the only remark I ever heard him make, that gracious:
"_C'est bien, M'sieur_!" But he made it remarkably well. Almost he
persuaded me to respect him with that hearty response to the call of
duty, that humble and high gift of graciousness. One remembers him as
his dolly face lighted at John's order to go and clean trout or carry in
logs, and one does not forget the absurd, queer little fast trot at
which his powerful young legs would instantaneously swing off to obey
the behest. Such was the Tin Lizzie, the guide who paddled bow in my
canvas canoe on the day of the celebrated frog hunt.
That the frog hunt was celebrated was owing to the Lizzie. He should
have been in John's boat, as one of John's guides, but at the last
moment, there was a confusion of tongues and Lizzie was shipped aboard
my canoe. In the excitement of the chase Josef, stern man, had faced
about to manipulate his landing-net; Aristophe also slewed around and,
sitting on the gunwale, became stern paddler. I was in the middle
screwed anyhow, watching the frog fishing and enjoying the enjoyment of
the men. Poor chaps, it was the only bit of personal play they got out
of our month of play. Aristophe, the Tin Lizzie, was quite mad with the
excitement even from his very second fiddle standpoint of paddler to
Josef's frogging. His enormous gray eyes snapped, his teeth showed white
and gold around his pipe--which he nearly bit off--and he even used
language.
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