2 Flying Off the Handle
It was dark. Crescence stood by the fire in the kitchen: the College Chap came in with very audible steps, and said,—
“Crescence, how are you? I want a pound of that tobacco. Have you got any left?”
“Yes, walk in: my mother ’ll wait on you.”
“I won’t poison your soup if I do stay here a bit,” he said aloud: then he continued, very softly, “Florian’s got home. Come out a little after a while, and you shall hear us.”
Without waiting for an answer, he went into the room. When he came out again, Crescence was gone.
A little later the voices of the three comrades were heard before the Red Tailor’s house, singing, whistling, and laughing. Florian’s, which had long been wanting, was doubly clear and full. Finding all their efforts unavailing, Peter cried under the window,—
“Crescence, isn’t this your goose running about here?”
The College Chap, crouching behind the wood-pile, was cackling with the accent of a native.
The window was opened; but, instead of Crescence, the tailor’s wife looked out, and said,—
“Crack your jokes before somebody else’s house.”
With a roar of laughter the College Chap returned to the middle of the road.
Within, Crescence sat with the geometer, paying but little heed to his blandishments: at last she feigned a headache and went to bed.
Tired of their fruitless watch, the three boys in the road bent their steps toward the inn. They had not gone far before they encountered Josey, the French simpleton. The College Chap cried, seizing him by the collar,—
“Qui vive? la bourse on la vie?”
“Paridadoin mullien,” calmly replied the person addressed, meaning to say, “What do you want?”
“Here’s a jolly lark!” cried the student, triumphantly. “Let’s take Josey with us and make him do the geometer. Come; we’ll treat you to a mug of beer.”
“Moin paroula goin,” answered Josey,—as if to say, “I’ve no objections.” His words were all formed by accident; and he eked them out with nods and grins. Originally Josey was not more than half a simpleton; but the half which Nature had denied had been carefully educated into him by the wags of the village. If any villager has a mole in his disposition, he may be assured that his townsmen will stretch it into a mountain for their common behoof and education.
Nobody knew, or cared to know, what had given Josey the notion that he was master of all the living tongues. Some contended that he had been dry-nurse so long as to have acquired the baby-lingo by incessant practice. Be that as it may, it was impossible to address him in any real or imaginary language without receiving an instantaneous reply. This apart, he was as good a field-hand as many others; and, whether he understood the language of the beasts or not, they understood him and did his bidding. In church Josey was the only member of the congregation who nodded at every word of the Latin mass, to imply that he understood it to perfection.
This individual was for this evening the fourth member of the usually so exclusive confederacy of three.
“Bon soir,” said Florian, as they entered the bar-room. He received a kindly welcome at all hands. The assembled guests scanned him from head to foot, and nodded to each other with looks that seemed to say, “A fine fellow, Florian; yes, if you want to come home you must go abroad first.”
One who sat behind the stove said to his neighbor, “This is a better way to come back than that thief Schlunkel’s: he’s been twice to the penitentiary, and has just come back. I wish we were rid of him again.”
Florian ordered a bottle of wine for himself and his comrades, while Josey was regaled with a mug of beer at an adjoining table.
When Babbett brought the refreshments, he remarked, in an under-tone, but yet loud enough to be heard by all, “Comme elle est jolie!—bien jolie!”
“Qui?” returned the College Chap. The company nudged each other,—to think they could talk French so well together.
Florian treated the whole company,—to their great satisfaction, for, though frequenters of the tavern, they sat there as dry customers: the stimulus made their hearts glad, and the sensation was reflected upon the spirits of Florian. He seemed to have expended his stock of French; for “Snuff the chandelle” is not pure Parisian.
The point of the joke was lost, nevertheless; for the geometer, who put up at the Eagle, was not there.
“Are you going to stay with us, Florian?” asked Babbett.
“Nous verrons: we shall see.”
“Tell us something of your travels,” said Caspar, the host, who felt it incumbent on him to promote the conversation. “Have you been to Paris?”
“Of course,” answered Florian, in a tone of voice in which a shrewd observer would have detected the ring of false metal; “but I didn’t like it there. Nancy’s the finest place yet. Go into a tavern there, and the walls are all looking-glasses, the tables are marble, and you eat and drink out of nothing but silver. You ought to go there once: you’d open your eyes and ears.”
These signs of absorbing attention now showed themselves in Florian’s own features; for the geometer, with his two colleagues, entered the room. They passed through to the little back parlor, where a table was set for them.
Florian seized his glass, made it clink against those of his friends, and said, “A votre santé.”
Caspar had lost his interest in Florian’s narration, and hastened to meet the new-comers and light them to their supportable, which was set in the back room. Florian, twirling his mustache, asked Constantine, very softly, “Which is it?”
“The lobsided one, with long hair, that came in first.”
For a time all were silent, and nothing was heard but the clatter of knives and forks behind the screen.
But suddenly Constantine began to sing:—
“Oh, man of geometry,
Pull up your pegs:
How can you see straight with such
Shocking round legs?”
A burst of laughter filled the room, instantly succeeded by another silence. The knives and forks behind the screen were breathless also.
Florian got up and said to Josey, “Comment vous portez-vous, Monsieur Géomètre?”
“Quadulta loing,” replied Josey, who continued to talk gibberish, amid renewed peals of laughter.
“‘Wish you joy of your berth,” said Constantine, taking the mop from the slop-bucket. “Here: just survey this table for me: you can do it very well, you know, for there’s no need of brains.”
Amid constant and increasing merriment, Josey entered upon his labors, and proceeded until Babbett came up, saying,—
“Have done with this, now, and crack your jokes somewhere else. Be quiet, Josey, or go about your business.”
Josey struck the table and jabbered grimly. The screen was suddenly pushed aside, and Steinhaeuser, the admirer of Crescence, appeared, restrained by his two comrades from assaulting the mocker. Caspar tried to pacify him, and, as soon as he had partially succeeded, he stepped up to the three, and said, with more decision than might have been expected,—
“I’ll tell you what: this sort of thing can’t be done on my premises; and the sooner you know it the better. Drink your wine quietly, or I’ll show you what’s outside of the door. I won’t have my guests insulted while I’m master of this house. No offence to one; but I will have order.”
“Juste,” said Florian: “all right: I’ll find the gentleman somewhere else in good time. You hear, you lobsided lout over there? If I catch you within half a mile of Crescence again, I’ll knock your crooked legs into a cocked hat, and then you may toddle on your tripod.”
“You ragamuffin!” roared Steinhaeuser, before whom Caspar had posted himself. Florian made for him with a “Comapulation smash! foudre de Dieu!” but Caspar hauled him back, and Constantine was shrewd enough to interfere as a peacemaker.
The three left the house, followed by Josey. On the road they vowed never to patronize the Eagle again. Florian made an effort to go back, however: he hadn’t given the landlord all his change.
“Thunder an’ ouns!” said Constantine, “stay here, I tell you. You’re the best man for flying off the handle in Wurtemberg. Be quiet, now: we’ll manage to lay the geometer out some time, and make him forget the resurrection of the legs.”
This counsel prevailed; and, to compensate themselves for their enforced inaction, they travelled through the village, the College Chap howling like a whipped dog, and making, as he expressed it, all the dogs in the houses rebellious.