LITMIR.BIZ

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humour.

      “Why, you have powder on your face! And that tie! Look, why don’t we go for a walk? It’s foolish to stay indoors on a night like this.”

      The suggestion did not appeal to Jean. He was near to telling Denis that this sudden fancy for a stroll came from a lack of money. But he preferred to go on speaking of his toilet, even though it made him blush. “I shaved myself this evening. My beard is so stiff. Do you soften yours up first?”

      He kept moving his hands restlessly in his pockets, as if obsessed with the idea that someone was trying to prevent him from looking his best for once. He did feel, it is true, that it was rather daring for him, a worm-vendor, to dress up in such a manner on a weekday evening. But his yellow polka-dot tie was pretty, wasn’t it? Lise would appreciate it later on. Would she notice the powder on his face? He blamed Denis for his uneasiness — Denis, who overwhelmed him with his air of authority, who gave him his dreams. The Langevins were remarking that they would like to see Lise again. Feigning astonishment, Denis toyed with the watch chain that hung from the pocket of Jean’s coat.

      “Ah!” he said, “I understand now. Symbol of slavery!” His tone was contemptuous. “Go on, you’re a budding Pritontin. Ah! You heard about your father?”

      “Leave my father out of it. He has nothing to do with it. You have to be well dressed when you sit in the reserved seats. It costs ten cents more —”

      Jean had struck home and he knew it as he saw Denis turn pale. Reflecting that Lise was the cause of this meanness on his part, he hated her. Nevertheless, the happiness she had given him with her first smile was something that he preserved intact; it was something that Denis could neither divine nor lay hands on. The thing that humiliated him, rather, was his bashfulness, his undoubtedly ridiculous bearing ever since he had fallen in love.

      Disgruntled because he lacked the necessary ten cents, Denis made up his mind that he would get himself a reserved seat. He said nothing, however, and Jean was relieved. Life was suddenly fair again, and it was with real animation that he threw back a stray ball from the Mulots who were playing in the street. Going over to lean against the embankment, Denis coldly eyed the girls who passed. They either smiled at him or treated him as a show-off. He was surprised to find himself flattered by such homage and resolved that he would yield only to their bodily charms, a weakness which he ascribed to those passions that a young man naturally felt. A man he assuredly was, for today he no longer blushed as he thought of a naked woman. Whereas, the year before —

      Jean was playing with the coins in his pocket. He was somewhat concerned. Was it out of contempt that Denis kept silent? He went over to him.

      “Will you come along? I’ll pay the difference. You needn’t be huffy about it. I’ve had a good week.”

      “All right, give it to me; I’ll pay you back fifteen.” He had a vision of a multitude of empty milk jars as a source of independence. He gave Jean a furious look. “Well, are you through patting that money of yours?”

      “Look! There he goes!” cried the Langevins. Denis did not turn and Jean appeared to be more interested in Méo Nolin’s daughter as Zépherin Lévesque went by at the wheel of his automobile, the newest in the parish. A man who was fond of show, he drove slowly, and the lads had a good opportunity to gaze at Lise, but she seemed unaware of their presence. Jean made excuses for her to himself. She would prefer to see him alone, he felt sure. He was fortifying himself against the sarcastic remarks that Denis would probably make. The latter now proposed a business arrangement, thinking thereby to kill the thought of love.

      “She should be able to get her father to buy his worms from you. He’s a great fisherman. That would mean one customer the less for Chaton.” Denis’s mind, however, was not on what he was saying, for the glimpse he had had of Lise’s eyes had brought him a feeling of tender melancholy, of the sort that one experiences in the silence of open spaces, beneath a tranquil sky.

      Jean was insulted. He had rather expected Denis to adopt a scoffing, unceremonious attitude toward Lise. But such a suggestion as this! He was astonished that he had never before been ashamed of the traffic in worms. He had never thought that a woman would be able to disgust him with it. Carried away by the new and ardent song in his heart, he had already broken with his past. Embarked in a strange boat, he had shoved off from the familiar bank that was the Jean Colin of yesterday: the Jean Colin who dreamed of exercising in his muscles, of obtaining a monopoly of the trade of angleworms, and of achieving victories over the Mulots while Denis applauded.

      The happiness of first love, a happiness he was only beginning to know, had come to disturb all this. It was senseless to speak to Lise of the great and lofty things of which he dreamed and at the same time to tell her, in the intervals of lovemaking, how he dealt in these curious little animals, so fat and shiny, that served as bait for fishes. Was he to explain to her how they slipped through your fingers, fled up your sleeve, and came out at your neck?

      Was he in love with Lise? Since when? Was it, then, an accomplished fact, something that had already taken place inside himself? As he looked at Denis, he realized that his friend’s rage, his gibes, had put the girl in his heart as no smile of hers could have done. Ah, to be able to rid himself of this Boucher, who was like a cover to his life, holding him down to earth when he wished to soar.

      “Why, Monsieur Pritontin!” exclaimed Denis. “How comes it you’re on foot? That’s not in the least like a churchwarden. Just look at Monsieur Lévesque. He’s somebody, he is!”

      Anselme Pritontin pretended to be indifferent and ducked in time to miss the ball the Mulots threw at him. He smiled craftily, for his was a joy above all the automobiles in this world. He was dreaming of how surprised these wretches would be, tomorrow at high mass and next week, when they learned that he has purchased the Abbé Trinchu’s big Buick. He would arrive before Zépherin and would park in front of the main entrance. He would take the priests out riding….

      The young men now fell into step with their elders. The Langevins, who had never sat in the reserved seats, could not wait to beard the Gonzagues, those pious ones who constituted the élite among the Soyeux. They could be seen upon the stage, congratulating Lise upon the part she was to take in the program. Would she tell them of her adventure that afternoon? At the moment, she was preoccupied with her curls, her lace ruffles, and the impression she would make upon Monsieur le Curé.

      People were walking briskly toward the parish hall, the women gesticulating excitedly as they spoke of their luck at the last bingo party. The dignified Soyeuses, with mincing steps, took the sidewalk across the way. The meeting never began until they were there, since they occupied the front rows. They would hesitate for some little while before entering, with a show of reluctance, for there was a law against bingo games. The Mulotes on the other hand, were delighted with the prospect of a wholesale raid by the police. They could picture themselves up at the city hall, chattering noisily and stabbing the gendarmes in the back with their hatpins. And the Abbé Bongrain would be there, too! What a picnic and what a babel of tongues! Although the game was forbidden all over town, Saint-Joseph’s parish hall continued to hold parties and the Mulots encouraged the Curé to defy the authorities. They expected that the law would swoop down upon them, but the police avoided this corner as they would the plague.

      Bingo was especially popular with young married couples, concerned with furnishing their homes, and many of them had here laid in a supply of bedspreads, flatirons, pillows, and other accessories. The majority of the men who came merely smoked their pipes and discussed the church debt. For most of them it was an opportunity to look at other men’s wives in a way that would not “start something.” There were not so many of these skirt chasers, after all, but there were always some who waited at the rear of the hall for the evening to start so that they might pick out the group of women that appeared to offer the most diversion. There was Bidonnet, the sacristan, who possessed an Adam’s apple so enormous that when he took out his handkerchief one wondered what it was he was going to wipe. A frank, good-natured chap, always ready to unburden himself, he went about picking up bits of gossip here and there with a sacerdotal ardour. The elderly Mulots, who cared neither for parish parties nor for bingo, had gone to discuss politics and play cards at Bédarovitch’s

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