“Will—­ee!”

To William, in his high and lonely mood, this piercing summons brought an actual shudder, and the very thought of Jane (with tokens of apple sauce and sugar still upon her cheek, probably) seemed a kind of sacrilege.  He fiercely swore his favorite oath, acquired from the hero of a work of fiction he admired, “Ye gods!” and concealed his poem in the drawer of the writing-table, for Jane’s footsteps were approaching his door.

“Will—­ee!  Mamma wants you.”  She tried the handle of the door.

“G’way!” he said.

“Will—­ee!” Jane hammered upon the door with her fist.  “Will—­ee!”

“What you want?” he shouted.

Jane explained, certain pauses indicating that her attention was partially diverted to another slice of bread-and-butter and apple sauce and sugar.  “Will—­ee, mamma wants you—­wants you to go help Genesis bring some wash-tubs home and a tin clo’es-boiler—­from the second-hand man’s store.”

“What!”

Jane repeated the outrageous message, adding, “She wants you to hurry—­and I got some more bread-and-butter and apple sauce and sugar for comin’ to tell you.”

William left no doubt in Jane’s mind about his attitude in reference to the whole matter.  His refusal was direct and infuriated, but, in the midst of a multitude of plain statements which he was making, there was a decisive tapping upon the door at a point higher than Jane could reach, and his mother’s voice interrupted: 

“Hush, Willie!  Open the door, please.”

He obeyed furiously, and Mrs. Baxter walked in with a deprecating air, while Jane followed, so profoundly interested that, until almost the close of the interview, she held her bread-and-butter and apple sauce and sugar at a sort of way-station on its journey to her mouth.

“That’s a nice thing to ask me to do!” stormed the unfortunate William.  “Ye gods!  Do you think Joe Bullitt’s mother would dare to—­”

“Wait, dearie!” Mrs. Baxter begged, pacifically.  “I just want to explain—­”

“‘Explain’!  Ye gods!”

“Now, now, just a minute, Willie!” she said.  “What I wanted to explain was why it’s necessary for you to go with Genesis for the—­”

“Never!” he shouted.  “Never!  You expect me to walk through the public streets with that awful-lookin’ old nigger—­”

“Genesis isn’t old,” she managed to interpolate.  “He—­”

But her frantic son disregarded her.  “Second-hand wash-tubs!” he vociferated.  “And tin clothes-boilers!  That’s what you want your son to carry through the public streets in broad daylight!  Ye gods!”

“Well, there isn’t anybody else,” she said.  “Please don’t rave so, Willie, and say ‘Ye gods’ so much; it really isn’t nice.  I’m sure nobody ’ll notice you—­”

“’Nobody’!” His voice cracked in anguish.  “Oh no!  Nobody except the whole town!  Why, when there’s anything disgusting has to be done in this family—­why do I always have to be the one?  Why can’t Genesis bring the second-hand wash-tubs without me?  Why can’t the second-hand store deliver ’em?  Why can’t—­”