Franky

“ Franky, having pulled his mother's face down to his own, was whispering, "What is it, mama? What is the matter with Bessie, now? Does she feel sick?" To feel sick was Franky's idea of the greatest earthly misery.
Having wiped her eyes on Deleah's handkerchief Bessie rolled it into a ball and flung it across the table, with greater force of will than directness of aim, at Bernard's face. "You beast!" she choked. "Mama, Bernard's laughing at me. Oughtn't Bernard to know how to behave better? Because I'm so unhappy isn't a reason I should be laughed at." ”

“ To be turned, with her children, homeless and penniless upon the world; to become Boult's wife; to drown in the river.
An effort she made to keep her mind on these issues, but could only think, instead, of Franky. Not of Franky as he had played by the river, happily painted his pictures, rushed off noisily with the cutler's son to school, but of Franky sitting to eat his bread-and-butter and radishes, one spring afternoon, his plate on his knees, removed to a distance from the tea-table, because Bessie had declared that he smelt of putty. ”

“ Very much younger than the rest, and the pet with all of us. Mama says, but for Franky, she thinks she could never have survived the troubles she has had. I think we all felt that. We could not be always crying and melancholy in the company of a little boy who does not understand, and who wants so much to enjoy himself. For Franky's sake we have to be cheerful. He is only nine. Only seven when—all that—happened to papa."
"Franky must not go into one of George Boult's shops," Sir Francis said. "When Franky is old enough to leave school—to begin to earn his living—come and tell me, will you?" ”

“ Entrenched behind the melon, Franky waited. The waiter again effaced himself, and Margot said from behind another handkerchief:
"Oh, how could you! ... I never dreamed that I should live to hear you speak to me in that way."
Over the melon, whose rough green quartered rind had delicate white raised traceries all over it, suggesting outline maps of countries in Fairyland, Franky curiously regarded his wife. He said:
"Why are you and all your friends so funky of—what's only a natural phe—what do you call it? ... What do men and women marry for, if it isn't to have—children? ... ”

“ Poor little woman!..." Franky could see how it all had happened by the wild light of the great deer-eyes, so like those in the portrait of the girl's dead mother—half Irish, half Greek by birth.
While Franky reflected, the tables had been emptying. People were hurrying away to hear the band of the Jardin d'Acclimatation or to fulfil other engagements of a seasonable kind. Some remained to smoke and gossip over liqueurs and coffee. The light blue wreaths of cigar and cigarette smoke curled up towards the awning overhead. Franky mechanically produced his own case and lighted up. ”

“ Far above the ordinary stature of womanhood—you remember that Franky regarded her as a great galumphing creature—her head would yet have been much below the level of von Herrnung's, but for the height of the extraordinary diadem or turban that crowned her masses of dull cloudy-black hair. Folds of vivid emerald-green satin rose above a wide band of theatrical gilt tinsel, set with blazing stage rubies, and above the centre of the wearer's low, wide brow a fan-shaped panache of clipped white ospreys sprang, boldly challenging the eye. ”

“ Always dodging in and out of the German Embassy. The Goblin frightful nuts on him.... Goin' to steer him through the next London Season—suppose he's lookin' out for a moneyed wife!"
"Hope he gets her!" Franky mentally commented. But he looked with new interest at his big blond German neighbour, mentally calculating that with all that bone, brawn, and muscle, von Herrnung couldn't tip the scale at less than sixteen stone.
Small-boned himself and of stature not above the medium, Franky appreciated height and size in other men. And von Herrnung was undeniably a son of Anak. ”

“ Its owner was now squatting on his heels in the shade of Franky's penthouse of planks. The knuckles he rested on the floor were cracked and grimy, and his deeply-freckled, fair-complexioncd face was lined, and anxious and thin. His blue eyes were swollen with crying, though his sensitive lips wore a wistful, crooked smile. "You are real?" he asked wistfully, and Franky answered, huskily:
"Rather! In fact, I'm a lot more real than you. Who are you, since we're gettin' personal?" He repeated slowly after the boy:
"'Bawne Mildare Saxham, Scout No. 22. ”

“ In the stress of their work the poor child's hour for retiring was often overlooked.
"Go to bed, Franky. Go off, this minute. Mama, send Franky to bed."
"Oh, go at once to bed, my darling boy."
Franky, crying that he wanted to sit by Deleah and see her cut the citron peel, was removed: "I hate Bessie," he announced at the door.
"Go! spoilt little wretch!" cried Bessie, threatening him with the nutmeg grater. "Mama, Franky is becoming as rude as a horrid little street boy."
"Never mind, my dear. Tell me what Mr. Boult said in the sermon." ”

“ Everybody who knew Frank Green, liked him. He was always trying to do something to make those around him comfortable. His brothers, George and Edwin, were nice little fellows enough; but Franky, as people loved to call him, was the favourite. ”

“ That will keep ye out of harm's way, Franky, my man, for if there's a chance for you to get into mischief, ye'll find it."
This was a great treat, for playing in the cribs and beds was not allowed without special permission, and Franky, being provided with a pair of reins, and a chair turned upside down for a horse, took his post as driver, in great glee; while the three little girls were packed in as passengers, Maggie holding the baby. Hafed was rather too large for the crib, so he remained outside, though he, too, enjoyed the fun, even if he did not quite understand all it meant. ”

“ The answer was strangled between a laugh and a sob.
"Letters. Three post-cards from Somewhere in France and a queer epistle all squares of blacking. Not much between—except that he is tophole and coming Home at Christmas and sends love to us both! That's Franky's way. He always talks as—" A shudder went through the little figure, and shadows were about the great wild eyes, and the pale lips quivered:
"Poor little Kittums!" said Patrine's big warm baritone. She slipped an arm tenderly about the little thing. Who could have dreamed that Kittums could care so about Franky—or any other man. ”

“ She stamped upon the velvety carpet and flashed at Franky a glance of imperious appeal. "Not Tota Stannus, or Cynthia Charterhouse, or Joan Delabrand, or anybody! Then, why me? That's what I want to know? After all the mascots I've worn and carried about with me.... Gojo and Jollikins and the jade tree-frog, and the rest! ... Every single one given me by a different woman who'd been married for years and never had a baby! ”

“ And presently the father had drawn a chair by the side of his little son's, and was showing him how to mix his colours, and admonishing him not to suck his paintbrushes, as on the happy winter evenings before the crash.
It was a landscape with mill and marshland and water, the child had chosen, and there was a large space to be occupied with the sunset at which his parent excelled, and much scraping and mixing of carmine and yellow ochre and cobalt blues. So that Franky's bed-time was here before the picture was finished. He was sent off as usual, protesting and in tears. ”

“ But Franky had ducked his head from beneath his mother's hand, dashed round the counter, and was away to the society of the expectant Willy.
In an interregnum of peace between the going and coming of customers Mrs. Day moaned to Deleah over the grievous subject of Franky's deterioration. "He even brushes his hair, and wears his cap, in the fashion of that dreadful Willy Spratt. Being so young he does not stand a chance. He must grow into just a common little boy." ”

“ He said almost stupidly, so keen was his enjoyment:
"You English ladies smoke a great deal, I think."
"Why should we leave all the pleasant vices to the men?"
She asked the queer question, not defiantly, but bluntly. Her strange eyes laughed a little, as she saw Franky wince. "Lord Norwater hates me. Well, that's about the limit!" she told herself. "And I helped on his love-affair for little Margot's sake!" "I beg your pardon, Lord Norwater! You were saying something? ..."
"You're an Advanced Thinker, aren't you, Miss Saxham? At least, my wife tells me so," Franky began. "Well, I'm not! ”

“ Helmstedt?”
“Certainly, Franky, since you were so kind as to come. Your dainty ‘shell’ is also somewhat cleaner and more suitable to her dress than our working-day boat.”
“How do you do, Mrs. Helmstedt? Come, Margaret,” said the youth.
“Stop, Franky, I must bid mamma good-by first,” replied the maiden, going up to her mother. “Sweet mamma! you will not be lonesome?” ”

“ Franky, stimulated by the pangs of hunger, developed an unsuspected talent for diplomacy. "Look here! We must talk over things quietly and calmly. I'll order a taxi, and we'll chuff to that jolly little restaurant in the Bois de Boulogne—where you can grub in the open air under a rose-pergola—and order something special and odd——"
Since Eve's day, this lure has never failed to catch a woman. Margot began to dry her eyes. Then she asked Franky to ring. ”

“ Sherbrand went on:
"She would thank you, as I do, gratefully. But my father—would have preferred to be buried where he died!"
"Good egg! And now there's another thing to get off my chest," said Franky. "You know you stand in for the Viscounty when I succeed my father, or if I get knocked out in this scrap—supposing I should kick without heirs! That being so, suppose you bury the hatchet and lunch with us? Wouldn't in Paris—perhaps you will now? The War seems to rub up old saws like new somehow. ”

“ Franky reflected, staring after the short black figure in the caped soutane with the worn purple sash and shabby beaver shovel-hat, as it receded from his view.
"Fruity old wordster, 'pon my natural! Toppin' fine talker! Wonder who he is? Head of a Public School, swottin' an address for the beginning of the Midsummer Half term—a Professor of Divinity gettin' up a lecture—the Archbishop of Paris rehearsin' a sermon. Whichever they call him, why don't he pitch his language at a man of his own size?" ”

“ Yet they live happily, are kindly treated, and have comfortable stables, all in the dark of the coal mine,—and no doubt are quite as content as the horses that work in the outside world, high above their heads.”
Sunshine heard all this. I cannot say that she understood it, being such a very little girl, you know; but whenever Franky opened his lips she watched him with intense admiration, and when he was gone she looked quite sad. However, she soon found another friend in the pretty lady, Franky’s mamma. ”

“ Let the fellow do his worst. Where was the good of hating? Christ had prayed for His murderers when they nailed Him on the Tree. The numb hand feebly made the Sacred Sign, and the tension passed with the terror.... There was a dull boom high overhead, and some heavy objects fell in a neighbouring backyard. Little bits of metal rattled on Franky's plank penthouse, and some warm drops pattered on Franky's face and wetted the hand that lay upon his breast. ”

“ Soon beauty-loving men and women would turn their eyes away.... Her cheval-glass would tell her why, and shop-windows when she passed them would reveal her shapelessness. She would only possess interest for three people. For the doctor, as a patient. For the certificated nurse, as a Case. For her husband, as the potential mother of the boy he longed for. And—what price Margot?
"Should you like me to take you to see some polo, or wouldn't a chuff-chuff in the country be best?" Franky's eyes were full of hungry solicitude as they rested on the small, pinched features. ”

“ You had only to be firm with women—bless their hearts! and they caved directly.... Couldn't hold out.... Not built that way.... Franky's sternly-clamped upper-lip relaxed. He beamed as he proposed a noonday stroll in the Bois. In the direction of the bigger Lake, by one of the narrower avenues, or if Margot preferred a look-in at the Polo Club, another avenue, intersecting the Allée de Longchamps and skirting the enclosure of the Gun Club, would take them there in a jiffy, via Bagatelle. ”

“ She never gave me no name but Fanny. I found her and her little boy on the door-step, one night, nigh a month ago. She was crying hard, and seemed very sick, and little Franky was a-trying to comfort her—he's a brave, noble little fellow, sir. She told me she'd been turned out of doors for not paying her rent, and was afeared she'd die in the street, though she didn't seem to care much about that, except for the boy—she took on terrible about him. ”

“ The old boyish terror of inherited weakness cropped up in the tone of the man grown. "It would be horrible to suspect the bacillus of slackness lurking in my blood! If there is—the sooner I get scrapped, the better for her and for me!"
"Well, you've chosen the—kind of career that is going to use up a good many men pretty quickly." Franky was warming more and more to this big blond, candid cousin. "Not that I think there's much of the slacker about you. Few chaps more fit and nervy—that is, going by looks, you know! ”

“ Don't you get mixed up. Think of Franky reading the paragraphs: 'POPULAR YOUNG PEERESS ON THE SUFFRAGE WAR-PATH. SOCIETY BEAUTY HECKLES THE LORD MAYOR! VISCOUNTESS NORWATER BURSTS UPON BANQUETING BISHOPS, IN THE CHARACTER OF A WOMAN WHO WANTS A VOTE!'"
Patrine called good-bye and rang off, turning with the smile upon her lips to see Sherbrand standing behind her with a long white coat upon his arm. ”