Donald Henderson Clarke - Lady Ann (Donald Henderson Clarke) (Literary Thoughts Edition)

Dr. Benham nodded. Sam took a step forward. Clarence’s foot slipped from the rear wheel hub on which he had been resting it. The doctor shouted:

“Whoa, Sam.”

Sam looked around, with an expression as near a grin as any horse might achieve. Clarence drew a big jackknife from his pocket, opened the big blade, and began delicately to test its point on the hard rubber tires of the buggy. The doctor crossed his legs, right leg over left, holding his right shin, partly covered by a garterless white sock, with both hands.

“Annie’s been menstruating for two months, Clarence,” he said.

“Well, I swan!” Clarence exclaimed.

The doctor lighted a fresh cigar on the butt of the one he had been smoking, tossing the butt into the road.

“She’s a beautiful little thing,” the doctor said.

Clarence puffed hard on his cigar, held it up and looked closely at it, and threw it away. The doctor produced a fresh one and offered it to Clarence. Clarence waved it away. He said:

“No thankee, Doc. I guess I’ll have a chew.”

He dug a plug of black tobacco from his trousers, cut off a chunk with his knife, and popped it into his mouth. He put his right hand on the seat rail and rocked the buggy gently, spat, and said:

“I was never one that put much stock in the theory that artists and doctors only regarded the female of the species as one of them bug chasers looks at a butterfly in a glass case. You know, only in a scientific spirit, so to speak.”

Dr. Benham blew smoke from his stogy and grinned.

“You aren’t so far wrong, Clarence,” he agreed. “Artists and doctors are males first, and artists and doctors second.”

“And that goes for uncles by adoption,” Clarence said.

He rocked the buggy again, gazing into Dr. Benham’s tired, kindly eyes.

“I’m not one of them degenerates, I hope,” Clarence continued, “but seeing that little girl standing there in the washtub with the soap suds on her made me think that if she ain’t a woman already she’ll be one quicker’n Jack Robinson.”

The doctor raised his broad-brimmed yellow soft straw hat and rubbed the bald spot on the top of his head, puffed his cigar and said: “You’re a good man, Clarence. I’ve practised medicine for more than fifty years, and human nature and the sex question is a heap more of a puzzle to me now than it was when I was a young man. I’ve had women come to see me that have been married for years and still were virgins. I’ve treated little girls that were too young to be married that weren’t virgins. The only thing about the sex question that makes me rejoice is that I don’t have to worry about it any more personally.”

“This perticalar sex question has got me stumped, Doc. Ann is only fourteen, but she’s big for her age, and something has got to be done about her. She ought to be told some things, and I was thinking you was the one to do it.”

Dr. Benham nodded his head thoughtfully, grinned, and said:

“It’s too bad Rebecca wouldn’t do it.”

Clarence spat again, and said:

“You know Rebecca, Doc. She’s one of them old-fashioned Puritans. I never seen her undressed in my life. An arm or a leg is a limb to her. And sex is something that’s done but isn’t discussed. She thought kissing made babies up till the time we was married.”

The doctor scowled and spat, and said:

“I know her.”

“She’s a good woman,” Clarence hastened to say. “She’s the salt of the earth. There ain’t anything she wouldn’t do for a body. But she’s sot in her ways. Why, Doc, once on a cold night I broke wind in bed, and she would hardly speak to me for a week. I’m supposed to get up and go out to the backhouse same as if I was answering a call of nature.”

“Some women are like that,” the doctor agreed. “And some ain’t so fussy.”

Clarence grinned and said:

“So I’ve heerd tell.”

The doctor knocked off ashes from his cigar against the iron tire of the rear wheel and put the cigar back in his mouth. He always champed the end, and the cigar was pretty wet and well chewed. He gathered up the reins and said:

“I’ll be glad to have a talk with Ann, Clarence. But I wouldn’t be surprised if she knew a lot already. She always struck me as pretty smart.”

“Oh, she’s smart all right, and she knows where babies come from—seen calves and kittens born—but I always figured a nice talk to a young one like that, sensible like you could do it, with no scary stuff but just hoss sense, might be good for a young one that seems to be so full of sap. I’d say she might be just the opposite of Rebecca in some respects, Doc.”

The doctor nodded again, chirruping to Sam.

“She has all the ear-marks,” he admitted as Sam began to move. “Get up there,” he said to Sam. “Good day, Clarence.”

The doctor crammed his broad-brimmed hat down further over his head. Sam broke into a trot, his hoofs and the spinning, shining wheels leaving a trail of golden dust which settled across the weeds and grass and goldenrod and asters which lined the road under the rustling maples.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.