Seventeen

Booth Tarkington

Description

Booth Tarkington's wildly successful novel Seventeen satirizes the vagaries of American adolescence. Though 17-year-old protagonist William Sylvanus Baxter is awkward, tactless, and often less than likable, Tarkington's insightful -- and hilarious -- take on teenage life and love is sure to please readers who appreciate top-notch humor writing.

Informations

• Publié par: The Floating Press
• Date de parution: 01 juin 2011
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781775453291
• Langue: English

Extrait

SEVENTEEN
A TALE OF YOUTH AND SUMMER TIME AND THE BAXTER FAMILY, ESPECIALLY WILLIAM
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BOOTH TARKINGTON
 
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Seventeen A Tale of Youth and Summer Time and the Baxter Family, Especially William First published in 1916 ISBN 978-1-775453-29-1 © 2011 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
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I - William II - The Unknown III - The Painful Age IV - Genesis and Clematis V - Sorrows Within a Boiler VI - Truculence VII - Mr. Baxter's Evening Clothes VIII - Jane IX - Little Sisters Have Big Ears X - Mr. Parcher and Love XI - Beginning a True Friendship XII - Progress of the Symptoms XIII - At Home to His Friends XIV - Time Does Fly XV - Romance of Statistics XVI - The Shower XVII - Jane's Theory XVIII - The Big, Fat Lummox XIX - "I Dunno Why it Is" XX - Sydney Carton XXI - My Little Sweethearts XXII - Foreshadowings XXIII - Fathers Forget XXIV - Clothes Make the Man XXV - Youth and Mr. Parcher XXVI - Miss Boke XXVII - Marooned XXVIII - Rannie Kirsted XXIX - "Don't Forget!" XXX - The Bride-To-Be
I - William
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William Sylvanus Baxter paused for a moment of thought in front of thedrug-store at the corner of Washington Street and Central Avenue. He hadan internal question to settle before he entered the store: he wishedto allow the young man at the soda-fountain no excuse for saying, "Well,make up your mind what it's goin' to be, can't you?" Rudeness of thiskind, especially in the presence of girls and women, was hard to bear,and though William Sylvanus Baxter had borne it upon occasion, hehad reached an age when he found it intolerable. Therefore, to avoidoffering opportunity for anything of the kind, he decided upon chocolateand strawberry, mixed, before approaching the fountain. Once there,however, and a large glass of these flavors and diluted ice-creamproving merely provocative, he said, languidly—an affectation, for hecould have disposed of half a dozen with gusto: "Well, now I'm here, Imight as well go one more. Fill 'er up again. Same."
Emerging to the street, penniless, he bent a fascinated and dramaticgaze upon his reflection in the drug-store window, and then, as heturned his back upon the alluring image, his expression altered toone of lofty and uncondescending amusement. That was his glance at thepassing public. From the heights, he seemed to bestow upon the worlda mysterious derision—for William Sylvanus Baxter was seventeen longyears of age, and had learned to present the appearance of one whopossesses inside information about life and knows all strangers and mostacquaintances to be of inferior caste, costume, and intelligence.
He lingered upon the corner awhile, not pressed for time. Indeed, hefound many hours of these summer months heavy upon his hands, for he hadno important occupation, unless some intermittent dalliance with awork on geometry (anticipatory of the distant autumn) might be thoughtimportant, which is doubtful, since he usually went to sleep on theshady side porch at his home, with the book in his hand. So, havingnothing to call him elsewhere, he lounged before the drug-store in theearly afternoon sunshine, watching the passing to and fro of the lowerorders and bourgeoisie of the middle-sized midland city which claimedhim (so to speak) for a native son.
Apparently quite unembarrassed by his presence, they went about theirbusiness, and the only people who looked at him with any attention werepedestrians of color. It is true that when the gaze of these fell uponhim it was instantly arrested, for no colored person could have passedhim without a little pang of pleasure and of longing. Indeed, thetropical violence of William Sylvanus Baxter's tie and the strangebrilliancy of his hat might have made it positively unsafe for him towalk at night through the negro quarter of the town. And though no mancould have sworn to the color of that hat, whether it was blue or green,yet its color was a saner thing than its shape, which was blurred,tortured, and raffish; it might have been the miniature model of avolcano that had blown off its cone and misbehaved disastrously on itslower slopes as well. He had the air of wearing it as a matter of courseand with careless ease, but that was only an air—it was the apple ofhis eye.
For the rest, his costume was neutral, subordinate, and even a littleneglected in the matter of a detail or two: one pointed flap of his softcollar was held down by a button, but the other showed a frayed threadwhere the button once had been; his low patent-leather shoes were of aluster not solicitously cherished, and there could be no doubt that heneeded to get his hair cut, while something might have been done, too,about the individualized hirsute prophecies which had made independentappearances, here and there, upon his chin. He examined these from timeto time by the sense of touch, passing his hand across his face andallowing his finger-tips a slight tapping motion wherever they detecteda prophecy.
Thus he fell into a pleasant musing and seemed to forget the crowdedstreet.
II - The Unknown
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He was roused by the bluff greeting of an acquaintance not dissimilar tohimself in age, manner, and apparel.
"H'lo, Silly Bill!" said this person, William Sylvanus Baxter. "What'sthe news?"
William showed no enthusiasm; on the contrary, a frown of annoyanceappeared upon his brow. The nickname "Silly Bill"—long ago compoundedby merry child-comrades from "William" and "Sylvanus"—was not to histaste, especially in public, where he preferred to be addressed simplyand manfully as "Baxter." Any direct expression of resentment, however,was difficult, since it was plain that Johnnie Watson intended nooffense whatever and but spoke out of custom.
"Don't know any," William replied, coldly.
"Dull times, ain't it?" said Mr. Watson, a little depressed by hisfriend's manner. "I heard May Parcher was comin' back to town yesterday,though."
"Well, let her!" returned William, still severe.
"They said she was goin' to bring a girl to visit her," Johnnie began ina confidential tone. "They said she was a reg'lar ringdinger and—"
"Well, what if she is?" the discouraging Mr. Baxter interrupted. "Makeslittle difference to ME, I guess!"
"Oh no, it don't. YOU don't take any interest in girls! OH no!"
"No, I do not!" was the emphatic and heartless retort. "I never saw onein my life I'd care whether she lived or died!"
"Honest?" asked Johnnie, struck by the conviction with which this speechwas uttered. "Honest, is that so?"
"Yes, 'honest'!" William replied, sharply. "They could ALL die, I wouldn't notice!"
Johnnie Watson was profoundly impressed. "Why, I didn't know you feltthat way about 'em, Silly Bill. I always thought you were kind of—"
"Well, I do feel that way about 'em!" said William Sylvanus Baxter, and,outraged by the repetition of the offensive nickname, he began to moveaway. "You can tell 'em so for me, if you want to!" he added over hisshoulder. And he walked haughtily up the street, leaving Mr. Watson toponder upon this case of misogyny, never until that moment suspected.
It was beyond the power of his mind to grasp the fact that WilliamSylvanus Baxter's cruel words about "girls" had been uttered becauseWilliam was annoyed at being called "Silly Bill" in a public place, andhad not known how to object otherwise than by showing contempt for anytopic of conversation proposed by the offender. This latter, being ofa disposition to accept statements as facts, was warmly interested,instead of being hurt, and decided that here was something worth talkingabout, especially with representatives of the class so sweepinglyexcluded from the sympathies of Silly Bill.
William, meanwhile, made his way toward the "residence section" of thetown, and presently—with the passage of time found himself eased of hisannoyance. He walked in his own manner, using his shoulders to emphasizean effect of carelessness which he wished to produce upon observers. Forhis consciousness of observers was abnormal, since he had it whether anyone was looking at him or not, and it reached a crucial stage wheneverhe perceived persons of his own age, but of opposite sex, approaching.
A person of this description was encountered upon the sidewalk within ahundred yards of his own home, and William Sylvanus Baxter saw her whileyet she was afar off. The quiet and shady thoroughfare was empty of allhuman life, at the time, save for those two; and she was upon the sameside of the street that he was; thus it became inevitable that theyshould meet, face to face, for the first time in their lives. Hehad perceived, even in the distance, that she was unknown to him, astranger, because he knew all the girls in this part of the town whodressed as famously in the mode as that! And then, as the distancebetween them lessened, he saw that she was ravishingly pretty; far, farprettier, indeed, than any girl he knew. At least it seemed so, for itis, unfortunately, much easier for strangers to be beautiful. Asidefrom this advantage of mystery, the approaching vision was piquant andgraceful enough to have reminded a much older boy of a spotless whitekitten, for, in spite of a charmingly managed demureness, there wasprecisely that kind of playfulness somewhere expressed about her. Justnow it was most definite in the look she bent upon the light and fluffyburden which she carried nestled in the inner curve of her right arm:a tiny dog with hair like cotton and a pink ribbo