CHAPTER XXII. WASHY STEPS INTO THE HALL OF FAME
At about nine o'clock next morning, in a suite at the Hotel Cosmopolis,Mrs. Cora Bates McCall, the eminent lecturer on Rational Eating, wasseated at breakfast with her family. Before her sat Mr. McCall, alittle hunted-looking man, the natural peculiarities of whose face wereaccentuated by a pair of glasses of semicircular shape, like half-moonswith the horns turned up. Behind these, Mr. McCall's eyes played aperpetual game of peekaboo, now peering over them, anon ducking down andhiding behind them. He was sipping a cup of anti-caffeine. On his right,toying listlessly with a plateful of cereal, sat his son, Washington.Mrs. McCall herself was eating a slice of Health Bread and nut butter.For she practised as well as preached the doctrines which she hadstriven for so many years to inculcate in an unthinking populace. Herday always began with a light but nutritious breakfast, at which apeculiarly uninviting cereal, which looked and tasted like an old strawhat that had been run through a meat chopper, competed for first placein the dislike of her husband and son with a more than usually offensivebrand of imitation coffee. Mr. McCall was inclined to think that heloathed the imitation coffee rather more than the cereal, but Washingtonheld strong views on the latter's superior ghastliness. Both Washingtonand his father, however, would have been fair-minded enough to admitthat it was a close thing.
Mrs. McCall regarded her offspring with grave approval.
"I am glad to see, Lindsay," she said to her husband, whose eyes sprangdutifully over the glass fence as he heard his name, "that Washy hasrecovered his appetite. When he refused his dinner last night, I wasafraid that he might be sickening for something. Especially as he hadquite a flushed look. You noticed his flushed look?"
"He did look flushed."
"Very flushed. And his breathing was almost stertorous. And, when hesaid that he had no appetite, I am bound to say that I was anxious. Buthe is evidently perfectly well this morning. You do feel perfectly wellthis morning, Washy?"
The heir of the McCall's looked up from his cereal. He was a long, thinboy of about sixteen, with pale red hair, sandy eyelashes, and a longneck.
"Uh-huh," he said.
Mrs. McCall nodded.
"Surely now you will agree, Lindsay, that a careful and rational dietis what a boy needs? Washy's constitution is superb. He has a remarkablestamina, and I attribute it entirely to my careful supervision of hisfood. I shudder when I think of the growing boys who are permitted byirresponsible people to devour meat, candy, pie--" She broke off. "Whatis the matter, Washy?"
It seemed that the habit of shuddering at the thought of pie ran in theMcCall family, for at the mention of the word a kind of internal shimmyhad convulsed Washington's lean frame, and over his face there had comean expression that was almost one of pain. He had been reaching outhis hand for a slice of Health Bread, but now he withdrew it ratherhurriedly and sat back breathing hard.
"I'm all right," he said, huskily.
"Pie," proceeded Mrs. McCall, in her platform voice. She stopped againabruptly. "Whatever is the matter, Washington? You are making me feelnervous."
"I'm all right."
Mrs. McCall had lost the thread of her remarks. Moreover, having nowfinished her breakfast, she was inclined for a little light reading. Oneof the subjects allied to the matter of dietary on which she felt deeplywas the question of reading at meals. She was of the opinion that thestrain on the eye, coinciding with the strain on the digestion, couldnot fail to give the latter the short end of the contest; and it was arule at her table that the morning paper should not even be glanced attill the conclusion of the meal. She said that it was upsetting to beginthe day by reading the paper, and events were to prove that she wasoccasionally right.
All through breakfast the New York Chronicle had been lying neatlyfolded beside her plate. She now opened it, and, with a remark aboutlooking for the report of her yesterday's lecture at the Butterfly Club,directed her gaze at the front page, on which she hoped that an editorwith the best interests of the public at heart had decided to place her.
Mr. McCall, jumping up and down behind his glasses, scrutinised her faceclosely as she began to read. He always did this on these occasions, fornone knew better than he that his comfort for the day dependedlargely on some unknown reporter whom he had never met. If this unseenindividual had done his work properly and as befitted the importance ofhis subject, Mrs. McCall's mood for the next twelve hours would beas uniformly sunny as it was possible for it to be. But sometimes thefellows scamped their job disgracefully; and once, on a day which livedin Mr. McCall's memory, they had failed to make a report at all.
To-day, he noted with relief, all seemed to be well. The reportactually was on the front page, an honour rarely accorded to his wife'sutterances. Moreover, judging from the time it took her to read thething, she had evidently been reported at length.
"Good, my dear?" he ventured. "Satisfactory?"
"Eh?" Mrs. McCall smiled meditatively. "Oh, yes, excellent. They haveused my photograph, too. Not at all badly reproduced."
"Splendid!" said Mr. McCall.
Mrs. McCall gave a sharp shriek, and the paper fluttered from her hand.
"My dear!" said Mr. McCall, with concern.
His wife had recovered the paper, and was reading with burning eyes. Abright wave of colour had flowed over her masterful features. She wasbreathing as stertorously as ever her son Washington had done on theprevious night.
"Washington!"
A basilisk glare shot across the table and turned the long boy tostone--all except his mouth, which opened feebly.
"Washington! Is this true?"
Washy closed his mouth, then let it slowly open again.
"My dear!" Mr. McCall's voice was alarmed. "What is it?" His eyes hadclimbed up over his glasses and remained there. "What is the matter? Isanything wrong?"
"Wrong! Read for yourself!"
Mr. McCall was completely mystified. He could not even formulate aguess at the cause of the trouble. That it appeared to concern his sonWashington seemed to be the one solid fact at his disposal, and thatonly made the matter still more puzzling. Where, Mr. McCall askedhimself, did Washington come in?
He looked at the paper, and received immediate enlightenment. Headlinesmet his eyes:
GOOD STUFF IN THIS BOY. ABOUT A TON OF IT. SON OF CORA BATES McCALL FAMOUS FOOD-REFORM LECTURER WINS PIE-EATING CHAMPIONSHIP OF WEST SIDE.
There followed a lyrical outburst. So uplifted had the reporterevidently felt by the importance of his news that he had been unable toconfine himself to prose:--