Letty Fox by Christina Stead Page A

without a husband, who insisted on being called Mrs. Dr. Goodsir, the girl Cecily wanting to get married at twelve, Hogg’s doors and petitions, even Hogg’s relations, Mr. and Mrs. Philip Morgan, now living in Lydnam Lodge, a young man married to an old wife—there was nothing in it that was ordinary. He pounded on the hollow weather-boarding and yelled, “Oh, Temp! Temp!” He dropped school ink into Hogg’s fish bowl. He knew what Hogg told of him. He became strange, sulky, and recalcitrant, more so every day; but he could not keep away from the place or from Uncle Hogg.
    But Uncle Perce feared these adventures for him, and kept writing letters to the police; the wicked youths, corrupting his child, must be put into Farmington. He named them—Jack Lack, Frank Shields, others. Templeton, at this, ran away from home, and was brought back. This was the moment when Jacky and I joined the tribe of women. Up till then we had had our own world but been free with boys, but now that the ferocity and criminality of the young boy’s world bred round us, we feared the strange, leering, jeering, foul-mouthed and foul-minded brutish outlaws; and so it was to be for a few years for me. I soon again became a companion of boys and men, but Jacqueline always had a sign of this terror which enters little girls’ hearts.
    Once or twice Jacky and I, four or five years younger than Jack Lack, tried to get him to play our more terrifying games, such as Torquemada, but he seemed deaf, or pushed us away and rushed off with a shout. Naturally we disliked him, for we thought ourselves very attractive creatures, and some of the boys tried to get into our games, sensing secret pleasures, perhaps. We let hints drop.
    One day Jack Lack, walking the rail of the new picket fence, was yelling insults at Uncle Perce, who was leaning out of a new window he was cutting upstairs. Uncle said, “Get down, you damn fool!”
    â€œPigg-Hogg, Hogg in his Pigsty, dirty old Hogg.”
    â€œIf you break my fence, I’ll kick you down the street.” “Dirty old Hogg!”
    â€œI’ll break every bone in your body, you young pirate!”
    â€œHogg cutting doors so the bugs can get out!”
    My uncle, in a great state, bellowed, “I hope you fall and get the spikes through your belly—” We screeched.
    Jack Lack continued walking the railing. My uncle thundered down the old carpetless stairs. Jack Lack had cleared the fence and was far down the road, arms and legs flying.
    On another occasion, Uncle found three boys who had escaped from Farmington and for whom citizens and police were out searching. My uncle was a good woodsman and was always scouting round; when he was working about the house, he kept his eye skinned. He saw a thin smoke rise in the air one evening, smelled, calculated, and, in his soft shoes, stole down through the tousled growth of a near field to find the green hideout of the three reformatory boys. They had a large pail hanging on cross-sticks and a good fire underneath. In the pail was a stew just coming to the boil—the water was racing, a brown scum had risen, and the thin smell of the meat mixed maddeningly with the bush smell. Mr. Hogg himself was hungry; it was an hour to dinner time and he was a large-framed ravenous man who ate everything he liked and never put fat on his bones.
    The man and the boys parleyed. The stew was now bubbling furiously; pieces of meat and vegetable sailed over the brown pool. Hogg could not resist looking down at it and saying thoughtfully, “Smells fine; where did you get the makings?”
    The smallest, a poor, clerkly boy ventured, “We got it from the Home.” The other boys looked at him and he realized his mistake.
    â€œWhat do you care?” said the redhead. “Can’t you go along home and let us get out of here?”
    â€œWe shot a rabbit, a bird, too,” said one, suddenly; he looked sulkily at