They paid not the slightest attention to him, but continued busily on their way.
“My dear Mrs. Smith!” Daisy exclaimed, speaking with increased loudness. “I jus’ pozzatively never have a minute to my own affairs! If I doe’ get a rest from my housekeepin’ pretty soon, I doe’ know what on earth’s goin’ to become o’ my nerves!”
“Oh, Mrs. Jones!” Elsie exclaimed. “It’s the same way with me, my dear. I haf to have the doctor for my nerves, every morning at seven or eight o’clock. Why, my dear, I never——”
“Hay!” Laurence called. “I said: ‘Where you goin’, talkin’ so much?’ Di’n’chu hear me?”
But they were already at some distance from him and hurrying on as if they had seen and heard nothing whatever. Staring after them, he caught a dozen more “my dears” and exclamatory repetitions of “Mrs. Smith, you don’t say so!” and “Why, Mis-suz Jones!” He called again, but the two little figures, heeding him less than they did the impalpable sunshine about them, hastened on down the street, their voices gabbling, their heads waggling importantly, their arms and hands incessantly lively in airy gesticulation.
Laurence was thus granted that boon so often defined by connoisseurs of twenty as priceless—a new experience. But he had no gratitude for it; what he felt was indignation. He lifted up his voice and bawled:
“Hay! Di’n’chu hear what I said? Haven’t you got ’ny ears?”
Well he knew they had ears, and that these ears heard him; but on the spur of the moment he was unable to think of anything more scathing than this inquiry. The shoppers went on, impervious, ignoring him with all their previous airiness—with a slight accentuation of it, indeed—even when he bellowed at them a second time and a third. Stung, he was finally inspired to add: “Hay! Are you gone crazy?” But they were halfway to the next crossing.
A bitterness came upon Laurence. “What I care?” he muttered. “I’ll show you what I care!” However, his action seemed to deny his words, for instead of setting about some other business to prove his indifference, he slowly followed the shoppers. He was driven by a necessity he felt to make them comprehend his displeasure with their injurious flouting of himself and of etiquette in general. “Got ’ny politeness?” he muttered, and replied morosely: “No, they haven’t—they haven’t got sense enough to know what politeness means! Well, I’ll show ’em! They’ll see before I get through with ’em! Oh, oh! Jus’ wait a little: they’ll be beggin’ me quick enough to speak to ’em. ‘Oh, Laur-runce, please!’ they’ll say. ‘Please speak to us, Laur-runce. Won’ chu please speak to us, Laurunce? We’d jus’ give anything to have you speak to us, Laurunce! Won’ chu, Laurunce, pull-lease?’ Then I’ll say: ‘Yes, I’ll speak to you, an’ you better listen if you want to learn some sense!’ Then I’ll call ’em everything I can think of!”
It might have been supposed that he had some definite plan for bringing them thus to their knees in supplication, but he was only solacing himself by sketching a triumphant climax founded upon nothing. Meanwhile he continued morbidly to follow, keeping about fifty yards behind them.