“I give my wife and kiddies one gran’ scare. They t’ink I am some strange feller, till I talk—ah! Who talk like Bardek! In six languages I prove myself. So! I gif up liberty an’ become American slave. In America all men are slave to women and children. Freiheit, adië!”
Questions brought out the fact that he had taken possession of the white cottage, moved his family in—to the great joy of the children—and had marched off to the nearest barber and then to the nearest clothing store.
“I say to the barber, ‘Make me like American!’ He say, ‘It cost you much—one-half dollar!’ I say, ‘Here is one whole dollar. This is a big job; don’t do it half!’ Then he clip, clip, clip, but I say nothings. ‘Americans wear the “clean face,”’ he stop and say. I say, ‘I talk vairy well myself; do!’ I t’ink with ‘clean face’ he means wash it; but hoh! he mean ‘cut it off!’ So I learn some new English and look like a fat, little, stupid priest, eh, Mac? We go to mass, Sunday, eh, ol’ Mac? But not confession! Ach, du lieber Gott! When I tell all my little sins it would be Sunday again! How you like me, eh?”
It was hard to get used to the new Bardek; the vagabond had made way for a distinguished foreigner. They discovered, in looking him over, that it was the sweeping mustachio which gave him the appearance of desperado. The broad forehead, the deep eyes, the great nose, the laughing lips and the huge chin were well worth exposing. It was like the transformation wrought when campers come out of the woods, quite undistinguishable from the native guides, and, after one hour’s refurbishing and barbering, become gentlemen. There would be no doubt, thought Blynn, of a welcome for Bardek at the Leverings.
“It is a good feeling,” Bardek stroked his newly shorn face. “My skin has changed into American. I cannot yet spit, but, if I try—mebbe.... The wife, oh, she run all t’rough the rooms, and the children, too; and they laugh and fall on the floor and laugh. They go out to breathe and come in and stay as long as they can—La porte fermée. Good air adië—like sea diver—till I open windows. We go to store and buy broom and bed and—everything. In little while, we fix things. Wife, she go to Mac’s house and peek in window to see where bed go—she on’y little girl when I take her. An’ good Mrs. Mac, she come over and laugh and they all laugh. We all so silly. Then, Mrs. Mac, she change everything different, while she near die laughing. We have bed in the kitchen, she say, and stoves in the yard with the pump. But, Mrs. Mac she fix all. And how we work! Ach! My bones hurt. We are vairy grand. Ma foi! My wife, she cry and say she afraid. The bed go c-r-r-eck, cr-r-eck, and go down, down, down. But she vairy tired and she sleep. Then I go out and pull door-bell. Là! là! là! là! I wait, holdin’ in big laugh. I think I see whole dam’ business come crying for the devils have come to get t’em. I wait. I hold my laugh back. I ring loud. So! Schwurunkl-angl-unkl-angl-angle! All so still. I go up the crooked steps—some day I break my neck, there!—V’là! Sleep like dead.... Me! Wah-oo-eep!” he yawned. “I sleep stan’ up.”
He began a second, healthy, out-in-the-woods yawn, which extended amid comfortable “ah’s” and “oh’s” and “ee’s” until it snapped back in ecstatic relief.
“Oh-wo-wo-wo!” imitated Gorgas. “You’ve ow! wow! got me go-ow-ing too, Bardek. I’m so-ow-oh slee-py.”
Everyone yawned. Bardek outdid himself. Mac nearly dislocated his jaw.
In a moment or two Bardek was put down at his “boards and plaster,” and Gorgas, Blynn and Morris were saying farewells.
“My pin,” Morris was holding out a hand.