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"I don't know," he began slowly, "somethin' about about that girl last night talkin' about a lady named Diana Manners an English lady, sorta got me thinkin'!" He drew himself up and looked oddly at Clark, "I had a family once," he said defiantly. Clark nodded. "I know." "And I'm the last of 'em," continued the Jelly-bean his voice rising slightly, "and I ain't worth shucks.
The Jelly-bean turned and looked dully back over his shoulder. "Got to go," he muttered. "Been up too long; feelin' right sick." "Oh." The street was hot at three and hotter still at four, the April dust seeming to enmesh the sun and give it forth again as a world-old joke forever played on an eternity of afternoons.
Just got into town this minute." "Should think you would feel restless. I been feeling thataway all day " "I'm thinkin' of leavin' town" continued the Jelly-bean, absorbed by his own thoughts. "Been thinkin' of goin' up on the farm, and takin' a little that work off Uncle Dun. Reckin I been bummin' too long."
Jim hesitated but she held out her hand defiantly, "Don't treat me like a girl;" she warned him. "I'm not like any girl you ever saw," She considered. "Still, perhaps you're right. You got you got old head on young shoulders." She jumped to her feet and moved toward the door. The Jelly-bean rose also. "Good-bye," she said politely, "good-bye. Thanks, Jelly-bean."
I have laughed over it a great deal, especially when I first wrote it, but I can laugh over it no longer. Still, as other people tell me it is amusing, I include it here. It seems to me worth preserving a few years at least until the ennui of changing fashions suppresses me, my books, and it together. Jim Powell was a Jelly-bean.
Much as I desire to make him an appealing character, I feel that it would be unscrupulous to deceive you on that point. He was a bred-in-the-bone, dyed-in-the-wool, ninety-nine three-quarters per cent Jelly-bean and he grew lazily all during Jelly-bean season, which is every season, down in the land of the Jelly-beans well below the Mason-Dixon line.
In the twilight of one April evening when a soft gray had drifted down along the cottonfields and over the sultry town, he was a vague figure leaning against a board fence, whistling and gazing at the moon's rim above the lights of Jackson Street. His mind was working persistently on a problem that had held his attention for an hour. The Jelly-bean had been invited to a party.
In the sunshine of three o'clock Clark Darrow chugging painfully along Jackson Street was hailed by the Jelly-bean, who stood on the curb with his fingers in his vest pockets. "Hi!" called Clark, bringing his Ford to an astonishing stop alongside. "Just get up?" The Jelly-bean shook his head. "Never did go to bed. Felt sorta restless, so I took a long walk this morning out in the country.
"I never could learn to set 'em so's they'd do what I wanted. Wish you'd shoot with Nancy Lamar some day and take all her money away from her. She will roll 'em with the boys and she loses more than her daddy can afford to give her. I happen to know she sold a good ring last month to pay a debt." The Jelly-bean was noncommittal. "The white house on Elm Street still belong to you?"
She stepped daintily out of the gasolene and began scraping her slippers, side and bottom, on the running-board of the automobile. The jelly-bean contained himself no longer. He bent double with explosive laughter and after a second she joined in. "You're here with Clark Darrow, aren't you?" she asked as they walked back toward the veranda. "Yes." "You know where he is now?"
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