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BAMBI

by Marjorie Benton Cooke

Illustrated by Mary Greene Blumenschein

Originally Published in 1914



DEDICATION

TO BAMBI

With thanks to her for being Herself!

M.B.C.



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

She saw Jarvis before the curtain, making a first-night speech.

Bambi fluttered the joy-bringing letter above her head and circled the
breakfast-room in a whirl of happiness.

"Good evening, Mrs. New York, and all you people out there! We're here,
Jarvis and I."

"Well, believe me, that high-brow stuff is on the toboggan."

"Tell your husband to put you in a play, and I'll put it on." "Much
obliged, I'll tell him. Good morning."

Her tale had the place of honour and was illustrated by James Montgomery
Flagg, the supreme desire of every young writer.

"Softlings! Poor softlings!" Jarvis muttered, Bambi's words coming back
to him.

"I have got to do something violent, Ardelia. I am going to jerk the
stems off of berries, chop the pits out of cherries, and skin peaches."

He taught himself to abandon his old introspective habits during these
days on the box.




BAMBI



I

"Professor James Parkhurst, I consider you a colossal failure as an
educator," said Francesca, his daughter, known to friend and family as
Bambina, or Bambi for short.

Professor Parkhurst lifted a startled face from his newspaper and
surveyed his only child across the breakfast table.

"My dear, what causes this sweeping assertion of my incompetence?"

"I do! I do! Just what did you expect me to do when I grew up?"

"Why, to be happy."

"That's the profession you intended me for? Who's to pay the piper? It's
expensive to be happy and also unlucrative."

"I have always expected to support you until your husband claimed that
privilege."

"Suppose I want a husband who can't support me?"

"Dear me, that would be unfortunate. It is the first duty of a husband
to support his wife."

"Old-fashioned husbands, yes--but not modern ones. Lots of men marry to
be supported nowadays. How on earth could I support the man I love?"

"You are not without talents, my dear."

"Talents? You almost said accomplishments! If you were not living in the
Pliocene age, Professor James Parkhurst, you would know that
accomplishments are a curse--accomplishment is the only thing that
counts. I can sing a little, play the piano a little, auction bridge a
good deal; I can cook, and sew fancy things. The only thing I can do
well is to dance, and no real man wants to be supported by his
wife's toes."

The Professor smiled mirthlessly. "Is this a general discussion, or are
you leading to a specific point, Bambi?" he inquired.

"It's a specific charge of incompetence against you and me. Why didn't
you teach me something? You know more about mathematics than the man who
invented them, and I am not even sure that two and two make four."

"You're young yet, my dear; you can learn. What is it you want to
study?"

"Success, and how to get it."

"Success, in the general sense of the word, has never seemed very
important to me. To do your work well----"

"Yes, I know. It is the fact that you have not thought success important
that hampers me so in the choice of a husband."

"Bambina, that is the second time a husband has been mentioned in this
discussion. Have you some individual under consideration?"

"I have. I have practically decided on him."

"You don't tell me! Do I know the young man?"

"Oh, yes--Jarvis Jocelyn."

"He has proposed to you?"

"Oh, no. He doesn't know anything about it. I have just decided on him."

"But, my dear, he is penniless."

"That's why I reproach you that you haven't brought me up to support
Jarvis in a luxury he will have to get used to."

"But why have you settled on this youth? I seem to recall a great many
young men who are always about. I presume they admire you. Certainly
this dreamer is the most ineligible of them all."

"Oh, that--yes. That's why I must take him. He'll starve to death unless
some one takes him on, and looks after him."

"Isn't there some asylum, perhaps?"

Bambi's laugh rang out like a chime.

"A home for geniuses. There's an idea! No, Professor Parkhurst, Society
does not yet provide for that particular brand of incompetents."

"It seems as if you were going rather far in your quixotism to marry
him."

Again the girl laughed.

"I total him up like this: fine family, good blood, decent habits,
handsome, healthy, poetic. He might even be affectionate. His one fault
is that he is not adjusted to modern commercial standards. He cannot
make money, or he will not--it comes to the same thing."

"I am unable to see why you are elected to take care of him. He must fit
his time, or perish. You don't happen to be in love with him, do you?"

"No, I--I think not. He interests me more than anybody. I suppose I am
fond of him rather."

"Have you any reason for thinking him in love with you?"

"Mercy, no! He hardly knows I'm alive. He uses me for a conversational
blotting-pad. That's my only use in his eyes."

"He's so very impractical."

"I am used to impractical men. I have taken care of you since I was five
years old."

"Yes, my dear. But I am not trying to feed the world bread when it
demands cheese."

"No, you are distinctly practical. You are only trying to prove a fourth
dimension, when three have sufficed the world up to date."

"Yes, but----"

"No buts. If it had not been for me you would have gone naked and been
arrested, or have forgotten to eat and starved to death."

"Now, my dear Bambi, I protest----"

"It will do you no good. Don't I remember how you started off to meet
your nine o'clock class clad in your pyjamas?"

"Oh, my child!"

"Don't talk to me about impracticality. It's my birthright."

"Well, I can prove to you----"

"I never believe anything you have to prove. If I can't see it, first
thing, without any process, it isn't true."

"But if you represent yourself as Y, and Jarvis as X, an unknown
quantity----"

"Professor Parkhurst, stop there! There's nothing so unreliable as
figures, and everybody but a mathematician knows that. Figures lie right
to your face."

"Bambina, if you could coin your conversation----" Professor Parkhurst
began.

"I am sorry to find you unreasonable about Jarvis, Professor."

He gazed at her, in his absent-minded, startled way. He had never
understood her since she was first put into his hands, aged six months,
a fluffy bundle of motherless babyhood. She never ceased to startle him.
She was an enigma beyond any puzzle in mathematics he had ever brought
his mind to bear upon.

"How old are you, Bambina?"

"Shame on you, and you a mathematician. If James is forty-five, and
Bambina is two thirds of half his age, how old is Bambi? I'm nineteen."

His startled gaze deepened.

"Oh, you cannot be!" he objected.

"There you are. I told you figures lie. It says so in the family Bible,
but maybe I'm only two."

"Nineteen years old! Dearie me!"

"You see I'm quite old enough to know my own mind. Have you a nine
o'clock class this morning?"

"I have."

"Well, hasten, Professor, or you'll get a tardy mark. It's ten minutes
of nine now."

He jumped up from his chair and started for the door.

"Don't you want this notebook?" she called, taking up the pad beside his
plate.

"Yes, oh, yes, those are my notes. Where have I laid my glasses? Quick,
my dear! I must not be late."

"On your head," said she.

She followed him to the hall, reminded him of his hat, his umbrella,
restored the notebook, and finally saw him off, his thin back, with its
scholarly stoop, disappearing down the street.

Bambina went back to the breakfast table, and took up the paper. She
read all the want "ads" headed "female."

"Nothing promising here," she said. "I wonder if I could bring myself to
teach little kids one, two, and one, two, three, in a select dancing
class? I'd loathe it."

A ponderous black woman appeared in the door and filled it.

"Is you froo?"

"Yes, go ahead, Ardelia."

"Hab the Perfessor gone already?"

"Yes, he's gone."

"Well, he suttinly did tell me to remin' him of suthin' this mohnin',
and I cain't des perzactly bemember what it was."

"Was it important?"

"Yassum. Seemed lak I bemember he tell me it was impo'tant."

"Serves him right for not telling me."

"It suttinly am queer the way he can't bemember. Seem lak his haid so
full of figgers, or what you call them, ain' no room for nuthin' else."

"You and father get zero in memory--that's sure."

"I ain't got no trubble dat way, Miss Bambi. I bemember everything,
'cepting wot you tell me to bemember."

The dining-room door flew open at this point, and a handsome youth, with
his hair upstanding, and his clothes in a wrinkle, appeared on the
threshold. Bambi rose and started for him.

"Jarvis!" she exclaimed. "What has happened? Where have you been?"

"Sleeping in the garden."

"Dat's it--dat's it! Dat was wat I was to remin' the Perfessor of, dat a
man was sleepin' in the garden."

"Sleeping in our garden? But why?"

"Because of the filthy commercialism of this age! Here I am, at the
climax of my big play, a revolutionary play, I tell you, teeming with
new and vital ideas, for a people on the down-slide, and a landlady, a
puny, insignificant ant of a female, interrupts me to demand money, and
when I assure her, most politely, that I have none, she puts me out,
actually puts me out!"

Bambi choked back a laugh.

"Why didn't you come here?"

"I did. Your father refused to see me; he was working at his crazy
figures. I burst in, and demanded you, but he couldn't remember where
you had gone."

"What a pity! Well----"

"I told him I would wait in the garden. If necessary, I would sleep
there."

"Yas'm, yas'm, dat's when he called me in, to tell me