"You don't mind, do you ... having your own little girl hit you?"
Now, poor Penton would have spent the remainder of the night taking
this "impulse" and the act which followed it as a serious problem in
aesthetics, economics, feminism, and what-not ... and the two would have
talked and discussed, their voices sounding and sounding in philosophic
disquisition ... and, before the end, Hildreth, persuaded to take the
situation seriously and enjoying the morbid attention given her,
Hildreth would have gone off several times into hysterics....
My procedure was a different one:
"--of course I don't mind you following your impulses ... you should ...
but also I have just as imperative an impulse--now that you suggest
it--to hit you."
And I was not chary of the vigorous blows I dealt her, a tattoo of them
on her back....
"Why, Johnnie," she gasped, "you--hit--me!" and her big eyes, wide with
hurt, filled with tears. And she cried a little....
"There, there, dear!" I soothed. Then, with a solemn look in my face, "I
couldn't resist my impulse, either."
"You mustn't do that any more, Johnnie ... but,--you must let _me_ hit
_you_ whenever I want to."
But she never had that "impulse" again.
* * * * *
But, though we romped a lot, Darrie, Hildreth, Daniel, and I,--and
though Hildreth called me her "Bearcat" (the only thing she took from
the papers, whose title for me was "The Kansas Bearcat") don't think
that this made up all our life in our cottage.
Pages:
597
598
599
600
601
602
603
604
605
606
607
608
609
610
611
612
613
614
615
616
617
618
619
620
621