From the Improvement Era, September 1936 –

Cuthbert Steps Out

By Estelle Webb Thomas

Cuthbert had been exposed to girls all his life, but it was not until his fifteenth year that they began to affect him seriously. To be sure, he had always sent his best valentine, next to Teacher’s, to Helen Ward, and had, at various times, worn a large and unsymmetrical H W tattooed, or what he fondly hoped was tattooed, upon his arms; but when it came to girls in general, Cuthbert could take them or leave them alone, and it was usually the latter. Not that he had anything in particular against the species, but there seemed to be no place in a life already full to over-flowing for the gentle art of chivalry. It was Tubby Bradley who finally disturbed his sweet dream of peace and wrecked the blissful hours of vacation with his endless talk of girls.

“Listen, Coppy” — Cuthbert had become “Coppy” when by that strange trick that Nature sometimes plays on little boys, his feet had become large adult appendages attached to his boyish person. Policemen were traditionally a large-footed race, hence the nick-name. “Listen, Coppy, you never even took a girl out once, last winter, did you? Not even to Commencement dance?”

“Course not!” Cuthbert crawled from under the ancient vehicle he lovingly called his “car” and absently wiping another smudge across his already blackly streaked forehead, said proudly, “There! I’ll bet she’ll run as pretty as you please, now!”

“Well, you got to think of those things,” continued Tubby. “That is, if you want to be somebody in the community, you have. That is, in a social way.”

“What things?”

“Now, see here, Coppy, you act like a little kid! Leave that old bus alone and listen here. You’ve gotta remember you’re a Freshie, now, and have a little  responsibility.”

This conversation, difficult as it was for conscientious Tubby, and even more so for Cuthbert, who had to drag his none-too-facile mind from the absorbing interest of his life and try to concentrate on a subject which heretofore he had given no thought at all, resulted finally, in the fact that one beautiful late summer evening saw him in the throes of preparation for a dance to be given in the ward amusement hall by the Explorer and Junior classes of the M. I. A.

His mother, nervous exhaustion in every line, divided her time between hurried trips to the kitchen where she was in the process of preparing dinner, and her bedroom, whence she had moved the protesting Cuthbert some half hour earlier.

“I simply cannot run up those stairs again tonight, Cuthbert,” she had said, firmly, “You’ll have to finish your dressing down here.”

Now, he was surveying the back of his head disgustedly in her dresser glass, by the aid of a hand-mirror, into which he scowlingly peered. His mother came wearily at his call to corroborate his opinion of the barber.

“That barber sure fixed me up, didn’t he?” he demanded, belligerently. “Wonder if he thought he was tanning a hide? Cut it so close it shows both my scars, the one where I had that boil and the one where Tubby hit me with a tomato can!”

“Well,” his mother answered mildly, “the boil scar always shows when your hair is freshly cut; it is quite low on your neck. Now, are you ready for dinner, Cuthbert? Daddy is getting impatient!”

“I don’t want anything to eat,” said Cuthbert, gloomily, “I don’t feel like eating. Besides, there isn’t room for me and supper both in them white pants.”

“Those,” corrected his mother, mechanically. “Why, you aren’t going without any dinner, are you? We have fried chicken!”

Cuthbert surveyed himself morosely in the mirror. He wished his mother had not mentioned fried chicken. It made him feel romantic to refrain from anything so mundane as food, and she knew he could never resist fried chicken.

He muttered in what he hoped was an off-hand manner, “Well, lead me to it. I might gnaw a leg. I can’t sit down though, account of the creases in the back.”

“Now, Cuthbert, you’re not going to bring a piece of fried chicken and put down here on my dressing table like you —”

“Aw, Mother, for Pete’s sake! I’ll go and stand by the table! But you’ll have to tie my tie before I eat — no, I’ll get grease on it — Good Friday, let it go! I can starve!”

Nevertheless, he appeared in the dining room almost as soon as his parents sat down to the table and, standing by his place, consumed large slices of bread and butter and chicken, a napkin draped around his neck, and his body describing an obtuse angle in his efforts to protect the immaculate trousers. The refreshments bolted, he returned to the rites of the toilet, and three minutes later his injured tones again brought his mother up standing.

“Good Friday, Mother, haven’t you got a shoe spoon to your name? I’ve dumped everything in these drawers out onto the bed, and nary a shoe spoon!”

“Gee, I wish I’d a-started up the old bus before I dolled up!” he complained, limping out into the dining room when the shoe horn had been duly produced and, with great mental and physical agony on the part of his mother and himself, his abundant supply of feet had been packed into the new shoes purchased for this important occasion.

“What!” exclaimed his father, displaying his first interest in the proceedings, “You’re not taking that thing, are you? I doubt Mr. and Mrs. Wards’ trusting Helen’s life to that contraption.”

“Good Friday, Dad, a guy couldn’t be expected to walk ‘way out to the Church hall, could he? ‘Specially in these shoes! Besides, she ain’t in any more danger than I am, is she? And anyways, maybe she has new shoes, too!”

“There should be a law—” began his mother, but his father interrupted, “What would they call it if they tried to pass a law against it? A dinosaur or a —” but his satire was lost, for while he vainly tried to think of some other prehistoric monster to which to liken his son’s darling, Cuthbert had disappeared.

A moment later he was back, preceded by a shout of horror. “Good Friday, Mother! Look at these pants! That fool Touz! He’d been wading in the mud, too!”

That was evident. Two large, muddy paw marks adorned the front of the white flannels. With a deep sigh, his mother pushed away her, untouched dessert and rose. “Take them off and I’ll try to clean them while you start your car,” she said, resignedly.

So, picturesquely garbed in white shirt, tie and modish blue coat as to top story, with nothing but brief percale shorts on his long, gangling legs, Cuthbert again vanished. Immediately, a terrific snorting and heaving ensued, followed by a steady, deafening roar and presently, Cuthbert, rather less immaculate, appeared, beaming. “She’s running pretty as a bird, tonight!” he announced, jubilantly. “Now, Mum, for the breeches!”

His mother kissed him fondly, “You look so nice, dear. Now, remember to be nice to Helen, and please, dear, be careful with that car!”

At sight of the merry milling mob, at sound of the gay talk and laughter, all to the accompaniment of loud syncopated music, Cuthbert experienced a strange, sinking sensation in the region of his stomach. “I ought to have eaten my supper,” he muttered, though he knew full well that hunger was not the cause of his discomfort. He knew this feeling. He always had it before going swimming for the first time in the spring.

The only cure was to plunge, without time for thought, into the icy water. He grasped Helen’s arm. “Well, let’s start. Might as well get it — might as well get going!” “I must take off my wrap!” Helen said, annoyed. But presently she was ready, and with mingled emotions they launched themselves upon the slippery floor. Cuthbert, frowning prodigiously, planted his warm, moist hand firmly in the middle of Helen’s back. He remembered his mother’s instruction that his hand must not slither aimlessly up and down. Far from it! Helen, giggling nervously, thought of a mustard plaster her grandmother had once placed on her back during an attack of influenza, but fortunately, neither of them knew how very large and black Cuthbert’s paw looked in the midst of her pale pink ruffles.

Cuthbert, indeed, had no time nor inclination to think of appearances, he was dancing! With an air of do or die he was relentlessly shoving Helen around the floor in time to the music.

Two ideas filled his mind. He must not fall down and he must not let his feet get stepped on. For the new shoes hurt! Hurt? What a feeble word! Blinking sardonically in the light reflected from their polished surfaces, they were deliberately killing him! Murderers, that’s what they were! Those gorgeous patent leathers he had been so proud of! Was it only this morning he had said proudly that his feet were as large as Dad’s, now? Why, they were at least twice as large! Why, if both these shoes could be got onto one foot — no, he didn’t mean that — if these shoes were exactly twice this big they wouldn’t be enough!

Good Friday! Were they going to play that tune all night? Didn’t they know enough’s enough of anything? Couples were dancing by, laughing and talking. Cuthbert wondered dimly how they could do it. Tubby slid past with a strange girl. At least, Cuthbert had a vague sense that she was strange. Their faces were a mere blur of teeth and glistening eyes to his tortured vision. Tubby said something, but Cuthbert failed to catch it. He didn’t have time for talking anyway, he was dancing.

“The music’s good tonight, isn’t it?” Helen gasped. Cuthbert stopped. Several couples jogged into them.

“What say?” he demanded.

Here was Tubby again, “Move on!” he hissed, “What you camped for?”

Doggedly, Cuthbert recommenced his relentless pushing. There, I stepped on her toe! Serves her right, he thought, savagely, stopping to talk when a guy’s trying to dance! Mercifully, the music with a final groan, expired. As one late to a fire, Cuthbert began to march Helen toward a seat. Several people smiled in their vicinity and the smiles were directed mockingly toward Cuthbert and herself.

“Look,” Helen whispered, with an agonized clutch at his arm, “Look at the others!”

Cuthbert looked. The couples were standing at ease, the gentlemen politely encoring. Cuthbert paused in his mad flight and reluctantly followed suit. So it was that kind of a dance. Well, that was better than one where they cut in. He couldn’t have borne to dance a dame around that insisted on talking. Helen hadn’t tried a second remark. And now to think it was all to do over again! Hogs for punishment was what he called them!

When it was really over Cuthbert escaped to the balcony, where he could sit down and groan in peace. Should he chance taking off his shoes? He knew of a kid once that took off his shoes at a Sunday School picnic because they hurt and couldn’t get them on again, his feet spread out so, and he had to go home in his socks. But Cuthbert felt he must try it. Just for a minute. “One little minute,” he moaned, feeling in his pocket for the shoe horn. Not there! He remembered now. He had been afraid it would show. He could never get them on again without the horn. What could he do? Maybe if he stood on his head —

Into this scene of torture pranced Tubby, unbearably happy, and walking with the greatest of ease.

“Hey, Coppy! Oh, there you are! Thought I saw you come out here! What’s the matter, hiding from the law or something? Say, listen, Cop,” he rushed on, not waiting for an answer, “There’s a new girl in there wants to meet you. You saw me dancing with her, didn’t you? Well, did you?”

“I dunno,” mumbled Cuthbert, forced to speak, “I didn’t see nothin’, I was dancing.”

“Well, she saw you, anyway. Guess what she said?”

Cuthbert grunted.

“She said, ‘Who’s the cute boy with the ears?’ Honest, can you beat it? And then do you know what she said? She said, ‘I bet you could lift him right off the floor by those ears!’ ‘ He paused for Cuthbert’s appreciative response to all this wit and not getting it continued hopefully, “And do you know what I said?” Cuthbert refused to guess. “I said, ‘Not on your life you couldn’t! His feet are too heavy!'”

He laughed loudly at this brilliant repartee and goaded beyond endurance, Cuthbert growled, “Some folks ruther have big feet than a big stomach, anyway, some folks — .”

“Well, let’s don’t get personal,” Tubby interposed, hastily, “I figured on you kinda helping me get this girl started here. She’s going to stay with the Warners. She’ll be around with our crowd a lot. Her name’s — ”

“I don’t give a hoot what her name is!” shouted Cuthbert, desperately. “Look here, didn’t you say I had to dance three times with Helen?”

“Well, that’s my system. Your partner gets the first dance and then along about the middle of the evening and then of course, the home waltz. Of course, if she’s a nifty number you can dance with her as often as she’ll let you!”

“Well, then take away your new girl. I’m all dated up.”

“What do you mean, three dances your limit?”

“I’m savin’ my strength,” muttered Cuthbert.

“I never noticed Helen was so hard to dance with,” said Tubby, displeased, “I kinda like — ”

“Oh, Helen’s all right!” Cuthbert assured him, hastily, “It’s me. I — I ain’t feeling so good this evening.” Not for the world would he have mentioned his feet to Tubby. He would never have heard the last of it. “I couldn’t eat any supper,” he added, pathetically.

“Oh, that so?” This was touching Tubby in a sympathetic spot. He could imagine lots of catastrophes, but not a guy deliberately going without supper unless he was very sick, indeed. “Well, no wonder you don’t act natural. I’ll tell Aline. She’ll understand.” Subdued in the presence of such obvious suffering, he silently withdrew.

Like the fabled Spartan youth, Cuthbert went through the rest of the dance with stoic courage. Twice more he pushed Helen grimly about the ball room floor on feet that felt like all the boils in the world condensed and poured into two red hot shoes too small to hold them, while the orchestra maliciously played for endless hours to mock his misery. If Helen spoke, he stared at her distractedly from pain-glazed eyes and doggedly continued to dance.

After their second dance it transpired that they were serving cake and ice cream in the Relief Society room, and thither limped Cuthbert, steering Helen by an arm. He had rather got the habit of pushing Helen around and holding to even so slight an object as her arm helped his feet a little. But the fate which had hounded poor Cuthbert all evening accompanied them, and grinning impishly presently ushered Tubby and the new girl friend to the little table where they sat.

“Well, if it ain’t the boy himself!” shouted Tubby, beaming. “Lo Helen! You know Aline. Coppy, I want you to meet Miss Webster!”

Miss Webster was a buxom, smiling girl and as she edged into the seat by Cuthbert and held out her hand she planted a spike heel solidly on his toes.

“Ouch!” yelled Cuthbert, in voice that fixed all attention on him, and the large spoonful of ice cream he had been conveying to his mouth, slid glacially down Helen’s neck as she leaned around to speak to the newcomers.

The snorting and roaring of his car was welcome music to Cuthbert’s ears and a happy change from the best efforts of the orchestra. Never again was he to hear some of the most popular dance tunes of the day, without a reminiscent shudder of pain creeping down his spine to his very toes — especially to his toes. But now the ordeal was behind him he was almost happy as they chugged along toward Helen’s home. He felt kindly toward Helen and a little remorseful, for something told him it would be a long, long time before he took her to another dance.

Tubby’s various nuggets of advice began coming back to his mind, now the strain was practically over. You must be sure to make another date before you left. So, when Helen turned at the steps to say goodnight, he firmly edged past her onto the piazza, though she would never know at what a sacrifice to his natural inclinations.

“W— won’t you sit down?” asked Helen, uncertainly, seeing he had no immediate intention of going. And when he had sunk, sighing, onto the porch swing, she seated herself reluctantly in a wicker rocker.

They sat in silence for some time. Cuthbert was gingerly experimenting — pressing his feet to the floor, then letting them swing free. They felt worse both ways. Helen patted back a yawn. Presently he noticed the silence. “A pretty good hop, what d’you say?”

“Yes, it was a good dance,” agreed Helen, primly.

“Yes, a pretty good old jamboree,” corroborated Cuthbert, with false enthusiasm. Helen yawned again, and unconsciously he followed suit. Then they sat in silence for another eon while he tenderly held one foot in his hand. Just wait! Just wait! If he ever got these shoes off — he awoke to his social obligations and jumped guiltily. “Well, it was a pretty good — ” Good Friday, he’d said that twice! He gazed wildly around for inspiration. “Moon’s sure bright tonight. I sure like to watch the moon and the stars at night, don’t you?”

“I’d rather sleep at night,” said Helen, tartly. She yawned again, this time with no effort at concealment.

Good Friday, how wide she can open her mouth! thought Cuthbert, amazed. It looks so little when it’s shut! Well, I gotta go, I don’t care whether it’s polite or not!

He got carefully to his feet. “Well, I better be milling along — ”

“Good-night!” said Helen, instantly springing to her feet with the first animation she had shown for some time.

“Good-night and thanks!” he started down the walk. Help! the date! He hadn’t made it! Gamely he limped back. Helen, who was at the door, turned back slowly. “Say, what — what you going to do tomorrow?”

“Sleep. A lot of it!” said Helen, promptly.

“So am I!” said Cuthbert, eagerly, “And when I’m not sleeping I’m going to eat — I never had any supper!” he added plaintively.

Helen was unmoved at this touching confidence. “I never do, when I’m going to a dance or something, I’m too excited.”

This was incomprehensible to Cuthbert so he ignored it and went on with his own happy plans, entirely forgetting the date again. “And then I’m going to —” he started to say, “run around barefoot,” but a guy must have some dignity so he substituted “work on my car!”

“Good-night!” said Helen, loudly and decisively, and turned away again. Then hesitating, she called “Do you have to — couldn’t you leave your car here and come and get it in the morning? I’m afraid it will wake Mother and Father.”

“Oh, no, I’m afraid not!” protested Cuthbert, earnestly, “You see, there’s a special reason I gotta have it home early in the morning, or I would. But I don’t think it will wake them,” he added, optimistically, “she’s not very noisy tonight. She’s running pretty as a bird!”

“Well, good-night!” said Helen, with emphasis and disappeared indoors.

Cuthbert’s howl of pain as he extracted his feet from the imprisoning shoes was drowned in the roar of his starting motor. “Next time I go to a dance, I won’t; I’ll just send you!” he gritted viciously, throwing the offending footgear violently to the floor of the car, “And you!” and the second followed.

“Boy! I forgot to get another date, like Tubby said!” he thought, appalled, a moment later. “Well, for Pete’s sake, how much does a girl expect? Isn’t there any satisfying them? I’m not going back and ask her if she never speaks to me again! Just let me get into sneakers again! Just let me! Why, if I ever get sneakers on these feet again and a good supper under my belt, I don’t care if I’m a Social Success, like Tubby talks about so much, or not! I don’t care if I never even see another girl till I’m seventy-five!” And he roared on happily through the night.