Belles on their Toes

we'd hear about them the next day from the children whose parents had been present.
    That was bad enough. But when Mother was drafted for school assemblies and commencement exercises, it soon became too wet to plow.
    Her first appearance was at Nishuane, the elementary school, where she told the children about how Dad had made motion studies of himself, so he could sleep later in the mornings. Dad used to lather his face with two shaving brushes, to save time, and could get into a tub, soap himself, rinse, and get out again, in a minute or less.
    "It's a good thing to learn the quickest way to soap yourself," Mother said, "because then even if you oversleep you won't be late for school."
    At recess later that morning, a boy in the sixth grade got a cake of soap from the lavatory, brought it out on the playground, and handed it to Fred.
    "Here," the sixth grader said while a crowd quickly collected. "Show us how your father soaped himself."
    Fred knew how, even though he was a half-hour soaker himself. But he had no intention of sitting down on the cinders and demonstrating, especially before a mixed audience.
    "Come on inside," he mumbled, "and I'll show you there."
    "No, right here," the big boy leered. "Here, take it and show everybody, so they won't be late to school." He cackled, and gave Fred a push.
    Fred was in the third grade, and more than a head shorter than the other boy. It seemed hopeless to fight. If only Bill hadn't graduated up to junior high that year—when he was a sixth grader, Bill could handle anyone in Nishuane and frequently did, if sufficiently provoked. Fred took the soap in his right hand, and put it on his left shoulder.
    "You start at this shoulder," he almost whispered, looking at his feet, "and you bring the soap down your left side."
    A girl tittered, and Fred faltered.
    "You bring the soap down your left…" Fred stopped, looked up from his feet, and drove soap and fist into the belly of his tormentor.
    "See if you're big enough to make me do it," Fred hollered. Then, trying his best to imitate Tom's fighting stance and fierce grimaces, "I don't take nothing from nobody, understand? Nothing from nobody."
    It felt good to be a man instead of a mouse, even if it meant a licking, and Fred grinned and walloped him again.
    The sixth grader knocked him down, and sat on him. Fred was informed he either was going to eat the soap or go through the motions of lathering himself. About half the bar of soap had been forced down his mouth, before Lill, who was roller skating at the opposite side of the playground, discovered what was going on and summoned Dan and Jack.
    Lill went into action holding a roller skate by the strap and swinging it around her head. It wasn't exactly Marquis of Queensbury, but extraordinary action seemed called for. Dan used his fists and Jack kicked and bit.
    A single blow of the skate took all of the fight out of Fred's antagonist, who quietly consumed the other half of the soap, while Lill sat on his forehead, Dan his feet, and Jack his stomach. Fred held his arms and did the feeding.
    Lill and the boys wanted to tell Mother about it, so she'd stop making references to family incidents in any future speeches at their school. But the older ones talked them out of it.
    "You'd only hurt Mother's feelings," Ernestine said. "What do they have, savages at your school?"
    "They sure do," Fred agreed.
    "The only reason Mother made the talk," Ernestine told them, "was because she thought she was helping you. And if you complain about it, she'll think you didn't appreciate it."
    "If you want to know the truth," said Lill, "we didn't appreciate it very much. Everybody looks at you while she's speaking, and afterwards they giggle."
    "And they feed you soap," Fred nodded. "The dark gray kind that's meant to take grease off your hands."
    "The talk went over well, didn't it?" Ernestine asked. "You ought to be proud of Mother."
    "It went over fine," Lill admitted. "We're proud of her. But I hope next time she gets asked to talk at your school."
    Mother's next invitation was to address the junior high where Frank and Bill were pupils. Frank told her at the dinner table, as tactfully as he could, that it would be a good idea to steer clear of family matters.
    "Why of course I will, if that's what you boys want," Mother promised, but her feelings were a little hurt. "I won't make the talk at all, if you don't want me to.''
    "You ought to be ashamed of yourself," Ernestine told Frank.