The meal proceeded in silence for a few minutes. Mrs. Cullom had said
but little, but John noticed that her diction was more conventional than
in her talk with David and himself in the morning, and that her manner
at the table was distinctly refined, although she ate with apparent
appetite, not to say hunger. Presently she said, with an air of making
conversation, "I suppose you've always lived in the city, Mr. Lenox?"
"It has always been my home," he replied, "but I have been away a good
deal."
"I suppose folks in the city go to theaters a good deal," she remarked.
"They have a great many opportunities," said John, wondering what she
was leading up to. But he was not to discover, for David broke in with a
chuckle.
"Ask Polly, Mis' Cullom," he said. "She c'n tell ye all about the
theater, Polly kin." Mrs. Cullom looked from David to Mrs. Bixbee, whose
face was suffused.
"Tell her," said David, with a grin.
"I wish you'd shet up," she exclaimed. "I sha'n't do nothin' of the
sort."
"Ne' mind," said David cheerfully, "_I'll_ tell ye, Mis' Cullom."
"Dave Harum!" expostulated Mrs. Bixbee, but he proceeded without heed of
her protest.
"Polly an' I," he said, "went down to New York one spring some years
ago. Her nerves was some wore out 'long of diff'rences with Sairy about
clearin' up the woodshed, an' bread risin's, an' not bein' able to suit
herself up to Purse's in the qual'ty of silk velvit she wanted fer a
Sunday-go-to-meetin' gown, an' I thought a spell off 'd do her good.
Wa'al, the day after we got there I says to her while we was havin'
breakfust--it was picked-up el'phant on toast, near 's I c'n remember,
wa'n't it, Polly?"
"That's as near the truth as most o' the rest on't so fur," said Polly
with a sniff.
"Wa'al, I says to her," he proceeded, untouched by her scorn, "'How'd
you like to go t' the theater? You hain't never ben,' I says, 'an' now
you're down here you may jest as well see somethin' while you got a
chanst,' I says. Up to that _time_" he remarked, as it were in passing,
"she'd ben somewhat pre_juced_ 'ginst theaters, an'----"
"Wa'al," Mrs. Bixbee broke in, "I guess what we see that night was
cal'lated----"
"You hold on," he interposed. "I'm tellin' this story. You had a chanst
to an' wouldn't. Anyway," he resumed, "she allowed she'd try it once,
an' we agreed we'd go somewheres that night. But somethin' happened to
put it out o' my mind, an' I didn't think on't agin till I got back to
the hotel fer supper. So I went to the feller at the news-stand an'
says, 'Got any show-tickits fer to-night?'
"'Theater?' he says.
"'I reckon so,' I says.
"'Wa'al,' he says, 'I hain't got nothin' now but two seats fer
'Clyanthy.'
"'Is it a good show?' I says--'moral, an' so on? I'm goin' to take my
sister, an' she's a little pertic'ler about some things,' I says. He
kind o' grinned, the feller did. 'I've took my wife twice, an' she's
putty pertic'ler herself,' he says, laughin.'"
"She must 'a' ben," remarked Mrs. Bixbee with a sniff that spoke volumes
of her opinion of "the feller's wife." David emitted a chuckle.
"Wa'al," he continued, "I took the tickits on the feller's recommend,
an' the fact of his wife's bein' so pertic'ler, an' after supper we
went. It was a mighty handsome place inside, gilded an' carved all over
like the outside of a cirkis wagin, an' when we went in the orchestry
was playin' an' the people was comin' in, an' after we'd set a few
minutes I says to Polly, 'What do you think on't?' I says.
"'I don't see anythin' very unbecomin' so fur, an' the people looks
respectable enough,' she says.
"'No jail birds in sight fur 's ye c'n see so fur, be they?' I says. He,
he, he, he!"
"You needn't make me out more of a gump 'n I was," protested Mrs.
Bixbee. "An' you was jest as----" David held up his finger at her.
"Don't you sp'ile the story by discountin' the sequil. Wa'al, putty soon
the band struck up some kind of a dancin' tune, an' the curt'in went up,
an' a girl come prancin' down to the footlights an' begun singin' an'
dancin', an', scat my ----! to all human appearances you c'd 'a' covered
ev'ry dum thing she had on with a postage stamp." John stole a glance at
Mrs. Cullom. She was staring at the speaker with wide-open eyes of
horror and amazement.
"I guess I wouldn't go very _fur_ into pertic'lers," said Mrs. Bixbee in
a warning tone.
David bent his head down over his plate and shook from head to foot, and
it was nearly a minute before he was able to go on. "Wa'al," he said, "I
heard Polly give a kind of a gasp an' a snort, 's if some one 'd throwed
water 'n her face. But she didn't say nothin', an', I swan! I didn't
dast to look at her fer a spell; an' putty soon in come a hull crowd
more girls that had left their clo'es in their trunks or somewhere,
singin', an' dancin', an' weavin' 'round on the stage, an' after a few
minutes I turned an' looked at Polly. He, he, he, he!"
"David Harum!" cried Mrs. Bixbee, "ef you're goin' to discribe any more
o' them scand'lous goin's on I sh'll take my victuals into the kitchin.
_I_ didn't see no more of 'em," she added to Mrs. Cullom and John,
"after that fust trollop appeared."
"I don't believe she did," said David, "fer when I turned she set there
with her eys shut tighter 'n a drum, an' her mouth shut too so's her
nose an' chin most come together, an' her face was red enough so 't a
streak o' red paint 'd 'a' made a white mark on it. 'Polly,' I says,
'I'm afraid you ain't gettin' the wuth o' your money.'
"'David Harum,' she says, with her mouth shut all but a little place in
the corner toward me, 'if you don't take me out o' this place, I'll go
without ye,' she says.
"'Don't you think you c'd stan' it a little longer?' I says. 'Mebbe
they've sent home fer their clo'es,' I says. He, he, he, he! But with
that she jest give a hump to start, an' I see she meant bus'nis. When
Polly Bixbee," said David impressively, "puts that foot o' her'n _down_
somethin's got to sqush, an' don't you fergit it." Mrs. Bixbee made no
acknowledgment of this tribute to her strength of character. John looked
at David.
"Yes," he said, with a solemn bend of the head, as if in answer to a
question, "I squshed. I says to her, 'All right. Don't make no
disturbance more'n you c'n help, an' jest put your hank'chif up to your
nose 's if you had the nosebleed,' an' we squeezed out of the seats, an'
sneaked up the aisle, an' by the time we got out into the entry I guess
my face was as red as Polly's. It couldn't 'a' ben no redder," he added.
"You got a putty fair color as a gen'ral thing," remarked Mrs. Bixbee
dryly.
"Yes, ma'am; yes, ma'am, I expect that's so," he assented, "but I got an
extry coat o' tan follerin' you out o' that theater. When we got out
into the entry one o' them fellers that stands 'round steps up to me an'
says, 'Ain't your ma feelin' well?' he says. 'Her feelin's has ben a
trifle rumpled up,' I says, 'an' that gen'ally brings on the nosebleed,'
an' then," said David, looking over Mrs. Bixbee's head, "the feller went
an' leaned up agin the wall."
"David Harum!" exclaimed Mrs. Bixbee, "that's a downright _lie_. You
never spoke to a soul, an'--an'--ev'rybody knows 't I ain't more 'n four
years older 'n you be."
"Wa'al, you see, Polly," her brother replied in a smooth tone of
measureless aggravation, "the feller wa'n't acquainted with us, an' he
only went by appearances."
Aunt Polly appealed to John: "Ain't he enough to--to--I d' know what?"
"I really don't see how you live with him," said John, laughing.
Mrs. Cullom's face wore a faint smile, as if she were conscious that
something amusing was going on, but was not quite sure what. The widow
took things seriously for the most part, poor soul.
"I reckon you haven't followed theater-goin' much after that," she said
to her hostess.
"No, ma'am," Mrs. Bixbee replied with emphasis, "you better believe I
hain't. I hain't never thought of it sence without tinglin' all over. I
believe," she asserted, "that David 'd 'a' stayed the thing out if it
hadn't ben fer me; but as true 's you live, Cynthy Cullom, I was so
'shamed at the little 't I did see that when I come to go to bed I took
my clo'es off in the dark."
David threw back his head and roared with laughter. Mrs. Bixbee looked
at him with unmixed scorn. "If I couldn't help makin' a----" she began,
"I'd----"
"Oh, Lord! Polly," David broke in, "be sure 'n wrap up when you go out.
If you sh'd ketch cold an' your sense o' the ridic'lous sh'd strike in
you'd be a dead-'n'-goner sure." This was treated with the silent
contempt which it deserved, and David fell upon his dinner with the
remark that "he guessed he'd better make up fer lost time," though as a
matter of fact while he had done most of the talking he had by no means
suspended another function of his mouth while so engaged.
For a time nothing more was said which did not relate to the
replenishment of plates, glasses, and cups. Finally David cleaned up
his plate with his knife blade and a piece of bread, and pushed it away
with a sigh of fullness, mentally echoed by John.
"I feel 's if a child could play with me," he remarked. "What's comin'
now, Polly?"
"The's a mince pie, an' Injun puddin' with maple sugar an' cream, an'
ice cream," she replied.
"Mercy on us!" he exclaimed. "I guess I'll have to go an' jump up an'
down on the verandy. How do you feel, John? I s'pose you got so used to
them things at the Eagle 't you won't have no stomach fer 'em, eh?
Wa'al, fetch 'em along. May 's well die fer the ole sheep 's the lamb,
but, Polly Bixbee, if you've got designs on my life, I may 's well tell
ye right now 't I've left all my prop'ty to the Institution fer
Disappinted Hoss Swappers."
"That's putty near next o' kin, ain't it?" was the unexpected rejoinder
of the injured Polly.
"Wa'al, scat my ----!" exclaimed David, hugely amused, "if Polly Bixbee
hain't made a joke! You'll git yourself into the almanic, Polly, fust
thing you know." Sairy brought in the pie and then the pudding.
"John," said David, "if you've got a pencil an' a piece o' paper handy
I'd like to have ye take down a few of my last words 'fore we proceed to
the pie an' puddin' bus'nis. Any more 'hoss-redish' in that bottle?"
holding out his glass. "Hi! hi! that's enough. You take the rest on't,"
which John did, nothing loath.
David ate his pie in silence, but before he made up his mind to attack
the pudding, which was his favorite confection, he gave an audible
chuckle, which elicited Mrs. Bixbee's notice.
"What you gigglin' 'bout now?" she asked.
David laughed. "I was thinkin' of somethin' I heard up to Purse's last
night," he said as he covered his pudding with the thick cream sauce.
"Amri Shapless has ben gittin' married."
"Wa'al, I declare!" she exclaimed. "That ole shack! Who in creation
could he git to take him?"
"Lize Annis is the lucky woman," replied David with a grin.
"Wa'al, if that don't beat all!" said Mrs. Bixbee, throwing up her
hands, and even from Mrs. Cullom was drawn a "Well, I never!"
"Fact," said David, "they was married yestidy forenoon. Squire Parker
done the job. Dominie White wouldn't have nothin' to do with it!"
"Squire Parker 'd ortter be 'shamed of himself," said Mrs. Bixbee
indignantly.
"Don't you think that trew love had ought to be allowed to take its
course?" asked David with an air of sentiment.
"I think the squire'd ortter be 'shamed of himself," she reiterated.
"S'pose them two old skinamulinks was to go an' have children?"
"Polly, you make me blush," protested her brother. "Hain't you got no
respect fer the holy institution of matrimuny?--and--at cet'ry?" he
added, wiping his whole face with his napkin.
"Much as you hev, I reckon," she retorted. "Of all the amazin' things in
this world, the amazinist to me is the kind of people that gits married
to each other in gen'ral; but this here performence beats ev'rything
holler."
"Amri give a very good reason for't," said David with an air of
conviction, and then he broke into a laugh.
"Ef you got anythin' to tell, tell it," said Mrs. Bixbee impatiently.
"Wa'al," said David, taking the last of his pudding into his mouth, "if
you insist on't, painful as 't is. I heard Dick Larrabee tellin' 'bout
it. Amri told Dick day before yestiday that he was thinkin' of gettin'
married, an' ast him to go along with him to Parson White's an' be a
witniss, an' I reckon a kind of moral support. When it comes to moral
supportin'," remarked David in passing, "Dick's as good 's a
professional, an' he'd go an' see his gran'mother hung sooner 'n miss
anythin', an' never let his cigar go out durin' the performence. Dick
said he congratilated Am on his choice, an' said he reckoned they'd be
putty ekally yoked together, if nothin' else."
Here David leaned over toward Aunt Polly and said, protestingly, "Don't
gi' me but jest a teasp'nful o' that ice cream. I'm so full now 't I
can't hardly reach the table." He took a taste of the cream and resumed:
"I can't give it jest as Dick did," he went on, "but this is about the
gist on't. Him, an' Lize, an' Am went to Parson White's about half after
seven o'clock an' was showed into the parler, an' in a minute he come
in, an' after sayin' 'Good evenin'' all 'round, he says, 'Well, what c'n
I do for ye?' lookin' at Am an' Lize, an' then at Dick.
"'Wa'al,' says Am, 'me an' Mis' Annis here has ben thinkin' fer some
time as how we'd ought to git married.'
"'_Ought_ to git married?' says Parson White, scowlin' fust at one an'
then at t'other.
"'Wa'al,' says Am, givin' a kind o' shuffle with his feet, 'I didn't
mean _ortter_ exac'ly, but jest as _well_--kinder comp'ny,' he says. 'We
hain't neither on us got nobody, an' we thought we might 's well.'
"'What have you got to git married on?' says the dominie after a minute.
'Anythin'?' he says.
"'Wa'al,' says Am, droppin' his head sideways an' borin' into his ear
'ith his middle finger, 'I got the promise mebbe of a job o' work fer a
couple o' days next week.' 'H'm'm'm,' says the dominie, lookin' at him.
'Have _you_ got anythin' to git married on?' the dominie says, turnin'
to Lize. 'I've got ninety cents comin' to me fer some work I done last
week,' she says, wiltin' down onto the sofy an' beginnin' to snivvle.
Dick says that at that the dominie turned round an' walked to the other
end of the room, an' he c'd see he was dyin' to laugh, but he come back
with a straight face.
"'How old air you, Shapless?" he says to Am. 'I'll be fifty-eight or
mebbe fifty-nine come next spring,' says Am.
"'How old air _you_?' the dominie says, turnin' to Lize. She wriggled a
minute an' says, 'Wa'al, I reckon I'm all o' thirty,' she says."
"All o' thirty!" exclaimed Aunt Polly. "The woman 's most 's old 's I
be."
David laughed and went on with, "Wa'al, Dick said at that the dominie
give a kind of a choke, an' Dick he bust right out, an' Lize looked at
him as if she c'd eat him. Dick said the dominie didn't say anythin' fer
a minute or two, an' then he says to Am, 'I suppose you c'n find
somebody that'll marry you, but I cert'inly won't, an' what possesses
you to commit such a piece o' folly,' he says, 'passes my
understandin'. What earthly reason have you fer wantin' to marry? On
your own showin',' he says, 'neither one on you 's got a cent o' money
or any settled way o' gettin' any.'
"'That's jest the very reason,' says Am, 'that's jest the _very reason_.
I hain't got nothin', an' Mis' Annis hain't got nothin', an' we figured
that we'd jest better git married an' settle down, an' make a good home
fer us both,' an' if that ain't good reasonin'," David concluded, "I
don't know what is."
"An' be they actially married?" asked Mrs. Bixbee, still incredulous of
anything so preposterous.
"So Dick says," was the reply. "He says Am an' Lize come away f'm the
dominie's putty down in the mouth, but 'fore long Amri braced up an'
allowed that if he had half a dollar he'd try the squire in the mornin',
an' Dick let him have it. I says to Dick, 'You're out fifty cents on
that deal,' an' he says, slappin' his leg, 'I don't give a dum,' he
says; 'I wouldn't 'a' missed it fer double the money.'"
Here David folded his napkin and put it in the ring, and John finished
the cup of clear coffee which Aunt Polly, rather under protest, had
given him. Coffee without cream and sugar was incomprehensible to Mrs.
Bixbee.