She nodded.
“Oh!” I cried. “How dull of me! Ladies talking! Of course!”
She continued. “It was therefore widely known that you were consulting
our South Carolina archives at the library--and then that notebook you
bring marked you out the very first day. Why, two hours after your first
lunch we just knew all about you!”
“Dear me!” said I.
“Kings Port is ever ready to discuss strangers,” she further explained.
“The Exchange has been going on five years, and the resident families
have discussed each other so thoroughly here that everything is known;
therefore a stranger is a perfect boon.” Her gayety for a moment
interrupted her, before she continued, always mocking and always sweet:
“Kings Port cannot boast intelligence offices for servants; but if you
want to know the character and occupation of your friends, come to the
Exchange!” How I wish I could give you the raciness, the contagion, of
her laughter! Who would have dreamed that behind her primness all this
frolic lay in ambush? “Why,” she said, “I’m only a plantation girl; it’s
my first week here, and I know every wicked deed everybody as done since
1812!”
She went back to her counter. It had been very merry; and as I was
settling the small debt for my lunch I asked: “Since this is the proper
place for information, will you kindly tell me whose wedding that cake
is for?”
She was astonished. “You don’t know? And I thought you were quite a
clever Ya--I beg your pardon--Northerner.
“Please tell me, since I know you’re quite a clever Reb--I beg your
pardon--Southerner.”
“Why, it’s his own! Couldn’t you see that from his bashfulness?”
“Ordering his own wedding cake?” Amazement held me. But the door opened,
one of the elderly ladies entered, the girl behind the counter stiffened
to primness in a flash, and I went out into Royal Street as the curly
dog’s tail wagged his greeting to the newcomer.