WASTED DYE.
Judy emerged from behind the curtains which divided the family living
room from the little shop, the platter of tongue held high. In her cap
and apron, she reminded one of a Howard Pyle illustration for some
holiday number of a magazine.
"Gee, what a beaut!" exclaimed the taller of the two strangers.
The one with the serge suit dropped it and made a rush for the girl. He
had her in his arms, platter of tongue and all, before Mere Tricot could
rescue it. But that dame managed to extricate the big dish before any
greater damage was done than disarranging the effect of a wreath of
autumn leaves.
Hearts that were broken may be mended but platters of smoked tongue
must not be dropped on the floor and smashed.
"Oh, Judy gal, Judy gal! Tell me all about it!"
"Kent! Kent! I thought you were drowned and have gone into mourning for
you," sobbed Judy.
As for Jim Castleman, in the most execrable and impossible French, he
was explaining to good Mother Tricot how it all happened, and Father
Tricot hastened to the shop from his carving to find out what it was all
about, and then such a handshaking and hugging as ensued was never seen!
"We were all about to sit down to _dejeuner a la fourchette_," said the
ever hospitable old man, "and if the young gentlemen would come with us,
we should be much honoured."
The grenadier was equally pleased to have them and, indeed, Jim
Castleman was so hungry by that time that he would have eaten cold
spinach with his fingers.
How that old couple plied the young Americans with their delightful
food and how they listened to their tale of shipwreck and rescue! When
Kent told of their fooling the Prussians with Tutno, the childish
language they had known in their youth, the Tricots laughed with such
glee that a gendarme put his head in the door to see what it was all
about. When Jim Castleman in a speech that sounded more like Tutno than
Parisian French, informed his hosts that he was there to join the army
of Joffre, old Mere Tricot helped him to two more tarts, although he had
already eaten enough of them to furnish dessert for any ordinary French
family of four.
"And now, Madame," said Kent to his hostess, "I want you to do another
thing for me. You have done so many things already that maybe I should
not ask you."
"What is it, mon brave?" and the old woman smiled very kindly on the
young American, whom she had not half an hour before called a Prussian
and accused of stealing Judy's serge suit.
"I am to be married very soon and I want you to help me out in it."
"Married!" Judy gasped.
"Yes, Miss Judy Kean, I am to be married and so are you. What's more, it
is to be just as soon as the French law will tie the knot."
"Well, of all----"
"Yes, of all the slippery parties, I know you are the slipperiest and I
have no idea of letting you get away. Am I right, Jim?"
Jim was too busy with a tart to be coherent. He nodded his head,
however, and when Kent put the same question to Mere Tricot in French,
she upheld him.
"It would be much more convenable if you were married. It is very easy
to get married in war time. The authorities are not near so difficult to
approach on the subject. I will see what can be done by the magistrate
who married Jean and Marie, and no doubt if you interview your American
Ambassador, much can be attended to in a short time."
"Kent Brown, if you think----" sputtered Judy.
"I don't think a thing, I just know," said Kent very calmly. "Put on
your hat, honey, and let's take a little walk."
"Well, all right--but----" Was this the Judy Kean who prided herself on
so well knowing her own mind, calmly consenting to be married against
her will? Was it against her will? She suddenly remembered the
communings she had had with herself, in which she had cried out to Kent:
"Why, why, did you not make me go with you?"
"I shall have to rip the lining out of my hat before I can go out," she
said quite meekly.
"The lining out of your hat?" questioned Kent.
"Yes, you see I went into mourning when--when----" and Judy, now that it
was all over, still could not voice the terrible thing she thought had
happened to Kent.
"Please don't rip it out until I see you in it. Not many men live to see
how their widows look mourning for them."
"Widows, indeed! Kent Brown, you presume too much!" exclaimed Judy, but
she could not help laughing. The hat was very becoming and she was not
loathe to wear it, just once.
First Mere Tricot must be assisted with the dishes, however; but then
Judy got ready to go walking with Kent.
Pere Tricot undertook to be guide to Jim Castleman, offering to lead him
to the proper place to enlist.
"I'll only look into it to-day," said Jim, grasping Kent's hand. "I
shan't join for keeps until I have officiated as best man."
Judy, who had gone into Marie's tiny bedroom to get into her rescued
serge suit, overheard this remark and blushed to the roots of her fluffy
hair. As she put on her white lined hat, she peeped again into the
mirror: "Judy Kean, you are much too rosy for a widow," she admonished
her image.
Mere Tricot saw them off, her good man and Jim to the recruiting
station, and Kent and Judy to the Luxembourg Gardens, a spot hallowed by
lovers.
"Well, well!" she said to herself. "The good God has brought the poor
lamb her lover from the grave. I am glad, very glad,--but it is
certainly a pity to waste all that good dye the butcher's wife saved for
us. It is not good when kept too long, either. I won't throw it out yet
a while, though,--some one will be wanting it, perhaps."