"WELL, Caleb," said Philip, on the day after Decoration Day, "how did
the bath-house opening-day pan out?"
"First-rate--A 1," Caleb replied, rubbing his hands, and then laughing
to himself a long time, although in a manner which implied that the
excitement to laughter was of a confidential nature. But this merely
piqued curiosity, so Philip said:--
"Do you think it fair to keep all the fun to yourself, you selfish
scamp? Don't you know that things to laugh at are dismally scarce
at this season of the year? As the boys say when another boy finds
something, 'Halves.'"
"Well," said Caleb, "the fact is, some of the customers was scared
to death, Black Sam says, for fear they'd catch cold after the bath.
I'd expected as much of some of our G. A. R. boys,--mentionin'
no names,--so I'd took down to the house a dozen sets o' thin
underclothin' that I'd ordered on suspicion. I always wear it--I
learned the trick from one of our hospital doctors in the army, an' it
gives me so much comfort that I talked it up to other men, but 'twas a
new idee 'round here, an' ev'rybody laughed at me. The baths, though,
scared a lot o' the boys into tryin' it. All day long they were kind o'
wonderin', out loud, whether it was the cleanin' up or the underclothes
that made 'em feel so much better'n usual; so I says to 'em, 'What's
the matter with both? No one thing's ev'rythin', unless mebbe it's
religion, an' even that loses its holt if you squat down with it an'
don't do nothin' else.' 'But,' says some of 'em, 'what's to be did when
the underclothes gets dirty?' 'Put on some clean ones,' says I, 'or
wash the old ones overnight, 'fore you go to bed--that's what I done
ev'ry night, when I was so poor that I couldn't afford a change.' Well,
some of 'em'll do it, 'cause they're too poor to buy, but you'd better
telegraph for a stock o' them thin goods; for when they don't find
thick shirts an' pants stickin' to 'em all day, while they're at work,
they'll be so glad o' the change that they'll want to stock up. They'll
find out, as I've always b'lieved, that underclothes, an' plenty of
'em, is a means o' grace."
"More business for the store, as usual," said Philip.
"Yes," said Caleb, "but 'twon't be a patch to the run there'd be on
ice-cream machines--if there was plenty of ice to be had. Some o' the
boys from the farmin' district stopped with me last night, thinkin' it
was better to get some sleep 'fore sun-up than go out home an' wake
their folks up halfway between midnight and daylight, to say nothin' o'
scarin' all the dogs o' the county into barkin', and tirin' out hosses
that's got a day's work before 'em. Well, 'fore turnin' in, they said
lots o' nice things--though no nicer than they ought--about the way
they had been treated at your house, an' 'bout the way you both acted,
as if you an' them had been cut from the same piece, but--"
"Don't make me conceited, Caleb."
"I won't; for, as I was goin' to say, they come back ev'ry time to the
friz milk, as they called it, an' how they wished their wives knew how
to make it, an' what a pity 'twas there wa'n't ice-houses all over the
county. Well--partly with an eye to business, knowin' that most any of
'em could stand the price of a freezer, an' the others could do it,
too, if they'd save the price o' liquor they drink in a month or two--I
says:--
"'Well, why don't you make 'em? You could do it o' slabs you could
split out o' logs from your own woodland, an' the crick freezes ev'ry
winter, when you an' your hosses has got next to nothin' to do. Besides
havin' ice-cream from milk that you've all got more of than you know
what to do with, you could kill a critter once in a while in the
summer, an' keep the meat cool; you could have fresh meat off an' on,
instead o' cookin' pork seven days o' the week in hot weather, when it
sickens the women an' children to look at it.' They 'lowed that that
was so, an' they jawed it over for a while, an'--well, three or four
ice-houses are goin' up, between farms, next winter, an' we'll sell
some freezers, an' some men'll let up on drinkin'; for the worst bum
o' the lot 'lowed that he'd trade his thirsty any time, an' throw in
a quart o' Bustpodder's best to boot, for a good square fill o' friz
milk."
"So even ice-cream is a means of grace, Caleb--eh?" said Philip.
"That's what it is, an' I notice, too, that you don't laugh under your
mustache, like you used to do, when mention's made o' means o' grace."
But what rose is without its thorn? In the course of a few days the
word went about, among the very large class to whom everything is fuel
for the flame of gossip, that a lot of the Grand Army men had been
taken into the Somerton house, and found it a palace, the things in
which must have cost thousands of dollars, and that it was a shame
and an outrage that money should have been made out of the poor,
overworked country people to support two young stuck-ups from the city
in more luxury than Queen Elizabeth ever dreamed of; for who ever read
in history books of Queen Elizabeth having ice-cream? and didn't the
history books say that she had only rushes on her floors, instead
of even a rag carpet, to say nothing of picture carpets like the
Somertons'?
When the rumor reached the store, Philip ground his teeth, but Grace
laughed.
"I believe you'd laugh, even if they called your husband a swindler,"
said Philip.
"Indeed I would, at anything so supremely ridiculous," Grace said.
"Wouldn't you, Caleb?"
"I reckon I would. Anyhow, it sounds a mighty sight better than the
noise Philip made; besides, it's healthier for the teeth. It shows 'em
off better, too."
"Now, Mr. Crosspatch, how do you feel?"
"Utterly crushed. But what are you going to do about it?"
"I'm going to make those gossips ashamed of themselves."
"How?"
"By refurnishing the parlor for the summer. The dust is ruining our
nice things, so the change will be an economy. I'll do it so cheaply
that almost any farmer in the county can afford to copy it, to the
great delight of his wife, as well as himself. Let--me--see--" and
Grace dropped her head over a bit of paper and a pencil, and Caleb
looked at her admiringly, and winked profoundly at Philip, and then
hurried into the back room so that his impending substitute for an
ecstatic dance should not disturb the planner of the coming parlor
decorations.
For some reason--perhaps excitement over the bath-house, or surprise
at the uniforming of his Grand Army command, or the heat, or the
debilitating effect of old wounds--Philip pretended to believe it
was the effect of Grace's ice-cream upon a system not inured to such
compounds--Caleb suddenly became disabled by a severe malarial attack
with several complications. He did not take to his bed, but his
movements were mechanical, his manner apathetic, and his tongue almost
silent. He did not complain; and when questioned, he insisted that he
suffered no pain. Philip and Grace endeavored to tempt his appetite,
for he ate scarcely anything, and they tried to rally him by various
mental means, but without effect. He noted their solicitude, and its
sincerity impressed him so deeply that he said one day:--
"The worst thing about this attack is that I can't get words to tell
you how good you both are bein' to me. But I'm the same as a man that's
been hit with a club."
Then Philip and Grace insisted that Doctor Taggess should do something
for Caleb, and the Doctor said nothing would give him more pleasure;
for anything that would restore Caleb to health would probably be
serviceable in other cases of the same kind, of which there were
several on his hands. After listening to much well-meant but worthless
suggestion, the Doctor said:--
"There's a new treatment of which I've heard encouraging reports, but
it is quite costly. It is called the sea treatment. It is said, on good
authority, that a month at sea, anywhere in the temperate zone, will
cure any chronic case of malaria, and that the greater the attack of
sea-sickness, the more thorough will be the cure."
"Caleb shall try it, no matter what the cost," said Philip.