People who wondered what Mr. and Mrs. Pouch saw in each other could not
realize that he saw in her a fellow-sufferer who upheld him with her
love in all his terrors. She was everything that his office was
not--peace without demand for money; glowing admiration and raptures of
passion.
What she saw in him was what a mother sees in a crippled child that runs
home to her when the play of the other boys is too swift or too rough.
She saw a good man, who could not fight because he could not slash and
trample and loot. She saw what the Belgian peasant women saw--a little
cottage holder staring in dismay at the hostile armies crashing about
his homestead.
The only comfort Eddie found in the situation was the growing
realization that it was hopeless. The drowsy opiate of surrender began
to spread its peace through his soul. His torment was the remorse of
proving a traitor to his dead uncle's glory. The feather-dustery that
had been a monument was about to topple into the weeds. Eddie writhed at
that and at his feeling of disloyalty to the employees, who would be
turned out wageless in a small town that was staggering under the burden
of hard times.
He made a frantic effort to keep going on these accounts, but the battle
was too much for him. He could not imagine ways and means--he knew
nothing of the ropes of finance. He was like a farmer with a scythe
against sharpshooters. Ellaphine began to fear that the struggle would
break him down. One night she persuaded him to give up.
She watched him anxiously the next morning as his fat little body,
bulging with regrets, went meekly down the porch steps and along the
walk. The squeal of the gate as he shoved through sounded like a groan
from his own heart. He closed the gate after him with the gentle care he
gave all things. Then he leaned across it to wave to his Pheeny. It was
like the good-by salute of a man going to jail.
Ellaphine moped about the kitchen, preparing him the best dinner she
could to cheer him when he came home at noon. To add a touch of grace
she decided to set a bowl of petunias in front of him. He loved the
homely little flowers in their calico finery, like farmers' daughters at
a picnic. Their cheap and almost palpable fragrancy delighted him when
it powdered the air. She hoped that they would bring a smile to him at
noon, for he could still afford petunias.
She was squatting by the colony aligned along the walk, and her big
sunbonnet hid her unbeautiful face from the passers-by and theirs from
her, when she caught a glimpse of Luella Thickins coming along, giggling
with the banker's son. Luella put on a little extra steam for the
benefit of Ellaphine, who was glad of her sunbonnet and did not look up.
Later there came a quick step, thumping the boardwalk in a rhythm she
would have recognized but for its allegrity. The gate was opened with a
sweep that brought a shriek from its old rheumatic hinge, and was
permitted to swing shut with an unheeded smack. Ellaphine feared it was
somebody coming with the haste that bad news inspires. Something awful
had happened to Eddie! Her knees could not lift her to face the evil
tidings. She dared not turn her head.
Then she heard Eddie's own voice: "Pheeny! Pheeny, honey! Everything's
all right!"
Pheeny spilled the petunias and sat down on them. Eddie lifted her up
and pushed his glowing face deep into her sunbonnet, and kissed her.
Luella Thickins was coming back and her giggling stopped. She and the
banker's son, who were just sauntering about, exchanged glances of
disgust at the indecorous proceeding. Later Luella resumed her giggle
and enjoyed hugely her comment:
"Ellar looks fine in a sunbonnet! The bigger it is, the better she
looks."