ANOTHER DAY
Aroze. Got up. Dressed. Made me bed. Imtied me slops.
“I want you all to lissen to me” ses Miss Claire, adrissing the
assimbled family in the dining-room. “Now” ses she, “if I’m to be
housekaper and we cant afford but wan girl and the works altogether too
hevvy for Delia alone and shell be laving us if——”
“Sh!” says her mother, “spake lower. Shes in the bootlers pantry, making
the salad.
“Nonsinse” ses Mr. James, “shes at the keyhole lissening.”
“Well, but do lissen all,” airges Miss Claire. “Iverybody” ses she, “has
got to do his indivijool share of work. The lons must be cut. A garden
must be planted. Frish vegitables are absolootely nicissiry. James” ses
she swately, “_You_ can cut the lons.”
“Lons!” cryes he in thoondering toans. “I cut lons! Why me deer sister
its aginst me most artistick instink” ses he. “Its wan of me firm and
uncontradictible opinyons that lons shud remane uncut. Why annyone can
have _cut_ lons. Luk at the places around us, widout an ixcipshun the
lons are cut slick and smooth as a yooths chin. I tell you sister mine”
ses he “its more artistick to let your grass grow long.”
“Nonsinse” ses Miss Claire.
Here Mr. John tuk up the coodgills for his sister.
“Unkemp lons” ses he, “are artistick on the same principle as the ass is
a boheemyun who smoaks and drinks in out of way outlandish joynts and
has an inborn prejydiss aginst a manicar parlor. ‘Dirty nales’ ses he,
in the like toan of me brother ‘is artistick.’ Jimmy, boy, explane the
artistick sinse of uncut lons?”
“Deny it if you can” shouted Mr. James, thoomping on the table “I
challinge you. Do you mane to assert that the fat broaker who kapes his
lons and drives clane as a well swipt parlor has the same artistick
sinse as the chap who lets his grarss grow gracefully aloft kissing the
gintle seffers which swape the jewey——”
Here I heard the contemshus russel of Mr. John’s paper.
“Do be sinsible Jimmy” ses Mrs. Wolley. “Claire is quite right. The lons
must be cut. If we don’t cut them nobody’ll call on us. We’ll be marked
and shunned in this community.”
Here both Mr. James and John assayed to spake at wanse, the latter
aisily being drowned out by the thoonder toans of the hedstrung orthor.
“Mother!” ses he “I’m ashamed of you. Can I beleeve me eers. Is it me
own mother—the woman who gave me berth spaking? Do you achooly mane that
you are inspired wid a dred that these essenshilly vulger fatheaded
raskilly rich nayburs of ours may not call on us? What!” ses he,
drowning the interrupting voyce of Mr. John, “Do you _desire_ there
acquaytinse?”
“Me brotyer” ses Mr. John gintly, “finds his vocatshun rooning from his
finger tips to his tung. To him the mere fack of being rich is to be
likewise a fool and nave.”
“I claim” ses Mr. James thoomping on the table “that a man cannot make a
billion onestly. I agree wid me frind Andrew Carnegie, who denies he sed
it, that its impossible.”
“What of those who inherit?” ses Mrs. Wolley.
“Poony-soled, puppy heded eediots. What rite I asks have they to _kape_
the money stolen from the peeple by there fathers?”
Mr. Wolley put in a word here edgewise.
“It seems to me James” ses he “that you are wilfully departing from the
mooted subject. I belave in dyagression—to a limited extint—and whin by
gintle degrees it permits us to cum back to the subjeck under
discushion.”
“Yes” ses Miss Claire, “we must get back to the lons. Its settled. James
you will cut them at leest wanse a week.”
“Once a week! Lord God of Isreel!” grones Mr. James, “I’ll be a fissicle
reck befure the summer wanes.”
“Next” ses Miss Claire, “Johnny _you_ must take care of the horse.”
I thort Mr. John must be tearing up his paper, from the noyse of its
russeling. I pressed up closer to the dure.
“Claire, my deer” ses he, “I beg you think befure you spake. I’ve never
handled a horse in me life. If you contimplate the purchase of a baste,
you will have to hire a man to care for it. I draw” ses he “the lines at
stable work.”
“Very well” ses she, “_you_ can go walk the mile or 2 to the village
after the mail.”
“We’ll take turn about” ses Mr. John.
“What!” shouts Mr. James, “and me wid my grass cutting!”
“To orffset that” ses Miss Claire, “John can rayse our vigitables.”
“My deer child—” began Mr. John “I know not the first thing of—er——”
“You’re all just horrid.” ses Miss Claire and she pushed back her chare.
“Very well then, I wash my hands of the hole affare.”
“James” ses Mr. Wolley in sturn commanding toans, “You will cut the lons
as intercated by your sister. John” ses he “I will expect you to rayse
addecut vigitables for the table.”
“Daddy” ses Miss Claire, “_you’ll_ go to the Post-Office wont you like
an angel?”
“Certainly my deer” ses he, “It will give me grate pleshure.” A silence
followed here, and the auld gintleman must have bethort him of his hasty
promise, for ses he:
“We will kape a horse” ses he, “at a neerby livery stable.”
Mr. James bust out larfing.
“Whats my juties to be?” swately inquires Mrs. Wolley, trying to change
the paneful subject.
“Oh mamma” ses Miss Claire, “_you_ may care for the chickens.”
“Let me see” ses Mrs. Wolley “Aren’t there such things
as—er—lice—connected with chickens?”
“Yes deer—but if you’ll kape the coop always witewashed” ses Miss
Claire, “the lice’ll go.”
Mrs. Wolley coffed unaisily.
“And now _you_, miss?” shouts Mr. James, “what have you left for
yourself to do?”
“Theres a thousand and wan things, but as my cheef and spechul jooty
outside of the hivvy housekaping wid the constant tack and diplomassy it
intales to kape our unsertin Delia, I will undertake to—er—rayse sweet
_flowers_ for the beutifying of our lons and house.”
“Call _that_ work!” larfs Mr. James.
“You inappreeshitive duffer” ses Mr. John in his gintlest voyce. “I vote
that we adjoin.”
“One moment” ses Mr. James. “What of Billy? Is he to be the sole mimber
of this innergitick family to live in aise and lazy cumfut?”
“No indeedy” ses Miss Claire. “Never! Tho but 6 yeers of age, hes old
enuff to ern his daily bred. Willy” ses she “shall be our yuniversul
caddy. His will be the tax of carrying water to the hungry thoorsty wans
what toyle.”
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