THE TRIVIAL ROUND
These things and many more happened in the winter; in February, to be
exact. A month later, when I came to make my annual visit in beloved
Cyrus, things had "simpered down," as Mr. Mallow said. The excitement of
Kitty's arrival, followed by the nine days' wonder of Miss Johanna
Ross's return, were--not forgotten, no indeed! but laid away in
spiritual camphor, as it were, to be aired and shaken out from time to
time.
"My dear," said Madam Flynt (one's first visit was always to Madam
Flynt, one's second to the Misses Bygood: it was a Propriety of
Cyrus!)--"it is not only that we could not get along without Kitty: we
have forgotten that we ever did get along without her. She drives too
fast; I go in fear of my life when we turn a corner; but except for
that, it is an ideal arrangement."
"The dear Doctor always drove fast!" Miss Croly looked up pensively from
her knitting. "I suppose Kitty learned it naturally from him."
"I suppose she did; but the dear Doctor never broke my neck, Cornelia
Croly."
"Kitty has not broken it, Clarissa, has she?"
"Not yet, and I don't mean she shall. Where are you going, Cornelia?"
"To get your milk-posset!" Miss Croly was rolling up her knitting
methodically. "It is four o'clock."
"I don't want milk-posset: get me some orange-juice!"
"The Doctor recommended milk-posset!" Miss Croly's tone was mild, but
firm. "I will try to make it palatable, Clarissa."
"I tell you I won't have it! Whose house is this, I should like to
know?"
"Yours, assuredly, Clarissa. I can leave it at any moment you desire,
but while here I must do my duty as I see it."
"What a pretty scarf, Miss Croly!" I said hastily. How natural to be a
buffer again! "Is it for a baby?"
Madam Flynt uttered something between a snort and a chuckle.
"Baby, indeed! I don't wonder you ask, my dear. Tell her what it's for,
Cornelia Croly!"
"For the deep-sea fishermen, my love!" Miss Croly glowed softly. "Most
people send them gray mufflers, you know, but I feel as if a little
variety, a touch of color, in their dangerous lives, would be desirable.
The ocean! so grand, but so fraught with peril!"
"In a storm, you understand," Madam Flynt actually snorted this time; "a
pink, blue and yellow muffler would be more comforting than a gray one.
Of course! Any one can see that!"
"You are pleased to be facetious, my dear Clarissa;" Miss Croly paused,
her hand on the door; "but I conceive that in case of disaster, the
attention of a--of a bark of rescue would be more readily attracted by
the waving of a bright object than of a dull one!"
She slipped out quickly and shut the door quietly upon the last word.
Madam Flynt looked after her with an air of exasperation.
"The most provoking woman--I have half a mind to call her back! What
were you saying, my dear?"
I was saying as quickly as I could how very well Madam Flynt was
looking. I hoped the rheumatism was fairly routed this time. The dear
lady's brow cleared at once.
"Much better! I am bound to say that it is much better than I ever
expected it to be. Cornelia Croly, who has really more sense than you
would give her credit for"--she cast another exasperated glance at the
door--"says that I seem ten years younger, and I certainly do move much
more freely than I have for years. It is partly the driving: Kitty is a
delightful companion, you know, and she keeps me out a good part of the
afternoon, instead of skimping the last ten minutes of the hour, as
Flanagan did--old wretch! His carriage was uncomfortable, too, and as
for his horses! Every day he would ask regularly whether I would have
'the plain hoss or the double-speeder:' the double-speeder went about
four miles an hour; as for the other--well, he's dead, and Flanagan,
too, so no matter. John Tucker's horses, and the cee springs, and Kitty
and all, makes driving a very different matter, I can tell you. But
besides that, my dear, I verily believe"--Madam Flynt nodded this time,
till her green cap ribbons quivered--"I verily believe Johanna has
something to do with it!"
"Johanna?"
Well, I had only arrived the day before, and Kitty was out when I flew
into Ross House on my way to Madam Flynt's: going to Kitty's did not
count as a visit, of course!
"You don't mean you haven't heard? My dear!" Madam Flynt's handsome
hands were trembling with eagerness, her lips began to shape the words
before she could find voice to utter them. "You don't mean you haven't
heard?" she repeated. Madam Flynt was no gossip, but she loved to talk,
and going out so little, she had fewer opportunities than the
Gadderenes, as Dr. Ross used to call some of his neighbors. One's first
visit was made to her, as I have said: but ten to one Cissy Sharpe or
her mother had waylaid one on the way from the station, with "Oh, howdy
do! quite a stranger! Have you heard"--and before getting free one had
heard.
"Johanna Ross--Kitty's aunt, the Doctor's only sister; very likely you
never heard of her, my dear, just visiting as you do"--(Oh, Madam Flynt!
as if I were not Cyrus born and bred, and exiled through no fault of
mine!)--"but--well, anyhow, she has come home after _twenty years_ of
absence; and what is more she has _taken to her bed_, and there she is!"
Madam Flynt drew herself up and nodded gravely: the green satin cap
ribbons following suit.
"Is she seriously ill?" I asked, wondering.
"My dear! she _says_ there is nothing whatever the matter with her
except fatigue. I can understand that!" she nodded again. "Perfectly.
One doesn't always care to discuss chronic or deep-seated troubles.
Sometimes when people say 'rheumatism' to me, I want to throw the
fire-irons at them. I don't mean you, my dear; perfectly natural and
right for you to ask; I should have been hurt if you hadn't. Well! there
Johanna is, as I said. I go over to see her once a week--walk over, with
the step of youth, Cornelia Croly says, and there I find her in her bed,
looking as permanent as the Pyramids."
At this moment Miss Croly came in softly with the milk-posset. Madam
Flynt took it with an absent-minded, "Thanks, Cornelia!" drank it off,
then paused with a look of discomfiture.
"I told you I wouldn't take it!" she said sharply.
"Your natural good sense"--murmured Miss Croly with a glance at the
empty cup--"the Doctor recommended----"
"Hang the Doctor! and you, too!" exclaimed Madam Flynt.
"You--you--you--_go away_, Cornelia Croly! go and"--Miss Croly was
already at the door, aggressive meekness in every line of face and
figure--"and bring me my smelling-salts, if you will have the goodness!"
The last words were spoken with austere dignity: but, the door once
closed, Madam Flynt's sense of humor was too much for her. Her lips
began to twitch, her eyes to twinkle even under the bent brows of anger.
She struggled for a moment, then burst into a hearty fit of laughter.
"The old fox!" she cried. "She gets the better of me every time! every
time, Mary! She's chuckling to herself now, but she'll come in as sober
as--thank you, Cornelia! I hope you haven't over-exerted yourself!" as
Miss Croly, still aggressively meek, retired to a corner with her
rainbow scarf. Dear me! yes, she always sat in that uncomfortable chair
when they had had a tiff.
"What was I saying, my dear?" Madam Flynt rubbed her nose with her
silver spectacle-case, and threw a vexed glance toward the corner.
"Oh, yes, Johanna! like the Pyramids, my dear, I assure you! I don't
mean in looks" (I had a moment's vision of Cheops with a nightcap tilted
over his apex) "she looks like a picture--but in permanence. Sits up
morning and evening to have her bed made: and, as Cornelia Croly says,
in some mysterious way it makes me feel younger just to look at her.
Cornelia, stop being ridiculous, and come out of that corner. I didn't
really swear at you, though you are enough to make one."
Seeing reconciliation imminent, I slipped away, to find my Kitty in the
stable. My Kitty! I was just as foolish about her as any one else. I had
not seen her since all the happenings, but by and by we were quiet and
comfortable, and combing out Pilot's beautiful mane, as if we had never
been away, either of us. Kitty confided to me that she was awaiting John
Tucker's return in trepidation, not to say terror. She had bought a new
horse, bought it all by herself, without John Tucker's seeing it. That
is, not actually bought it, but taken it on trial.
"How could I? Mary, I don't know! We had decided that we must have a
third horse. The business is growing so, my dear! Mr. Chanter's horse is
lame, and I have to take the dear man on his out-of-town calls. _Such_
fun! well, this morning--oh! oh! Mary! here is John Tucker. Now I must
confess to him. Stay by me, won't you?"
Dan and John Tucker came into the stable, a sturdy, handsome pair. I was
warmly greeted (I, too, had been Don Tutter's Dal when time was) and
allowed to lead Dan into his stall. I hurried to the harness room in
time to hear Kitty's confession, she standing like a schoolgirl with her
hands behind her, John Tucker in that state of glowing pride in her that
he could hardly take in the situation.
"John Tucker, dear, I have bought a horse!"
"You have, Miss Kitty? You _have_? Well, to be sure! the spirit of you!
I'll bet he's a good one."
"He's a miracle, John! A beautiful bright bay, with a star on his
forehead, and four white stockings; you know I never could abide odd
stockings."
"No, Miss! To be sure not. Where did you get him, if I may make so bold,
Miss Kitty?"
"Don't talk about making bold, John Tucker. It's I who have been making
bold. I am scared out of my wits, you know I am, but he _is_ such a
beauty! Let's sit down, John Tucker dear, and I'll tell you all about
it."
Perched sidewise on the arm of a chair, her hands clasped on her knee,
her chin tilted up, Kitty was so enchanting an object that I could not
wonder at John Tucker's fatuous expression. Probably if she had told him
of the purchase of a giraffe or an elephant, he would have looked no
less fatuous. As it was----
"You see, John," Kitty began slowly, taking out a hatpin and jabbing it
into the arm of the chair to punctuate her remarks, "I took Mr. Chanter
to see a poor old Thing who is sick, and in trouble besides; sad
trouble, I'm afraid. Her son hasn't been doing well lately;
but--well--he is a good son to her, only he has been unfortunate. He
deals in horses----"
John Tucker looked up. "What was the name, did you say, Miss?"
"I didn't say, John Tucker dear, but the name is Boody; Mrs. L. M.
Boody. Her son is L. M., too. I don't know----"
"Ellum Boody: Slippery Ellum!" murmured John Tucker. "Scuse me, Miss
Kitty. Luke his name is, but he's known like I say. Scuse me, Miss
Kitty!"
"Oh, I _hope_ he isn't slippery, John Tucker, dear. Let me tell you! I
was sitting out in Mr. Chanter's buggy, when he--Boody, I mean--drove
into the yard with this horse. His name is Hero, John; good name, don't
you think? I was taken with him at once; such a beautiful color, and
holds his head so well! The man touched his hat, and was very civil; I
said how handsome the horse was, and he was _most_ enthusiastic. Said he
had never had such a fine horse in his stable, and he wouldn't part with
him for a gold mine if things weren't just as they were. So I asked was
he thinking of selling him, because you know we decided we _had_ to have
one, John; and he said yes, if the right party could be found. 'For sell
that hoss to the wrong party is what I couldn't do, not if he was the
Angel Gable!' he said. Then I asked about him, you know; six years old,
sound and kind, a lady's horse every inch of him, Boody said, and
wouldn't I like to take a turn behind him while I waited. So I did, and
he is a _good_ roadster, John; eight or ten miles an hour, I should
think; Boody says twelve, but I'm not sure----" I glanced at John Tucker
and saw that he was not sure. "Good action! lifts his feet a _little_
high, but Boody says that is his spirit; and as to his disposition,
John, just _think_ what he did one day! Some women hired him, Boody
says, and put him in their own wagon, and _forgot to fasten the
breeching_. They drove him seven miles over that rough road by Gambrel
Hill, all ups and downs, you know, and he _never did a thing_! What do
you think of that, John Tucker?"
"Sounds as if he might be some hoss!" said John Tucker cautiously.
"You've took him on trial, you say, Miss Kitty?"
"Yes, John, a week. I thought in that time--why, here he is now, this
very minute!"
A man was driving into the yard in a light trotting sulky. We all
hastened out into the yard.
"You _were_ quick, Mr. Boody!" cried Kitty. "This is Mr. Boody, John
Tucker, and this is Hero: isn't he a beauty?"
"Mornin', Slip!"
"Mornin', Tucker!"
Both men spoke gravely. Seeing that they knew each other, Kitty
exchanged a glance with me, and we slipped back a pace. Followed remarks
on the weather. It was seasonable, take it by and large, but dry. What
we wanted was a nice warm rain. That was right; dry May made poor hay,
no two ways to that. John Tucker, still grave, inquired for the health
of Mr. Boody's Ma; he trusted she was smart these days. It appeared that
she was slim, Mr. Boody was obliged to John Tucker for askin'. Her
victuals didn't nourish her: any one gettin' on in years, they had to be
nourished, you understand. John Tucker expected that was right, too.
Upon this, both men pondered; John Tucker scrutinizing a wart on his
left knuckle, Mr. Boody whistling through his teeth and looking up at
the clouds. Presently:
"Got a new hoss, I see!" said John Tucker.
"Yep!" Mr. Boody's gaze came down with alacrity. "The lady thought she'd
like to try him. Best hoss ever I had in my stable, bar none. Pequot out
of Lady Lansing: sound and kind anywhere; lady's hoss every inch of him.
Rising six, and not an out about him. You get that hoss and you'll
get----"
Boody paused abruptly. John Tucker had lifted one of the bay's hind
feet, and was examining it carefully. Presently he straightened himself
and looked at Boody.
"I was to Rochester Fair last fall!" he said.
"You was?" A curious change came over Mr. Boody's countenance. It seemed
to flatten itself in a singular way, while his mouth widened into an
uneasy grin. "Pooty good show, wasn't it?" he said.
"Pooty fair! good truck, and middlin' stock. The most re-markable thing
I see at that fair"--John Tucker spoke slowly, and there was a certain
metallic quality in his voice that made Kitty look at him quickly--"the
most re-markable was a young hoss; bright bay, as it might be this hoss:
same color, same markin's; he was a pictur' to look at, he sure was.
Well, sir, I see that hoss take and kick the wagon he was hitched to
into pieces that the biggest of 'em wouldn't sell to a match factory. I
was surprised!"
There was a silence. Then L. M. Boody spoke, a hint of bluster in his
voice.
"Wal!" he said. "A kicker is a poor hoss, sure enough; but all kickers
ain't bay, nor all bays ain't kickers. I brung this hoss for the lady to
try, like she said for me to. Where shall I leave him? Is she boss here,
or are you?"
His speech was insolent, his look craven. John Tucker stepped forward,
his sixty years resting very lightly on him. His meditative drawl gave
place to quick, ringing speech.
"Miss Ross is boss here," he said, "and that hoss shall go anywhere she
tells me to put him. Before she gives her orders, she's going to hear
what I have to say--if you have the time to spare, Miss--Miss Ross!" He
turned to Kitty with a bow and gesture that would not have shamed a
court. Kitty's cheeks were flushing and her eyes widening and darkening.
One knew precisely what the Chanters meant by saying that her eyes were
sometimes a mile round.
"If you please, John!" she said quietly.
Then John Tucker, standing very straight, thus delivered himself.
"Miss Kitty, I'm a common man, and I may be mistook; but if I know
anything--anything _at all_, let alone hosses--this young hoss is that
identical young hoss that I see kick that shay to slivers over to
Rochester. How do I know? Well, his color is the same, his markin's is
the same, his shape and his action is the same. But that ain't all! That
young hoss over to Rochester, he was a pictur' fer looks, same as this
one; but yet when I looked in his countenance, I felt someways or
another as if I couldn't say nothin' favorable about him. Don't know how
'tis, but that feelin' 'll come over me, 'bout a hoss or 'bout a bein',
'cordin' to; and when it comes, _I know it's right_. Now that same
feelin' has come over me about this young hoss. And why?" John Tucker's
voice rose. "Because he is the same hoss! But that ain't all!" as Mr.
Boody was about to speak. "You might say one bust don't set a hoss down
a kicker. That is so, but I say this ain't a case of one bust; I say
this hoss has been kickin' within twenty-four hours."
"Like to see you prove it!" said Boody. "Easy there, Hero! He knows
you're slanderin' him. You can't fool this hoss. You'll get into
trouble, John Tucker. I'll have the law of you if----"
The horse had laid back his ears, and was settling back in a curious
way.
"Look out!" said John Tucker sharply.
Boody, with a muttered curse and a savage look, laid his whip heavily
over the horse's withers. The animal hesitated a moment, then sprang
forward; another moment, and they had vanished round the corner in a
cloud of dust.
John Tucker turned to Kitty with an apologetic air.
"I'm sorry, Miss Kitty!" he said. "I'm real sorry. I would of if I
could----"
"Oh, John Tucker, don't!" Kitty was scarlet, her eyes flashing, her
hands clenched. "The _horrid_ man! Oh, I am so grateful to you, John!
But how _did_ you know?"
"Well, Miss Kitty, you see, 'twas easy enough, look at it one way. I'd
seed the hoss before, seed him at his tricks, too. Yes'm: I'd seed him
before, and--" a joke began to twinkle in John Tucker's eyes, and spread
all over him till he became incandescent; you could have lighted a match
at him; "and now I've seed him behind! haw! haw! You see me lift up his
off hind foot? Well, why did I do that? Because when he shifted his
footin' I see a spark of yeller. Come to look, and lo ye, his hoof was
kind o' crushed in above the shoe, where he'd struck iron, and there was
a flake of yellow paint on it big as my thumb nail."
"And he knew that!" Kitty was pale now, not with fear but with anger.
"The scoundrel!"
"Well!" John Tucker pulled out his jack-knife and made a thoughtful
incision in the door-jamb. "I dono as I'd just say that; I dono as he's
a scoundrel; he's a trader! I've heard it said,--I dono as it's so, and
I dono _as_ it is--but I've heard it said that there ain't no one, not
even a minister of the Gospel, a holy man, but what he'll stretch the
truth just a little grain in a hoss trade."
John Tucker closed his jack-knife with a snap. "Forget it, Miss Kitty!"
he said, and his tone expressed finality. "You won't have no more
trouble with Slippery Ellum. He thought he'd try it on, that's all, to
keep his hand in, like; tradin' is like drink to him. Hark! there's that
hen again!"
"What hen, John?"
John Tucker chuckled and made a gesture of caution.
"Now I'll show ye something curious, gals. I would say young ladies. You
hear that hen cackle? Well, it's that little Brown Leghorn. She's made
her nest in Dan's manger, and she won't lay nowhere else, not if the
President was to ask her. Easy now! Don't let Dan see you!"
Cautiously, we followed him into the stable, flattening ourselves
against the wall so that we could not be seen from the loose boxes; very
cautiously we peeped round the window opening. Dan, wisest of horses
since old Victory died, was standing in the middle of the box, every
fibre of him alert, his eyes fixed on a corner of the manger. In this
corner sat a Brown Leghorn hen, proclaiming to the world that she had
laid an egg. Having made this perfectly clear, she rose slowly from her
nest, clucked, cocked an approving eye at the egg, clapped her wings,
said, "Scraw!" several times, finally hopped down to the barn floor and
departed, presumably in search of corn. In a flash, Dan's velvet nose
was in the nest. Carefully he lipped the egg, daintily he took it in his
teeth; a crack, a gulp; luncheon was over, and Dan looked up as we
advanced, with eyes of innocent welcome.
"Why, Dan!" cried Kitty. "You old fox! Do you mean that he does this
regularly, John?"
"Reg'lar every day since she begun to lay. I'd ought to stop him, but
honest, he's so cute, and so quick, I'd need to spend the mornin'
watchin'!"
"Sugar, please!" said Dan. "I am very hungry!"
"You really ought to be ashamed, Dan." Kitty was searching in her
pocket. "You are extremely greedy, beloved. You shall have only one
lump, and Pilot shall have two, because he has had no egg. Oh, me! there
is the supper bell. We must run, Mary!"
Sarepta, at the kitchen door, bell in hand, addressed us with severity.
"Supper's ready, girls. Come in just as you are, Kitty, or the waffles
will be leathery. Hasten, now!"
"Mary," said Kitty, as we scurried across the yard, "do you suppose I
shall ever be more than ten years old, in blessed Cyrus?"