her—NOBODY?”
“Oh, she can move about a bit and get a bite and sup when she wants it. But she can’t work. It’s d–-d hard for a man to work hard all day and go home at night tired and hungry and cook his own meals. Sometimes I’m sorry I kicked old Rachel Edwards out.” Abel described Rachel picturesquely.
“Her face looked as if it had wore out a hundred bodies. And she moped. Talk about temper! Temper’s nothing to moping. She was too slow to catch worms, and dirty—d–-d dirty. I ain’t unreasonable—I know a man has to eat his peck before he dies—but she went over the limit. What d’ye sp’ose I saw that lady do? She’d made some punkin jam—had it on the table in glass jars with the tops off. The dawg got up on the table and stuck his paw into one of them. What did she do? She jest took holt of the dawg and wrung the syrup off his paw back into the jar! Then screwed the top on and set it in the pantry. I sets open the door and says to her, ‘Go!’ The dame went, and I fired the jars of punkin after her, two at a time. Thought I’d die laughing to see old Rachel run—with them punkin jars raining after her. She’s told everywhere I’m crazy, so nobody’ll come for love or money.”
“But Cissy MUST have some one to look after her,” insisted Valancy, whose mind was centred on this aspect of the case. She did not care whether Roaring Abel had any one to cook for him or not. But her heart was wrung for Cecilia Gay.
“Oh, she gits on. Barney Snaith always drops in when he’s passing and does anything she wants done. Brings her oranges and flowers and things. There’s a Christian for you. Yet that sanctimonious, snivelling parcel of St. Andrew’s people wouldn’t be seen on the same side of the road with him. Their dogs’ll go to heaven before they do. And their minister—slick as if the cat had licked him!”
“There are plenty of good people, both in St. Andrew’s and St. George’s, who would be kind to Cissy if YOU would behave yourself,” said Valancy severely. “They’re afraid to go near your place.”
“Because I’m such a sad old dog? But I don’t bite—never bit any one in my life. A few loose words spilled around don’t hurt any one. And I’m not asking people to come. Don’t want ‘em poking and prying about. What I want is a housekeeper. If I shaved every Sunday and went to church I’d get all the housekeepers I’d want. I’d be respectable then. But what’s the use of going to church when it’s all settled by predestination? Tell me that, Miss.”
“Is it?” said Valancy.
“Yes. Can’t git around it nohow. Wish I could. I don’t want either heaven or hell for steady. Wish a man could have ‘em mixed in equal proportions.”
“Isn’t that the way it is in this world?” said Valancy thoughtfully—but rather as if her thought was concerned with something else than theology.
“No, no,” boomed Abel, striking a tremendous blow on a stubborn nail. “There’s too much hell here—entirely too much hell. That’s why I get drunk so often. It sets you free for a little while— free from yourself—yes, by God, free from predestination. Ever try it?”
“No, I’ve another way of getting free,” said Valancy absently. “But about Cissy now. She MUST have some one to look after her—”
“What are you harping on Sis for? Seems to me you ain’t bothered much about her up to now. You never even come to see her. And she used to like you so well.”
“I should have,” said Valancy. “But never mind. You couldn’t understand. The point is—you must have a housekeeper.”
“Where am I to get one? I can pay decent wages if I could get a decent woman. D’ye think I like old hags?”
“Will I do?” said Valancy.
CHAPTER XV
Let us be calm,” said Uncle Benjamin. “Let us be perfectly calm.”
“Calm!” Mrs. Frederick wrung her hands. “How can I be calm—how could anybody be calm under such a disgrace as this?”
“Why in
“Oh, she can move about a bit and get a bite and sup when she wants it. But she can’t work. It’s d–-d hard for a man to work hard all day and go home at night tired and hungry and cook his own meals. Sometimes I’m sorry I kicked old Rachel Edwards out.” Abel described Rachel picturesquely.
“Her face looked as if it had wore out a hundred bodies. And she moped. Talk about temper! Temper’s nothing to moping. She was too slow to catch worms, and dirty—d–-d dirty. I ain’t unreasonable—I know a man has to eat his peck before he dies—but she went over the limit. What d’ye sp’ose I saw that lady do? She’d made some punkin jam—had it on the table in glass jars with the tops off. The dawg got up on the table and stuck his paw into one of them. What did she do? She jest took holt of the dawg and wrung the syrup off his paw back into the jar! Then screwed the top on and set it in the pantry. I sets open the door and says to her, ‘Go!’ The dame went, and I fired the jars of punkin after her, two at a time. Thought I’d die laughing to see old Rachel run—with them punkin jars raining after her. She’s told everywhere I’m crazy, so nobody’ll come for love or money.”
“But Cissy MUST have some one to look after her,” insisted Valancy, whose mind was centred on this aspect of the case. She did not care whether Roaring Abel had any one to cook for him or not. But her heart was wrung for Cecilia Gay.
“Oh, she gits on. Barney Snaith always drops in when he’s passing and does anything she wants done. Brings her oranges and flowers and things. There’s a Christian for you. Yet that sanctimonious, snivelling parcel of St. Andrew’s people wouldn’t be seen on the same side of the road with him. Their dogs’ll go to heaven before they do. And their minister—slick as if the cat had licked him!”
“There are plenty of good people, both in St. Andrew’s and St. George’s, who would be kind to Cissy if YOU would behave yourself,” said Valancy severely. “They’re afraid to go near your place.”
“Because I’m such a sad old dog? But I don’t bite—never bit any one in my life. A few loose words spilled around don’t hurt any one. And I’m not asking people to come. Don’t want ‘em poking and prying about. What I want is a housekeeper. If I shaved every Sunday and went to church I’d get all the housekeepers I’d want. I’d be respectable then. But what’s the use of going to church when it’s all settled by predestination? Tell me that, Miss.”
“Is it?” said Valancy.
“Yes. Can’t git around it nohow. Wish I could. I don’t want either heaven or hell for steady. Wish a man could have ‘em mixed in equal proportions.”
“Isn’t that the way it is in this world?” said Valancy thoughtfully—but rather as if her thought was concerned with something else than theology.
“No, no,” boomed Abel, striking a tremendous blow on a stubborn nail. “There’s too much hell here—entirely too much hell. That’s why I get drunk so often. It sets you free for a little while— free from yourself—yes, by God, free from predestination. Ever try it?”
“No, I’ve another way of getting free,” said Valancy absently. “But about Cissy now. She MUST have some one to look after her—”
“What are you harping on Sis for? Seems to me you ain’t bothered much about her up to now. You never even come to see her. And she used to like you so well.”
“I should have,” said Valancy. “But never mind. You couldn’t understand. The point is—you must have a housekeeper.”
“Where am I to get one? I can pay decent wages if I could get a decent woman. D’ye think I like old hags?”
“Will I do?” said Valancy.
CHAPTER XV
Let us be calm,” said Uncle Benjamin. “Let us be perfectly calm.”
“Calm!” Mrs. Frederick wrung her hands. “How can I be calm—how could anybody be calm under such a disgrace as this?”
“Why in
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