At the Sign of the Jack O'Lantern Part 19

"It was partly my own fault, too, as I see later. I'd seen him a-carryin'

a pa.s.sel of health food around in his pocket an' a-nibblin' at it, but I supposed it was because the poor creeter had never had no one to cook proper for him, an' I took a lot of pleasure out of thinkin' how tickled he'd be when I made him one of my chicken pies.

"After we was married, we took a honeymoon to his folks, an' I'll tell you right now, my dear, that if there was more honeymoons took beforehand to each other's folks, there'd be less marryin' done than what there is. They was all a-eatin' hay an' straw an' oats just like the dumb creeters they disdained, an' a-carryin' wheat an' corn around in their pockets to piece out with between greens.

"So the day we got home, never knowin' what I was a-stirrin' up for myself, I turned in an' made a chicken an' oyster pie, an' it couldn't be beat, not if I do say it as shouldn't. The crust was as soft an' flaky an'

brown an' crisp at the edges as any I ever turned out, an' the inside was all chicken an' oysters well-nigh smothered in a thick, creamy yellow gravy.

"Well, sir, I brung in that pie, an' I set it on the table, an' I chirped out that dinner was ready, an' he come, an'--my dear! You never saw such goins'-on in all your born days! Considerin' that not eatin' animals makes people's dispositions mild an' pleasant, it was sunthin' terrible, an' me all the time as innercent as a lamb!

"I can't begin to tell you the things my new-made husband said to me. If chickens an' oysters was human, I'll bet they'd have sued him for slander.

He said that oysters was 'the scavengers of the sea'--yes'm, them's his very words, an' that chickens was even worse. He went on to tell me how they et worms an' potato bugs an' beetles an' goodness knows what else, an' that he wa'n't goin' to turn the temple of his body into no slaughter-house. He asked me if I desired to eat dead animals, an' when he insisted on an answer, I told him I certainly shouldn't care to eat 'em less'n they _was_ dead, and from then on it was worse 'n ever.

"He said that no dead animal was goin' to be interred in the insides of him or his lawful wife, an' he was goin' to see to it. It come out then that he'd never tasted meat an' hadn't rightly sensed what he was missin'.

"Well, my dear, some women would have took the wrong tack an' would have argyfied with him. There's never no use in argyfyin' with a husband, an'

never no need to, 'cause if you're set on it, there's all the rest of the world to choose from. When he'd talked himself hoa.r.s.e an' was beginnin' to calm down again, I took the floor.

"'Say no more,' says I, calm an' collected-like. 'This here is your house an' the things you're accustomed to eatin' can be cooked in it, no matter what they be. If I don't know how to put the slops together, I reckon I can learn, not being a plum idjit. If you want baked chicken feed and boiled hay, I'm here to bake 'em and boil 'em for you. All you have to do is to speak once in a polite manner and it'll be done. I must insist on the politeness, howsumever,' says I. 'I don't propose to live with any man what gets the notion a woman ceases to be a lady when she marries him. A creeter that thinks so poor of himself as that ain't fit to be my husband,' says I, 'nor no other decent woman's.'

"At that he apologised some, an' when a husband apologises, my dear, it's the same as if he'd et dirt at your feet. 'The least said the soonest mended,' says I, an' after that, he never had nothin' to complain of.

"But I knowed what his poor, cranky system needed, an' I knowed how to get it into him, especially as he'd never tasted meat in all his life. From that time on, he never saw no meat on our table, nor no chickens, nor sea scavengers, nor nothin', but all day, while he was gone, I was busy with my soup pot, a-makin' condensed extracts of meat for flavourin' vegetables an' sauces an' so on.

"He took mightily to my cookin' an' frequently said he'd never et such exquisite victuals. I'd make cream soups for him, an' in every one, there'd be over a cupful of solid meat jelly, as rich as the juice you find in the pan when you cook a first-cla.s.s roast of beef. I'd stew potatoes in veal stock, and cook rice slow in water that had had a chicken boiled to rags in it. Once I put a cupful of raw beef juice in a can of tomatoes I was cookin' and he et a'most all of 'em.

"As he kep' on havin' more confidence in me, I kep' on usin' more an'

more, an' a-usin' oyster liquor for flavourin' in most everything durin'

the R months. Once he found nearly a bushel of clam-sh.e.l.ls out behind the house an' wanted to know what they was an' what they was doin' there. I told him the fish man had give 'em to me for a border for my flower beds, which was true. I'd only paid for the clams--there wa'n't nothin' said about the sh.e.l.ls--an' the juice from them clams livened up his soup an'

vegetables for over a week. There wa'n't no day that he didn't have the vital elements of from one to four pounds of meat put in his food, an' all the time, he was gettin' happier an' healthier an' more peaceful to live with. When he died, he was as mild as a spring lamb with mint sauce on it.

"Now, my dear, some women would have told him what they was doin', either after he got to likin' the cookin' or when he was on his death-bed an'

couldn't help himself, but I never did. I own that it took self-control not to do it, but I'd learned my lesson from havin' been married twicet before an' never havin' fit any to speak of. I had to take my pleasure from seein' him eat a bowl of rice that had a whole chicken in it, exceptin' only the bones and fibres of its mortal frame, an' a-lappin' up mebbe a pint of tomato soup that was founded on eight nice pork chops. I'm a-tellin' you all this merely to show you my point. Every day, Henry was makin' a blame fool of himself without knowin' it. He'd prattle by the hour of slaughter-houses an' human cemeteries an' all the time he'd be honin' for his next meal.

"He used to say as how it was dretful wicked to kill the dumb animals for food, an' I allers said that there was nothin' to hinder his buyin' as many as he could afford to an' savin' their lives by pennin' 'em up in the back yard, an' a-feedin' 'em the things they liked best to eat till they died of old age or sunthin'. I told him they was all vegetarians, the same as he was, an' they could live together peaceful an' happy. I even pointed out that it was his duty to do it, an' that if all believers would do the same, the dread slaughter-houses would soon be a thing of the past, but I ain't never seen no food crank yet that's advanced that far in his humanity.

"I never told him a single word about it, nor even hinted it to him, nor told n.o.body else, though I often felt wicked to think I was keepin' so much pleasure to myself, but my time is comin'.

"When I'm dead an' have gone to heaven, the first thing I'm goin' to do is to hunt up Henry. They say there ain't no marriage nor givin' in marriage up there, but I reckon there's seven men there that'll at least recognise their wife when they see her a-comin' in. I'm goin' to pick up my skirts an' take off my gla.s.ses, so's I'll be all ready to skedaddle, for I expect to leave my rheumatiz behind me, my dear, when I go to heaven--leastways, no place will be heaven for me that's got rheumatiz in it--an' then I'm goin' to say: 'Henry, in all the four years you was livin' with me, you was eatin' meat, an' you never knowed it. You're nothin' but a human cemetery.' Oh, my dear, it's worth while dyin' when you know you're goin'

to have pleasure like that at the other end!"

XII

Her Gift to the World

"I regret, my dear madam," said Lawyer Bradford, twisting uneasily in his chair, "that I can offer you no encouragement whatsoever. The will is clear and explicit in every detail, and there are no grounds for a contest. I am, perhaps, trespa.s.sing upon the wishes of my client in giving you this information, but if you are remaining here with the hope of pecuniary profit, you are remaining here unnecessarily."

He rose as though to indicate that the interview was at an end, but Mrs.

Holmes was not to be put away in that fas.h.i.+on. Her eyes were blazing and her weak chin trembled with anger.

"Do you mean to tell me," she demanded, "that Ebeneezer voluntarily died without making some sort of provision for me and my helpless little children?"

"Your distinguished relation," answered Mr. Bradford, slowly, "certainly died voluntarily. He announced the date of his death some weeks before it actually occurred, and superintended the making of his own coffin. He wrote out minute directions for his obsequies, had his grave dug, and his shroud made, burned his papers, rearranged his books, made his will--and was found dead in his bed on the morning of the day set for his departure.

A methodical person," muttered the old man, half to himself; "a most methodical and systematic person."

Mrs. Holmes shuddered. She was not ordinarily a superst.i.tious woman, but there was something uncanny in this open partners.h.i.+p with Death.

"There was a diamond pin," she suggested, moodily, "worth, I should think, some fifteen or sixteen hundred dollars. Ebeneezer gave it to dear Rebecca on their wedding day, and she always said it was to be mine. Have you any idea where it is?"

Mr. Bradford fidgeted. "If it was intended for you," he said, finally, "it will be given to you at the proper time, or you will be directed to its location. Mrs. Judson died, did she not, about three weeks after their marriage?"

"Yes," snapped Mrs. Holmes, readily perceiving the line of his thought, "and I saw her twice in those three weeks. Both times she spoke of the pin, which she wore constantly, and said that if anything happened to her, she wanted me to have it, but that old miser hung on to it."

"Madam," said Mr. Bradford, a faint flush mounting to his temples as he opened the office door, "you are speaking of my Colonel, under whom I served in the war. He was my best friend, and though he is dead, it is still my privilege to protect him. I bid you good afternoon!"

She did not perceive until long afterward that she had practically been ejected from the legal presence. Even then, she was so intent upon the point at issue that she was not offended, as at another time she certainly would have been.

"He's lying," she said to herself, "they're all lying. There's money hidden in that house, and I know it, and what's more, I'm going to have it!"

She had searched her own rooms on the night of her arrival, but found nothing, and the attic, so far, had yielded her naught save discouragement and dust. "To think," she continued, mentally, "that after two of my children were born here and named for them, that we are left in this way!

I call it a shame, a disgrace, an outrage!"

Her anger swiftly cooled, however, as she went into the house, and her fond sight rested upon her darlings. Willie had a ball and had already broken two of the front windows. The small Rebecca was under the sofa, tempering the pleasure of life for Claudius Tiberius, while young Ebeneezer, having found a knife somewhere, was diligently scratching the melodeon.

"Just look," said Mrs. Holmes, in delighted awe, as Dorothy entered the room. "Don't make any noise, or you will disturb Ebbie. He is such a sensitive child that the sound of a strange voice will upset him. Did you ever see anything like those figures he is drawing on the melodeon? I believe he's going to be an artist!"

Crushed as she was in spirit by her uncongenial surroundings, Dorothy still had enough temper left to be furiously angry. In these latter days, however, she had gained largely in self-control, and now only bit her lips without answering.

But Mrs. Holmes would not have heard her, even if she had replied. A sudden yowl from the distressed Claudius impelled Dorothy to move the sofa and rescue him.

"How cruel you are!" commented Mrs. Holmes. "The idea of taking Rebbie's plaything away from her! Give it back this instant!"

Mrs. Carr put the cat out and returned with a defiant expression on her face, which roused Mrs. Holmes to action. "Willie," she commanded, "go out and get the kitty for your little sister. There, there, Rebbie, darling, don't cry any more! Brother has gone to get the kitty. Don't cry!"

But "brother" had not gone. "Chase it yourself," he remarked, coolly. "I'm going out to the barn."

"Dear Willie's individuality is developing every day," Mrs. Holmes went on, smoothly. "There, there, Rebbie, don't cry any more. Go and tell Mrs.

Smithers to give you a big piece of bread with lots of b.u.t.ter and jam on it. Tell her mamma said so. Run along, that's a nice little girl."

Rude squares, triangles, and circles appeared as by magic on the s.h.i.+ning surface of the melodeon, the young artist being not at all disturbed by the confusion about him.

"I am blessed in my children," Mrs. Holmes went on, happily. "I often wonder what I have done that I should have so perfect a boy as Willie for my very own. Everybody admires him so that I dwell in constant fear of kidnappers."

"I wouldn't worry," said Dorothy, with ill-concealed sarcasm. "Anybody who took him would bring him back inside of two hours."