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Page 52
I remember precisely how pretty she was that morning. She wore a bright
dress,--blue, I think,--and a white crocus in her hair; she had a dainty
white apron tied on, "to cook in," she said, and her pink nails were
powdered with flour. Her eyes laughed and twinkled at me. I remember
thinking how young she looked, and how unready for suffering. I remember
that she brought the baby in after a while, and that Tip came all muddy
from the garden, dragging his tiny hoe over the carpet; that the window
was open, and that, while we all sat there together, a little brown bird
brought some twine and built a nest on an apple-bough just in sight.
I find it difficult to explain the anxiety which I felt, as the, morning
wore on, that dinner should be punctually upon the table at half past
twelve. But I now understand perfectly, as I did not once, the old
philosophy: "Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die."
It was ironing-day, and our dinners were apt to be late upon
ironing-days. I concluded that, if the soup were punctual, and not too
hot, I could leave myself ten or perhaps fifteen unoccupied minutes
before one o'clock. It strikes me as curious now, the gravity with which
this thought underran the fever and pain and dread of the morning.
I fell to reading my hymn-book about twelve o'clock, and when Alison
called me to dinner I did not remember to consult my watch.
The soup was good, though hot. A grim Epicurean stolidity crept over me
as I sat down before it. A man had better make the most of his last
chance at mock-turtle. Fifteen minutes were enough to die in.
I am confident that I ate more rapidly than is consistent with
consummate elegance. I remember that Tip imitated me, and that Allis
opened her eyes at me. I recall distinctly the fact that I had passed my
plate a second time.
I had passed my plate a second time, I say, and had just raised the
spoon to my lips, when it fell from my palsied hand; for the little
bronze clock upon the mantel struck one.
I sat with drawn breath and glared at it; at the relentless silver
hands; at the fierce, and, as it seemed to me, _living_ face of the Time
on its top, who stooped and swung his scythe at me.
"I would like a very _big_ white potato," said Tip, breaking the solemn
silence.
You may or may not believe me, but it is a fact that that is all which
happened.
* * * * *
I slowly turned my head. I resumed my spoon.
"The kitchen clock is nearly half an hour too slow," observed Alison. "I
told Jane that you would have it fixed this week."
I finished my soup in silence.
It may interest the reader to learn that up to the date of this article
"I still live."
"Little Tommy Tucker."
There were but three persons in the car; a merchant, deep in the income
list of the "Traveller," an old lady with two bandboxes, a man in the
corner with his hat pulled over his eyes.
Tommy opened the door, peeped in, hesitated, looked into another car,
came back, gave his little fiddle a shove on his shoulder, and walked
in.
"Hi! Little Tommy Tucker
Plays for his supper,"
shouted the young exquisite lounging on the platform in tan-colored coat
and lavender kid gloves.
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