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Page 39
"Another unexpected meeting!" she exclaimed. "My dear Mrs. Wick, you
_are_ looking worn out! Try my sal volatile--I insist!" and in the
general greeting momma was seen to back violently away from a long
silver bottle in every direction. Poppa had to interfere. "If it's all
the same to you, Aunt Caroline," he said, "Mrs. Wick is quite as usual,
though I think the Middle Agedness of this country is a little trying
for her at this time of year. She's just a little upset this morning by
seeing the cook plucking a rooster down in the backyard before he'd
killed it. The rooster was in great affliction, you see, and the way he
crowed got on momma's nerves. She's been telling us about it ever since.
But we hope it will pass off."
Mrs. Portheris expanded into that inevitable British story of the
officer who reported of certain tribes that they had no manners and
their customs were abominable, and I, at a mute invitation from Dicky,
stepped aside to get the angle of the Tower from a better point of view.
Mr. Dod was depressed, so much so that he came to the point at once. "I
hope you had a good time in Genoa," he said. "We should have been there
now, only I knew we should never catch up to you if we didn't skip
something. So I heard of a case of cholera there, and didn't mention
that it was last year. Quite enough for Her Ex. I say, though--it's no
use."
"Isn't it?" said I. "Are you sure?"
"Pretty confoundedly certain. The British lion's getting there, in great
shape--the brute. All the widow's arranging. With the widow it's 'Mr.
Dod, you will take care of _me_, won't you?' or 'Come now, Mr. Dod, and
tell me all about buffalo shooting on your native prairies'--and Mr. Dod
is a rattled jay. There's something about the mandate of a middle-aged
British female."
"I should think there was!" I said.
"Then Maffy, you see, walks in. They don't seem to have much
conversation--she regularly brightens up when I come along and say
something cheerful--but he's gradually making up his mind that the best
isn't any too good for him."
"Perhaps we don't begin so well in America," I interrupted
thoughtfully. "But then, we don't develop into Mrs. P.'s either."
Dicky seemed unable to follow my line of thought. "I must say," he went
on resentfully, "I like--well, just a _smell_ of constancy about a man.
A fellow that's thrown over ought to be in about the same shape as a
widower. But not much Maffy. I tried to work up his feelings over the
American girl the other night--he was as calm!"
"Dicky," said I, "there are subjects a man _must_ keep sacred. You must
not speak to Mr. Mafferton of his first--attachment again. They never do
it in England, except for purposes of fiction."
"Well, I worked that racket all I knew. I even told him that American
girls as often as not changed their minds."
"_Richard!_ He will think I--what _will_ he think of American girls! It
was excessively wrong of you to say that--I might almost call it
criminal!"
Dicky looked at me in pained surprise. "Look here, Mamie," he said, "a
fellow in my fix, you know! Don't get excited. How am I going to confide
in you unless you keep your hair on!"
"What, may I ask, did Mr. Mafferton say when you told him that?" I asked
sternly.
"He said--now you'll be madder than ever. I won't tell you."
"Mr. Dod--Dicky, haven't we been friends from infancy!"
"Played with the same rattle. Cut our teeth together."
"Well then----"
"Well then," he said, "do you mind putting your parasol straight? I like
to see the person I'm talking to, and besides the sun is on the other
side. He said he didn't think it was a privilege that should be extended
to all cases."
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