American fiction -- 20th century; Country life -- Fiction
"Why, he was possessed to leave it. 'You look over the volumes,' he
says, 'and read 'em all you want to, and if you don't feel to subscribe
then, it sha'n't cost you a cent.' And he's comin' along here pretty
soon, and he's goin' to call, and if we don't conclude to keep 'em,
he'll take 'em right back."
"My king!" said Elihu. He looked at her in complete discouragement, and
Amarita returned his gaze with one bespeaking a conviction of her own
innocence. "Don't ye know no better'n that? Take 'em away! All the
takin' away he'll do'll be in a hog's eye. He'll say you bought 'em, and
ain't paid for 'em, and 'long about the first o' the month he'll send in
a bill for twelve books at a dollar and eighty-seven cents apiece."
Amarita made a picture of childlike misery. Her eyes had the piteous
look of coming tears, and she swallowed once or twice before speech was
possible.
"O Elihu," she breathed, "you don't really s'pose that, do you?"
"Course he will," said Elihu. "That's the way they do--come drivin'
along a time o' day when there's no menfolks to home, and take in the
womenfolks. They know women ain't got no business trainin'. How do they
know it? Because they've tried it over 'n' over, and every time they've
come out ahead."
The tears were dropping now, and Amarita walked hastily away to conceal
them, and got down her dish-pan, although the table was not yet cleared.
By the time she had turned from the sink again, a shadow of her
hopefulness came wanly back.
"I don't believe he's that kind of a fellow," she faltered. "He talked
real fair. I thought I should admire to look 'em over. I thought maybe
we could read some out loud in the evenin', while your mother knit."
"'Talk fair!' Course he talked fair," said Elihu. "That's a part on 't.
I'll bet a dollar if you's in a court o' law you couldn't remember what
he said."
"I could the sense of it."
"That's it! Why, don't ye know, when anything's business, it's got to be
jest so and no other way? 'Tain't surprisin' you shouldn't. Womenfolks
ain't called on to do brain work, any to speak of--well, keep school
they may, and a matter o' that--but when it comes to business--d'ye have
any witnesses?"
"No," said Amarita, in a small voice.
"Well, you've done about as bad for yourself as ye could, fur 's I can
see. Now, you hearken to me. You leave that packin'-case where he set
it, and don't you move it so much as a hair to the right or the left,
and don't you lift the cover. And if that feller ever darkens these
doors, you come and call me."
Then Elihu rose and took a candle and went off to his desk in the
sitting-room, and Amarita cleared the table with swift, sweeping
motions, as if she longed to hurl the dishes from her. Old Mis' Meade
came heavily back from her bedroom.
"Well," said she, in the scorn sprung from experience, "I never seen
sich actions. Terrible time, an' nobody to it! What made ye tell him?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account