Irish -- United States -- Fiction; New York (N.Y.) -- Fiction; Runaway wives -- Fiction
“No mother! Mr. O'Day! God rest your soul, she won't need to do without
one long, she's that lovely. There'll be plenty will want to mother, and
brother her, too, for that matter. My goodness, what a place ye made of
it! Look at them lamps, all fireworks up there, and that big chair! I
wonder who robbed a church to get it! Well--well---WELL! John! did
ye ever see the like? Otto, ye ought to rent this place out for a
chowder-party ball. Well, well, I NEVER!”
The comments of some of the others, while they voiced their complete
surprise, were less enthusiastic. Bundleton, after shaking hands with
Felix and Kitty, and then with Kling, dropped his wife and made a tour
of the room without uttering a sound of any kind until he reached Felix
again, when he remarked gravely: “I should think it would worry you some
to keep the moths out of this stuff,” and then passed on to tell Kling
he must look out “them lamps didn't spill and set things on fire.”
Porterfield, as was to be expected, was distinctly practical. “Awful lot
of truck when you get it all together, ain't it, Mr. O'Day? I was
just tellin' my wife that them two chairs up t'other side of the room
wouldn't last long in my parlor, they're that wabbly. But maybe these
Fifth Avenue folks don't do no sittin'--just keep 'em in a glass case to
look at.”
Pestler was more discerning. He had come across an iridescent glass jar,
and was edging around for an opportunity to ask Kling the price without
letting Felix overhear him--it being an occasion, he knew, in which Mr.
O'Day would feel offended if business were mentioned. “Might do to put
in my window, if it didn't cost too much,” he had begun, and as suddenly
stopped as he caught Felix's eyes fastened upon him.
There were others, however, whose delight could not be repressed. Tim
Kelsey, after the proper greetings were over, had wandered off down
the room, stopping to examine each article in its place on the walls.
Finally some pieces of old Delft caught his eye. He made a memorandum of
two in a little book he took from his inside pocket, and later on, when
a break in the surrounding conversation made it possible, remarked
to Felix: “They seem to get everything in the new Delft but the old
delicious glaze. On a wall it doesn't matter, but you don't feel like
putting real old Delft on a wall. I like to stroke it, as I would a
friend's hand.”
These inspections and comments over, and that peculiar timidity which
comes over certain classes lifted out of their customary environment and
doing their best to become accustomed to new surroundings having begun
to wear away under the tactful welcome of Felix, and the hour having
arrived for the grand ceremony of gift-giving, the throne was pushed
back, Masie called from behind her screen, and O'Day's wicker basket
filled with the presents was laid by the side of the big chair.
Kling and Kitty were now beckoned to and placed on the left of the
throne, Felix taking up his position on the right.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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