Susan Clegg and Her Friend Mrs. LathropWarner, Anne
General
Susan Clegg and Her Friend Mrs. Lathrop
Warner, Anne
Humorous stories; United States -- Social life and customs -- 20th century -- Fiction
"Why, Susan, I never hear as you had one single--"
"Nor me, neither," said the caller,--and then the sluice-gates opened,
and the stream swept through and madly on again,--"nor me, neither,
Mrs. Lathrop. I never even dreamed o' any such goin's on, 'n' I c'n
assure you 's the shock 's come 's heavy on me 's on you. I went up
garret this mornin' 's innocent 's a babe whose mother 's yet unborn,
'n' there I found her."
"In the garret!" cried Mrs. Lathrop.
Miss Clegg drew a long breath.
"In a trunk. 'N' jus' 's unexpected 's the comin' o' Judgment Day.
Mrs. Lathrop, you c'n believe me or not jus' 's you please, but I give
you my Gospel word of honor as when I turned down the flap o' a trunk
'n' see that old mousey letter stuck in it cornerways, I no more
thought o' findin' a cousin than I did o' findin' a moth, 'n' _you_
know how scarce moths is with me; I ain't so much 's seen one 'xcept
on your side o' the house in twenty years, I do believe. 'N' I could
n't in conscience say 's I was pleased when I did see the letter, f'r
I thought's like 's not it was a bill, 'n' anyhow I wa'n't inclined to
be over-pleased at anythin' this mornin'--I persume you saw how the
minister come in on me?"
"Yes," said Mrs. Lathrop, "I see him. What--"
"Wanted to name the baby after me, 'n' I call it a pretty time to come
namin' a baby when a woman has got one leg on a ladder 'n' her head
tied up for bats. I thought he was the tin-peddler from Meadville, 'n'
I run f'r my rag-bag, 'n' then there it was only the minister after
all! Well, I was n't pleased a _tall_, 'n' I did n't ask him in,
neither. I stood fair 'n' square in the doorway, 'n' 'f he was
'xpectin' to see me look happy over havin' a compliment paid me, 't
was one more time 's he did n't get what he 'xpected. That was what he
called it,--'payin' me a compliment,'--'n' I mus' say 's it struck me
's pretty high-flown language f'r jus' simply wantin' to name a
thirteenth baby after the richest woman in the c'mmunity. Seems to me
thirteen was a good many to wait afore thinkin' o' me anyhow, 'n' I
ain't noways sure 's I want a thirteenth baby named after me anyway. I
never was foolish like some folks, 'n' you know _that_ 's well 's I
do, Mrs. Lathrop, but still you know, too, 's it's never nothin' but
safe to keep away fr'm the under side o' ladders 'n' the number
thirteen. I 've heard Gran'ma Mullins tell a dozen times 's how 'f she
'd never 'a' gone picnickin' on twice thirteen--that's twenty-six--o'
July she 'd never 'a' met her husband, 'n' might o' married Deacon
White. They was both after her, 'n' she picked out the wrong one, 'n'
first he went to the war 'n' then he went to the dogs, 'n' now there
she is in a four-room cottage 'n' Deacon White's wife orderin' a
patent ice-box out o' a catalogue 'n' him never sayin' a word. She c'd
'a' took a world o' comfort with his daughter, 'n' I don't believe she
takes none to speak o' with Hiram, 'n' anyway I was clean put out with
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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