Bildungsromans; Families -- Fiction; Man-woman relationships -- Fiction; New England -- Fiction
“Well, Johnathan got sick o’ cobblin’ folkses’ shoes. Had a chance to
buy Dink Campbell’s box-shop. Didn’t do very well till young Nat got
stuck on a girl from A-higher. Commenced workin’ like the devil then,
Nat did, to get a stake so’s he could marry her. Caleb coached him, I
guess. Leastwise the town says so, and Cal ain’t never denied it. That
was ’fore his woman, the Duchess, died, and Cal started travelin’.
Anyhow, Nat worked like sixty down to the box-shop and planned when he
was twenty-one he’d marry the kid from A-higher. It was sort o’ too bad.
She give him the Grand Bounce, married another feller. Pore Natie got it
square between the eyes the night he turned twenty-one. He was plannin’
on marryin’ her the comin’ Christmas. Rotten deal! Hurt him awful!”
Madelaine’s throat was dry. She nodded.
“Care if I smoke, daughter?” the old man asked.
“Please do,” begged the girl. He was that type of picturesque old fellow
who looks at a loss without a corncob pipe. Uncle Joe pulled a package
of black shag from his hip, took his cob from off his desk and for
several moments meditated as he applied the shag to the bowl and tamped
it hard with a gnarled forefinger.
“’Course,” he went on, as the match flame leaped several times upon
being applied to the top of the pipe, “it’s only natcheral that Natie
should ‘a’ been sort of upset and all. Still, we didn’t calculate he’d
turn so quick and crazy-like, and pull off the stunt he did. I s’pose he
was just homesick for a woman, his Ma being pretty much a jawbones and
the home life at sixes and sevens. Anyhow, that very night when Natie
learned the other girl had married another feller, he goes plumb to work
and marries ‘Cock-eye’ Richards’ eldest girl, Milly—the dumpy one that
was always sloppy ’bout her shoes.”
“Married! He’s—married—then?”
“Oh, yaas, he’s married. Got a kid—girl kid! Been married—let’s see—been
married better’n five year now. Kid’s pretty good size. Goes to school,
I think.”
“Go on,” said the girl listlessly. “You said he was in jail.”
“Yaas—box-shop’s busted—high, wide and handsome.”
“Just how do you mean?”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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