The Little Brown Jug at KildareNicholson, Meredith
General
The Little Brown Jug at Kildare
Nicholson, Meredith
Fathers and daughters -- Fiction; Governors -- Fiction; Humorous stories; North Carolina -- Fiction; South Carolina -- Fiction
It was undoubtedly a vigorous epistle, and Ardmore felt the thrill of
its rhetorical sentences as he read. The official letter paper on which
it was typewritten, and the signature of William Dangerfield, governor
of North Carolina, affixed in a bold hand, were sobering in themselves.
The dignity and authority of one of the sovereign American states was
represented here, and he handed the paper back to Miss Dangerfield as
tenderly as though it had been the original draft of Magna Charta.
"It's a corker, all right."
"I don't much like the way it ends. It says, right here"--and she bent
forward and pointed to the place under criticism--"it says, 'Trusting to
your sense of equity, and relying upon a continuance of the traditional
friendship between your state and mine, I am, sir, awaiting your reply,
very respectfully, your obedient servant.' Now, I wouldn't trust to his
sense of anything, and that traditional friendship business is just
fluffy nonsense, and I wouldn't be anybody's obedient servant. I decided
when I wasn't more than fifteen years old, with a lot of other girls in
our school, that when we got married we'd never say obey, and we never
have, though only three of our class are married yet, but we're all
engaged."
"Engaged?"
"Of course; we're engaged. I'm engaged to Rutherford Gillingwater, the
adjutant-general of this state. You couldn't be my private secretary if
I wasn't engaged; it wouldn't be proper."
The earth was only a flying cinder on which he strove for a foothold.
She had announced her engagement to be married with a cool finality that
took his breath away; and not realizing the chaos into which she had
flung him, she returned demurely to the matter of the letter.
"We can't change that letter, because it's signed close to the 'obedient
servant' and there's no room. But I'm going to put it into the
typewriter and add a postscript."
She sat down before the machine and inexpertly rolled the sheet into
place; then, with Ardmore helping her to find the keys, she wrote:
I demand an imediate reply.
"_Demand_ and _immediate_ are both business words. Are you sure there's
only one _m_ in immediate? All right, if you know. I reckon a postscript
like that doesn't need to be signed. I'll just put 'W. D.' there with
papa's stub pen, so it will look really fierce. Now, you're the
secretary; you copy it in the copying press and I'll address the
envelope."
"Don't you have to put the state seal on it?" asked Ardmore.
"Of course not. You have to get that from the secretary of state, and I
don't like him; he has such funny whiskers, and calls me little girl.
Besides, you never put the seal on a letter; it's only necessary for
official documents."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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