Middle West -- Fiction; Real estate developers -- Fiction; Suburbs -- Fiction
“Looks as though you’re takin’ cold. It’s the heat, maybe. Let’s go.”
“Not yet, papa.”
“Look a-here!” he said, “I’m not goin’ to promenade out in that
dining-room and ruin my stomach on lemonade and doodaddle refreshments.
It’s suppertime right now, and I want to go home!”
“Hush!” she bade him. “It wouldn’t be polite to rush right out. Just
stay a minute or two longer; then you can go.”
“But what’s the _use_? I don’t want to hang around here with all the fat
women in town perspiring against my clo’es. I hate the whole possytucky
of ’em!”
“_Sh_, papa!”
“I don’t care,” he went on with husky vehemence. “Nothin’ to do here
except stare at the bride, and she’s so little it don’t take much time
to see _her_; she’s just about half your size—you made her seem like a
wax doll beside you, and the way she looked at you, I guess she thought
so, too. Anyway, she does look like a wax doll. Looks worse’n _that_,
too!”
“No, no!”
“Yes, she does,” he insisted. “She’s got paint on her. Her face is all
over paint.”
“It isn’t paint. It’s only rouge.”
“What’s the difference? It ain’t decent. She paints. She’s got red paint
on her cheeks and black paint on her eye-winkers. Looks to me like Dan
Oliphant’s gone and married a New York fast woman.”
“Hush!” Martha commanded him sharply. “People will hear you!”
“I can’t hardly hear myself!” he retorted. “Never got in such a
gibblety-gabble in my born days. I tell you she paints! Her
mother-in-law ought to take her out to a washstand and clean her up like
a respectable woman. The Oliphant family ought to know what people’ll
take her for, if they let her go around all painted up like that. If she
was _my_ daughter-in-law——”
But here Martha’s protest was so vehement as to check him. “Everybody
_will_ hear you! Be quiet! Look there!”
She caught her breath, staring wide-eyed; and, turning to see what had
so decisively fixed her attention, he realized that the clamorous place
had become almost silent. Old Mrs. Savage, leaning upon her grandson
Harlan’s arm, had entered the room and was on her way to the bride.
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.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account