She could not find a word that was strong enough,
perhaps. By and by she said:
“Well, I am glad of it—I’m
glad of it. I never cared anything for him anyway!”
And then, with small consistency, she cried a little,
and patted her foot more indignantly than ever.
Two months had gone by and the Hawkins family were
domiciled in Hawkeye. Washington was at work
in the real estate office again, and was alternately
in paradise or the other place just as it happened
that Louise was gracious to him or seemingly indifferent—because
indifference or preoccupation could mean nothing else
than that she was thinking of some other young person.
Col. Sellers had asked him several times, to
dine with him, when he first returned to Hawkeye, but
Washington, for no particular reason, had not accepted.
No particular reason except one which he preferred
to keep to himself—viz. that he could not
bear to be away from Louise. It occurred to
him, now, that the Colonel had not invited him lately—could
he be offended? He resolved to go that very
day, and give the Colonel a pleasant surprise.
It was a good idea; especially as Louise had absented
herself from breakfast that morning, and torn his
heart; he would tear hers, now, and let her see how
it felt.
The Sellers family were just starting to dinner when
Washington burst upon them with his surprise.
For an instant the Colonel looked nonplussed, and
just a bit uncomfortable; and Mrs. Sellers looked
actually distressed; but the next moment the head of
the house was himself again, and exclaimed:
“All right, my boy, all right—always
glad to see you—always glad to hear your
voice and take you by the hand. Don’t wait
for special invitations—that’s all
nonsense among friends. Just come whenever you
can, and come as often as you can—the oftener
the better. You can’t please us any better
than that, Washington; the little woman will tell
you so herself. We don’t pretend to style.
Plain folks, you know—plain folks.
Just a plain family dinner, but such as it is, our
friends are always welcome, I reckon you know that
yourself, Washington. Run along, children, run
along; Lafayette,—[**In those old days the
average man called his children after his most revered
literary and historical idols; consequently there
was hardly a family, at least in the West, but had
a Washington in it—and also a Lafayette,
a Franklin, and six or eight sounding names from Byron,
Scott, and the Bible, if the offspring held out.
To visit such a family, was to find one’s self
confronted by a congress made up of representatives
of the imperial myths and the majestic dead of all
the ages. There was something thrilling about
it, to a stranger, not to say awe inspiring.]—stand
off the cat’s tail, child, can’t you see
what you’re doing?—Come, come, come,
Roderick Dhu, it isn’t nice for little boys
to hang onto young gentlemen’s coat tails —but
never mind him, Washington, he’s full of spirits
and don’t mean any harm. Children will
be children, you know. Take the chair next to
Mrs. Sellers, Washington—tut, tut, Marie
Antoinette, let your brother have the fork if he wants
it, you are bigger than he is.”
