“ ‘Couldn’t nobody look more fit, sir,’ he says, an’ I’m dum’d,” said David, with an assertive nod, “when I looked at myself in the lookin’-glass. I scurcely knowed myself, an’ (with a confidential lowering of the voice) when I got back to New York the very fust hard work I done was to go an’ buy the hull rig-out—an’,” he added with a grin, “strange as it may appear, it ain’t wore out yit.”
XXVII
“People don’t dress for dinner in Homeville, as a rule, then,” John said, smiling.
“No,” said Mr. Harum, “when they dress fer breakfust that does ’em fer all three meals. I’ve wore them things two three times when I’ve ben down to the city, but I never had ’em on but once up here.”
“No?” said John.
“No,” said David, “I put ’em on once to show to Polly how city folks dressed—he, he, he, he!—an’ when I come into the room she set forwud on her chair an’ stared at me over her specs. ‘What on airth!’ she says.
“ ‘I bought these clo’es,’ I says, ‘to wear when bein’ ent’tained by the fust fam’lies. How do I look?’ I says.
“ ‘Turn ’round,’ she says. ‘You look f’m behind,’ she says, ‘like a redheaded snappin’ bug, an’ in front,’ she says, as I turned agin, ‘like a reg’lar slinkum. I’ll bet,’ she says, ‘that you hain’t throwed away less ’n twenty dollars on that foolishniss.’ Polly’s a very conserv’tive person,” remarked her brother, “and don’t never imagine a vain thing, as the Bible says, not when she knows it, an’ I thought it wa’n’t wuth while to argue the point with her.”
John laughed and said, “Do you recall that memorable interview between the governors of the two Carolinas?”
“Nothin’ in the historical lit’riture of our great an’ glorious country,” replied Mr. Harum reverently, “sticks closter to my mind—like a burr to a cow’s tail,” he added, by way of illustration. “Thank you, jest a mouthful.”
“How about the dinner?” John asked after a little interlude. “Was it pleasant?”
“Fust rate,” declared David. “The young folks was out somewhere else, all but one o’ Price’s girls. The’ was twelve at the table all told. I was int’duced to all of ’em in the parlor, an’ putty soon in come one of the fellers an’ said somethin’ to Mis’ Price that meant dinner was ready, an’ the girl come up to me an’ took holt of my arm. ‘You’re goin’ to take me out,’ she says, an’ we formed a procession an’ marched out to the dinin’ room. ‘You’re to sit by mammer,’ she says, showin’ me, an’ there was my name on a card, sure enough. Wa’al, sir, that table was a show! I couldn’t begin to describe it to ye. The’ was a hull flower garden in the middle, an’ a worked tablecloth; four five glasses of all colors an’ sizes at ev’ry plate, an’ a nosegay, an’ five six diff’rent forks an’ a lot o’ knives, though fer that matter,” remarked the speaker, “the’ wa’n’t but one knife in the lot that amounted to anythin’, the rest on ’em wouldn’t hold nothin’; an’ the’ was three four sort of chiney slates with what they call—the—you ’n me—”
“Menu,” suggested John.
“I guess that’s it,” said David, “but that wa’n’t the way it was spelt. Wa’al, I set down an’ tucked my napkin into my neck, an’ though I noticed none o’ the rest on ’em seemed to care, I allowed that ’t wa’n’t my shirt, an’ mebbe Price might want to wear it agin ’fore ’twas washed.”
John put his handkerchief over his face and coughed violently. David looked at him sharply. “Subject to them spells?” he asked.
“Sometimes,” said John when he recovered his voice, and then, with as clear an expression of innocence as he could command, but somewhat irrelevantly, asked, “How did you get on with Mrs. Price?”
“Oh,” said David, “nicer ’n a cotton hat. She appeared to be a quiet sort of woman that might ’a’ lived anywhere, but she was dressed to kill—an’ so was the rest on ’em, fer that matter,” he remarked with a laugh. “I tried to tell Polly about ’em afterwuds, an’—he, he, he!—she shut me up mighty quick, an’ I thought myself at the time, thinks I, it’s a good thing it’s warm weather, I says to myself. Oh, yes, Mis’ Price made me feel quite to home, but I didn’t talk much the fust part of dinner, an’ I s’pose she was more or less took up with havin’ so many folks at table; but fin’ly she says to me, ‘Mr. Price was so annoyed about your breakfust, Mr. Harum.’
“ ‘Was he?’ I says. ‘I was afraid you’d be the one that ’d be vexed at me.’
“ ‘Vexed with you? I don’t understand,’ she says.
“ ‘ ’Bout the napkin I sp’iled,’ I says. ‘Mebbe not actially sp’iled,’ I says, ‘but it’ll have to go into the wash ’fore it c’n be used agin.’ She kind o’ smiled, an’ says, ‘Really, Mr. Harum, I don’t know what you are talkin’ about.’
“ ‘Hain’t nobody told ye?’ I says. ‘Well, if they hain’t they will, an’ I may ’s well make a clean breast on’t. I’m awful sorry,’ I says, ‘but this mornin’ when I come to the egg I didn’t see no way to eat it ’cept to peel it, an’ fust I knew it kind of exploded and daubed ev’rythin’ all over creation. Yes’m,’ I says, ‘it went off, ’s ye might say, like old Elder Maybee’s powder,’ I guess,” said David, “that I must ’a’ ben talkin’ ruther louder ’n I thought, fer I looked up an’ noticed that putty much ev’ry one on ’em was lookin’ our way, an’ kind o’ laughin’, an’ Price in pertic’ler was grinnin’ straight at me.
“ ‘What’s that,’ he says, ‘about Elder Maybee’s powder?’
“ ‘Oh, nuthin’ much,’ I says, ‘jest a little supprise party the elder had up to his house.’
“ ‘Tell us about it,’ says Price. ‘Oh, yes, do tell us
