CHAPTER XXI.
A SLIGHT ALTERCATION.
“My dear,” said Smith, looking around the table as if he missed something, “have you nothing better than water to offer Mrs. Carter, and this the first time she has honored us?”
Mrs. Smith looked around in some bewilderment, then answered with a deprecatory glance at her friend.
“The kettle was just boiling, and its likely that Kate Gorman is drawing the tea now—Oolong of the very best. Smith, you do not suppose I should offer Mrs. Carter anything less?”
“Champagne,” answered Smith, throwing out his chest with a swell of hospitable importance, “on ice and plenty of it. I’m astonished at you, Mrs. Smith; that you did not think of it.”
“But I—I didn’t think; I didn’t know as you’d like us to break into a basket,” cried Mrs. Smith, so eager to exculpate herself, that she grew red in the face.
“As if we didn’t break into baskets every day of our lives,” answered the grocer, looking severely at his wife. Then turning toward his guest, he observed that Mrs. Smith, he was sorry to say, didn’t meet prosperity with the air and grace that must make his friend Carter proud of the wife he had married, who seemed capable of filling any position.
“Oh, Smith!” pleaded the hostess, with tears in her eyes, “sometimes I think you don’t care how much you hurt my feelings!”
“But he don’t mean it,” interposed Mrs. Carter, “it’s all because he wants to be hospitable.” Here the good woman drew a deep breath and flushed happily, feeling that she had at last matched her host in elaborate English. “But there is no need of it. I’m just sick and tired of champagne. A good cup of tea is worth a dozen bottles, and here it comes steaming hot.”
“In that Britannia tea-pot, too,” muttered Smith, “as if we had no silver in the house!”