“Well, no; I’m sorry, but she provoked me to it. I’ll apologize.”
“And then, Charlie, you will try to be a little more patient with mamma, won’t you?”
“Yes, I do try, but the trouble is that she don’t like me. Must I keep my mouth shut, throw away my cigars, bounce all my friends, and sit up with my arms folded?”
“Oh, no, dear. Be good to her, and be patient; it will all come around right in time.”
That was Bessie’s way of lightening present troubles,—“It will all come around right in time.” Blessed hope! “Man never is, but always to be blest.”
My duties now kept me at the bank nearly all day, and for a few weeks affairs went on at home very smoothly. At table Mrs. Pinkerton maintained a sphinx-like silence, and I directed my conversation to Bessie. When the old lady opened her mouth, it was to snub me. The snub direct, the snub indirect, the snub implied, and the snub far-fetched,—I submitted to all with a cheerful spirit, and not a hasty retort escaped me.
At Bessie’s request, I now smoked only in the library, or in our own room. I bought a highly ornamental Japanese affair, of curious workmanship, as a receptacle for cigar-ashes. Altogether, I behaved like a good boy.
One evening Marston dropped in. When his card was brought up stairs, I handed it over to Bessie, and hurried to the library.
“How are you, old man?” he said, or, rather, shouted. “How do you like it, as far as you’ve got?”
“Tip-top. I’m glad to see you. When did you get back?”