“I don’t b’leeve I can care for any strangers. Are you from the eastward? All my rooms are full. If I keep you at all I shall have to give up my own bed. Dunno what to do. Have you ready money or orders? If you have ready money I might take you, but I would have to charge you more. Are you a stranger in these parts? The next inn? Oh, that is thirteen miles beyond. You couldn’t reach it to-night. If you did, you would not like it anyway. The people there haven’t any family tree. Have I anything to eat? Oh, yes, but I wasn’t brought up to do this kind of work. Since Joshua went to the war I have had to wash the dishes and I am spoiling my hands. You are from Paris, eh? I always did like to entertain real gentlemen. I like Frenchmen, too; they are so polite—I suppose you are hungry. It’s La Fitte? Why that’s real aristocratic. My maiden name was Hopper. I was born in Haddam, old Haddam in Connecticut. My father was selectman in that town for forty years, and he was deacon nigh on to the same. ’Pears to me I used to know some French people. Yes, their name was, lemme see—oh, yes, they could not have been any kin of yours. Their name was La,—La Porte. If I had only known that I was going to have a real gentleman to-night from Paris, I might had a nice chicken and some ham and eggs.—You are a financier, eh? Oh, that’s real nice. I s’pose you’re married? No? Well, how delighted I am that you have come this way; come right in. You know I haven’t heard from Joshua for nigh on to two years—the poor man may be dead. Have I any children? Oh, no, Joshua and I always thought we ought to have had one and we were going to call him little Eli,” was the introduction Barclugh had to the Red Squirrel Inn presided over by Mrs. Charity Puffer.
Being put on his guard by the first onslaught, but concluding that she was harmless, Barclugh determined to learn more of the American phenomenon before his departure.
Mrs. Puffer led her guest to the sitting-room, flew up stairs, told her cook that a gentleman of quality was there for supper, put on a clean dress, spread a clean table-cloth, flew out to have a chicken killed, brought out a couple of pieces of silver that used to be in Deacon Hopper’s family and then came in and sat down before her guest.
Every moment of talk that was wasted in getting supper ready seemed an irretrievable loss to her existence,—especially when she had some one on whom to ply her vocation.
“Don’t you think that I would make a smart wife for a nice rich man?” she began again. “This life in the country nearly kills me. You know I never had to live this way before I married Mr. Puffer. He brought me out here and I have had to work my fingernails off. Don’t you see how poor I am? I was a beautiful young woman and he couldn’t furnish me any servants. I worked and worked, for I was so industrious. What was he doing all this time? Poor man, he was laid up with a disorder like a fever, and I had to nurse him and care for him. Then he got discouraged. Well, I couldn’t teach him anything. He was so obstinate.—He wouldn’t dress himself up like I wanted and I had the hardest time to get him to take me to meeting.—He didn’t want to wear gloves, so I used to say to him: ‘Father, you must try and look nice,’ and he would say: ‘Jest so, Charity.’ He would hold his hands and arms straight down by his sides and his fingers out stiff when I put gloves on him. Well, I used to get so provoked, because he knew better than that. When I used to say: ‘Father, you must let your hands hang kind o’ natural,’ he would say: ‘Jest so, Charity.’ Well, I want to tell you, when the war broke out I just made up my mind that father had to go to war or I would go myself. So he went one day, when I hit him with the boot-jack, and I haven’t seen him since.
“Oh, yes, supper will be ready in a very short time. It takes so long for supper to cook when the fire don’t burn. Did I ever have any beaux? Yes, I was forgetting to tell you about a beau I once had, when I was a gay and young woman. His name was Nehemiah, and he used to come around before I knew Joshua. Well, Nehemiah came one evening to see me and I was not in good humor at all. After the old folks had left us to spark a little, I moved over to one end of the settle, and when Nehemiah moved toward me, I sat up as stiff as a stake and I turned my back on him and never spoke once to him that whole evening. Well, at last when I wouldn’t speak or stir, he got skeered and I haven’t seen his face from that day to this. Well, I must tell you, Mr. La,—LaFeet, I don’t like men anyway.”
“Oh, yes, I perceive you don’t, nor anything to eat either,” chuckled Barclugh.
“Oh, yes, you see it is such a pleasure for me to converse with a gentleman that understands my better qualities and can appreciate the fact that he comes into the environment of a refined and well-bred lady. You know that there are so many inn-keepers who are vulgar. They haven’t any china that has been in the family for two generations,—no plate, nor manners. My sakes! I have been forgetting all about supper with my stories,—”
“About yourself,” interjected Barclugh.
“Jest so, Mr. Feet. I’ll go out and see if Betty has the supper on the table.”