"Whatever she does is entirely satisfactory to me," continued the model husband. "I never complain; indeed, I find much to admire. There is not another woman like her in the world, and it contains an awful lot of people."
Mrs. Armsby appeared from the kitchen at this moment, and, greeting her husband pleasantly, really seemed charmed with his presence. While she was looking after his wants, he told her of his hunting that day; how he had made more double shots than any of his companions; how his dog had proved, for the hundredth time, that he was the very best in the country, as he had always contended; how tired and hungry he was, and how fortunate it was that there was no lodge that night, as in that event he would have to be present.
His wife finally disappeared into the kitchen again, to arrange for the first meal of the next day, and Armsby said to Davy,—
"Poor woman, she has so little to occupy her mind that she has gone into the kitchen to watch Jennie peel the potatoes. If business was not so dull—you say it is dull; I know nothing about it myself—I would hire a companion for her; someone to read to her, and walk about with her during the day. It's too bad."
Unfortunately for the patrons of the Apron-and-Password, Armsby had been to New York; and though he had remained but two days, since his return he had pretended to a knowledge of the metropolis which was marvellous. When a New York man was mentioned, Armsby pretended to know him intimately, telling cheerful anecdotes of how their acquaintance began and ended. Whenever a New York institution was referred to, he was familiar with it, almost to intimacy; and a few of the Davy's Bend people amused themselves by inventing fictitious names and places in New York, and inducing Armsby to profess a knowledge of them, which he did with cheerful promptness.
He never neglected an opportunity to talk about his trip, therefore when he put his chair back from the table, and engaged in quiet meditation, Silas felt sure he was about to introduce the subject in a new way; for Armsby was a very ingenious as well as a very lazy man.
"You ought to wear the apron, Silas," Mr. Armsby said, looking at Silas with the greatest condescension and pity; "but it would be dreadful if your application should be greeted with the blacks. I don't recommend that you try it, mind, for that is not allowed, and the records will show that we lodge men have so much regard for principle that it has never been done; but it is something that everyone should think about, sooner or later. Only the very best men wear this emblem of greatness. But if you have faults, I should advise you not to run the risk of being humiliated, for the members are very particular. A lazy man, or a shiftless man, or a bad man of any kind, cannot get in; and when a man belongs to a lodge, it can be depended upon that he is as near right as they make them. This is the reason we must be particular in admitting new members. Reputation is at stake; for, once you are in, the others stand by you with their lives and their sacred honor. There's nothing like it."
The landlord occupied himself a moment in pleasant thought of the lodges, in connection with their cheapness and general utility, and then continued, after smiling in a gratified way over his own importance in the lodge connection,—
"When I first went to New York I became acquainted with the very best people immediately; for every man who wears the apron has confidence in every other man who wears it; each knows that the other has been selected from the masses with care, and they trust each other to the fullest extent. One day I went over into—"
Armsby could not remember names, and he snapped his fingers now in vexation.