“Mrs. Bemby begged us to help ourselves, and every one acted on her kind suggestion with quite a zest. Country belles, pulling off their cotton gloves, alternated the bites at chicken and bread so rapidly and successfully that they were soon sucking the bones like candy, while the beaux cut symmetrical squares out of corn bread sandwiches, and played the flute on long ears of roasted corn, with unctuous smiles and impeded attempts at conversation with chewed words. Mr. and Mrs. B—— did not eat anything, but served the table, with cordial entreaties to all to spare not; Mrs. B—— distributing the bread and sweetmeats with a lavish hand, and Mr. B—— cutting the meats—his mode of dealing with a ham being very unique as well as effective. Standing it up on one end, and holding the hock in one hand, he sawed the knife across it like an Italian playing the fiddle, producing far more satisfactory results, however, than all the army of diminutive violinists Italy has sent forth. That great gawk of a Ben, instead of helping was perched on a wagon, idly kicking the wheels with his feet as he munched on an apple, and gravely winking at Ned and myself, in acknowledgment of acquaintance. Altogether the dinner was excellent, and, after our ride to the church, and our boredom in it, was particularly relished. There, I have talked enough; get Ned to tell you the balance.”
“There is no more to tell,” said Ned, as mother called to us from the basement to come down and eat watermelons. “I can corroborate all that Frank has told, except his account of the sermon. That was very good, and much to the point, though it was plain and without ornament.”
I went down with the rest, but was afraid, for my fever’s sake, to indulge in melons. If you would know whether it was any temptation to me or not, imagine a sultry afternoon, a cool breezy basement, four or five large melons, just from the ice house, like a row of victims with a knife in each pink frozen heart!
I felt tired of hearing them talk and seeing them eat, so I took my hat and strolled down to Mr. Bemby’s to find Ben, and enjoy a talk with him. He was nowhere in sight, and I tapped at the door. At Mrs. Bemby’s “Come in!” I opened the door, and instead of Ben found three strange ladies, who were discussing with profound interest the events of the day.
“Come in, honey; you look mighty feeble yet; how do you feel to-day?” said Mrs. Bemby, kindly, as she met me. “This is Col. Smith’s son, Mrs. Bailey and Miss Viney Dodge; Col. Smith’s son! Mrs. Dodge,” she shouted in the ear of the oldest and most withered of the three ladies, who was armed with an orchestra looking instrument in the shape of an immense ear trumpet. Mrs. Bemby had to put her mouth right down to the opening, and shout my name out twice before she and I became acquainted. I shook hands with the old and bowed to the young lady, who gave me a curtesy in return that shoved her chair back almost out of range of her reseating figure. Her figure was very stumpy; her complexion very sallow; her hair very sandy, and her skin very freckled. Her hands were covered with half fingered blue gloves, and were employed, one in lying in her lap, the fingers folded and the thumb stiffly erect, as a sentinel over their repose; the other in holding, in as compressed a ball as possible, a dingy cotton handkerchief, which she constantly used, after a premonitory snuffle, by rubbing her nose very hard upwards, as if she wished to elevate its depressed point.
Mrs. B—— informed me that Ben would be in shortly, and I took the chair she offered and looked at the visitors; they looked at each other, and then there was a silence of some seconds.
“You beedn sorter poorly, haidn’t you?” said Mrs. Dodge, adjusting her trumpet and leaning towards me.
“Yes, ma’am!” I shouted, making my reply more affirmative by a number of up and down motions of my head.
“Umphum! Haidn’t had the summer complaint, is you? You look a little thidn.”
I transversed the motion of my head very rapidly, and signed the negative many times.