The rocking ceased abruptly. Mrs. Willis’s brows met, giving a look of sternness to her face.
“That’s a good piece o’ cotton flannel,” she said. “Hefty! Fer pity’s sake! D’ you put ruffles on the bottom o’ Mr. Wincoop’s night-shirt? Whatever d’you do that fer?”
“Because he likes ’em that way,” responded Mrs. Wincoop, tartly. “There’s no call fer remarks as I see, Mis’ Willis. You put a pocket ’n Mr. Willis’s, and paw never’d have that—never!” firmly.
“Well, I never see ruffles on a man’s night-shirt before,” said Mrs. Willis, laughing rather aggravatingly. “But they do look reel pretty, anyways.”
“The longer you live the more you learn.” Mrs. Wincoop spoke condescendingly. “But talking about Patience—have you see her lately?”
“No, I ain’t.” Mrs. Willis got up suddenly and commenced rummaging about on the table; there were two red spots on her thin face. “I’d most fergot to show you my new winter underclo’s. Ain’t them nice and warm, though? They feel so good to my rheumatiz. I keep thinking about them that can’t get any. My, such hard times! All the banks broke, and no more prospect of good times than of a hen’s being hatched with teeth! It puts me all of a trimble to think o’ the winter here and ev’rybody so hard up. It’s a pretty pass we’ve come to.”
“I should say so. I don’t see what Patience is a-going to live on this winter. She ain’t fit to do anything; her rheumatiz is awful. She ain’t got any fine wool underclo’s.”
Mrs. Willis sat down again, but she did not rock; she sat upright, holding her back stiff and her thin shoulders high and level.
“I guess this tight spell’ll learn folks to lay by money when they got it,” she said, sternly. “I notice we ain’t got any mortgage on our place, and I notice we got five thousand dollars invested. We got some cattle besides. We ain’t frittered ev’rything we made away on foolishness, like some that I know of. We have things good and comf’terble, but we don’t put on any style. Look at that Mis’ Abernathy! I caught her teeheeing behind my back when I was buying red checked table clo’s. Her husband a bookkeeper! And her a-putting on airs over me that could buy her up any day in the week! Now, he’s lost his place, and I reckon she’ll come down a peg or two.”
“She’s been reel good to Patience, anyways,” said Mrs. Wincoop.