Kitty stood back and looked at Laura as at some one possessed of evil spirits. Then she turned to the table and took up the potato knife and began slicing potatoes calmly.
“Very well, Laura,” she said. “I tried to do what I thought you would like, but if you want the tariff so badly I shall certainly not oppose you. Hereafter, no matter what happens, Billy and I will vote for the tariff!”
“And Tom and I certainly will,” said Laura between sobs. “We don’t care who the tariff bothers, or how much trouble it is. We are always, always going to have a tariff—for ever and ever!”
When she told Mr. Fenelby this he was not as happy about it as might have been expected. He agreed that under the circumstances there was nothing else to do; that the tariff must become a permanent fixture; but he did not say so joyfully. He had more the air of a Job admitting that a continued succession of boils was inevitable. Job, under those circumstances was probably as placid as could be expected, but not hilarious, and neither was Mr. Fenelby.
Dinner was as gloomy as breakfast had been. It developed into one of the plate-studying kind, with each of the four eating hastily and silently. Even Bobberts was not cheerful. He did not “coo” as usual, but stared unsmilingly at the ceiling. Into such a condition does a nation come when it suffers under a tax that is obnoxious, but which it cannot and will not repeal. When a nation gets into that condition one State can hardly ask another State to pass the butter, and when it does ask, its parliamentary courtesy is something frigidly polite. Suddenly Mrs. Fenelby looked up.
“Tom,” she said, “there is somebody in the kitchen!”
Mr. Fenelby laid his fork softly on his plate and listened. There was no doubt of it. Someone was in the kitchen, gathering up the silverware. Mr. Fenelby arose and went into the kitchen. Almost immediately he returned. He returned because he either had to follow Bridget into the dining room or stay in the kitchen alone.
“It’s me, ma’am,” said Bridget. She planted herself before Mrs. Fenelby and placed her hands on her hips. Mrs. Fenelby arose. “I’ve come back,” said Bridget.
“And you can go again,” said Mrs. Fenelby regally. “I do not want you, you can go!”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Bridget. “’Tis all th’ same t’ me—stay or go, ma’am,—but I’ll be askin’ ye t’ pay me a month’s wages, Mrs. Fenelby, if ye want me t’ go. A month’s wages or a month’s notice—that is th’ law, ma’am.”