Most everybody called him Colonel now, from me doing it first, and then Katherine.
"We had a few barrels out on the old ranch," says the boss. "A little of it escaped in the massacree. I'm glad you like it."
It come now about time for dinner, which was always pulled off on the tick of the clock. On the ranch in camp the cook always calls "Grub pile!" for the hands. In the home ranch he's more particular, and he says, "Come and git it!" when dinner's ready. But here, in our new house, our butler, William, always'd gumshoe in and say it so low you couldn't hardly hear him: "Dinner is served, Miss Wright." But, as them kids was a little late in coming, Old Man Kimberly finds time to take another nip.
"Why, Wilfred!" says his wife to him, "I'm surprised!"
"It's funny how you're surprised," says he, chuckling in his shirt front; "but I'm glad to have you keep up my reputation by saying you're surprised."
Somehow it was with them like it is with plenty of folks in the States—the women always seem finer, more delercate than the men; yet they seem to like men that ain't fussy. Old Man Kimberly was a good sort; but to look at her you'd wonder why she married him. She always set up straight, away from a chair or a sofa back, and she had a face that was clean-cut, like one of them cameo faces on cuff buttons. Katherine was some like her pa, and a good sort too.
"How sweet you look tonight!" says Old Lady Kimberly to Bonnie Bell after a time.
She always seemed to want to reach out and touch Bonnie Bell, or kiss her once in a while—they natural liked each other—Bonnie Bell especial, from never having no ma of her own, very much.
But after a time our William come to the door and stood there like he was a pointer dog and had found some birds; and says he, with a stop between, like he always did:
"Miss Kimberly—ahum! Mr. Thomas Kimberly—ahum!"