Mrs. Trent was paying but slight attention to his words. Her mind was already disturbed by many inexplicable things and would revert to Antonio’s insinuations which, without Jessica’s knowledge, she had also overheard. After a moment, recalled by high voices in the kitchen, she rallied, and apologizing for so doing, hastily left the dining-porch.
There were several gleaming pots and pans upon the oil cooking-stove and behind these stood Wun Lung, tenaciously grasping a meat dish and glaring unutterable things out of his beady eyes upon the excited woman who faced him, demanding:
“Give me that platter, monkey-face! Suppose I’ll put your dirty victuals into my clean mouth or anybody else’s? I’ve tasted your stuff before. A burnt bairn dreads the fire. Hand it over. I’ll see if it’s fit. There! That rice is boiling over.”
The dish of savory lamb stew had been most daintily and carefully prepared after his mistress’ own minute directions, but Wun Lung now slammed it upon the table with much violence and seized the pipkin of rice from the stove. With undue emphasis he placed this beside the stew and, advancing toward Mrs. Trent, made several profound salaams.
“Lat m’loman come–me glo. Good-by.”
And for many a day thereafter Wun Lung served no more in that, his own beloved kitchen.
Not a whit disturbed was Aunt Sally. Revolution had become as the breath in her nostrils. Wherever she went old orders were reversed and all things became new. At a little town, with an unpronounceable Spanish name, which it suited her to call “Boston,” she had her home-room in the house of a long-suffering woman cousin, whose ill-health afforded her infinite employment, therefore enjoyment. The invalid endured these ministrations because Aunt Sally also supported her, as well as ruled her; but she appreciated the rest which followed whenever the itching of Mrs. Benton’s feet called their owner elsewhere. Between “Boston” and Sobrante the patriotic wagon vibrated, like a long-distance pendulum, and departing from either point carried everything belonging to its proprietor within it. “Boston” having become wearisome it was now Sobrante’s turn.
“I haven’t been so happy since I first trod shoe leather. Now, honey, you’ll have good, clean fixings, with no opium nor rat tails in ’em,” she gleefully announced, returning to the table.
“Aunt Sally, hush! What an opinion you’ll give our guest of my housekeeping!” laughed Mrs. Trent.
“Pooh, child! Anybody that looks at you’ll know you hate dirt. Now, eat, all. Only–you, Mr. Hale, I must insist you take a dose of this saffron tea. I steeped it while I was having that set-to with the Chinaman, for I thank my stars I can always do two things at once. And if I know the signs–Gabriella Trent, if that man hasn’t got the janders or shingles, or malary fever, don’t you tell me a thing!”