Uncle Fritz smiled, but not very happily. “She was a very wise old lady who lived in ancient times.” Then, thinking to disabuse the lad’s mind of mistaken notions, he added: “She must have been a kindly soul, too; for when the King Saul,—a man who fought, and intended to fight, so was not like my boy,—when this fighting king came to her, though she was afraid he would kill her, yet she made him a dinner of her fatted calf and a wheaten cake.”
“Calf? That’s veal, isn’t it? Suppose it was a veal pot-pie, like Aunt Ruth had for dinner?”
“Maybe.”
“Must ha’ been good! And did the fighter have her ‘to pay?’”
Poor Uncle Fritz laughed. Then he enlarged upon the good qualities of the ancient dame with “the familiar spirit,” hoping to arouse some liking for her in his nephew’s breast, and craftily leading the child on to understand that all these excellent things were repeated and strengthened in the present person of Mrs. Margaret Capers.
“But if she was so good, why do you still have her ‘to pay?’”
“Because I am a foolish man. I use words and expressions that I should not. I get vexed when things go wrong, and then I feel I must say something. That expression which has so misled you came most natural; and now, indeed, I do have ‘to pay’ by seeing what a muddle I have led you into.”
There was much more of this talk, during which the guardian did not exempt himself from a generous share of the blame. If he had “had more wisdom” his charges would have made a better showing on their first appearance at their new home, and not have appeared so much like a lot of “untrained savages.” Consequently, their reception would have been more cordial.
For it must be confessed that the friendly Aunt Ruth had not treated her younger nephew with much consideration after his second pugilistic exploit. She did not care to have history repeat itself in that way. It was one thing when the victim was that exasperating Melville, and quite another when a frail old lady was the sufferer. She had not said very much, and therein congratulated herself for being unusually prudent; but, as Fritz had expressed it, “she had looked with her eyes” in a way that meant volumes, and “talking eyes” had been the one thing he had ever feared most. Uncle Fritz “talked eyes” when he was the most deeply aggrieved; and little Fritz found it most unpleasant to have an American relative addicted to the same bad habit.
She came into the room just then and there, and, seeing the two Fritzes in such confidential discussion, would have speedily withdrawn, had not the gentleman risen and begged her to remain. It was as good a time as another to explain how matters really were.