In the evening, after his work was done, a day or two after his talk with Mrs. Maxwell, Jonathan went into the house and took a long look at himself in the glass, with the satisfactory conclusion that he didn’t look so old after all. Why shouldn’t he take Mrs. Betty’s advice and marry? To be sure, there was no fool like an old fool, but no man could be called a fool who was discriminating enough, and resourceful enough, to win the hand of Hepsey Burke. To his certain knowledge she had had plenty of eligible 161 suitors since her husband’s death. She was the acknowledged past-master of doughnuts; and her pickled cucumbers done in salad oil were dreams of delight. What more could a man want?
So he found that the question was deciding itself apparently without any volition whatever on his part. His fate was sealed; he had lost his heart and his appetite to his neighbor. Having come to this conclusion, it was wonderful how the thought excited him. He took a bath and changed his clothes, and then proceeded to town and bought himself a white neck-tie, and a scarf-pin that cost seventy-five cents. He was going to do the thing in the proper way if he did it at all.
After supper he mustered sufficient courage to present himself at the side porch where Mrs. Burke was knitting on a scarlet sweater for Nickey.
“Good evenin’, Hepsey,” he began. “How are you feelin’ to-night?”
“Oh, not so frisky as I might, Jonathan; I’d be all right if it weren’t for my rheumatiz.”
“Well, we all have our troubles, Hepsey; and if it isn’t one thing it’s most generally another. You mustn’t rebel against rheumatiz. It’s one of those things sent to make us better, and we must bear up against it, you know.” 162
Hepsey did not respond to this philosophy, and Jonathan felt that it was high time that he got down to business. So he began again:
“It seems to me as if we might have rain before long if the wind don’t change.”
“Shouldn’t be surprised, Jonathan. One—two—three—four—” Mrs. Burke replied, her attention divided between her visitor and her sweater. “Got your hay all in?”
“Yes, most of it. ’Twon’t be long before the long fall evenin’s will be comin’ on, and I kinder dread ’em. They’re awful lonesome, Hepsey.”