“Yes; it’s short for Henrietta, I think.”
“And long for Hen. I’ll think that, if you don’t mind. If I’m not too inquisitive, might I make so bold as to inquire what brought her hither?”
“She came to tell me some—well, some things. She said she felt it to be her Christian duty to walk up here and tell me these things.”
“For example, what?”
“For one thing she thinks we make a mistake in——” Mrs. Bugbee, who appeared slightly flustered, left this sentence uncompleted and built a second one of fresh materials: “Clem, why is it that people have to be so narrow and so critical of other people’s motives and so everything?”
“I give it up. But to return to the lady whose fighting name is Henny?”
“Oh, yes! Well, she told me that quite a good many of the members of one of the congregations here rather resent the fact that the pastor of the other congregation is the chairman of my committee that’s getting up the Christmas entertainment. And they aren’t going to cooperate or let their children come either. There are two cliques, it seems, and they’re both awfully cliquey.”
“A common fault of cliques, I believe. And what else?”
“And she says some of the young people think our celebration is going to be too tame for them. So they’re planning to import special music from over at the junction and throw a jazz party, as they put it, on the same night. It seems there’s a barber over at the junction who plays the saxophone and he has an orchestra of four pieces; that’s the one they’re going to hire.”
“Every junction has a barber who plays the saxophone. But formerly the favored instrument was the guitar, though in exceptional cases the harmonica or mouth-organ might be preferred. Proceed, please; you interest me deeply.”