This appeal, delivered with eloquence and most engaging play of brow and eye, should have been irresistible. Unfortunately the captain did not appear to have heard it. Leaning forward, his hands clasped between his knees, he was gazing into the fire. And when he spoke, it was as if he were thinking aloud.
“I s’pose ’tis a sort of disease, this duty business,” he mused. “And most diseases ain’t cheerful visitations. Still a feller ought not to growl about it in public. I always did hate for a man to be goin’ about forever complainin’ of his sufferin’s—whether they was from duty or rheumatiz.”
Mrs. Dunn’s lips snapped shut. She pressed them together impatiently. Evidently her questions, and their diplomatic prelude, had been unheard and wasted. However, she did not intend to be sidetracked or discouraged.
“One should not prate of one’s duty, of course,” she agreed. “Not that you do—far from it. But, as I was saying, our dear Caroline has—”
“Thank you, ma’am. I hope I don’t groan too loud. Do you know, I believe climate has a bearin’ on duty, same as it has on rheumatics. I s’pose you city folks”—and there was almost contempt in the words—“are sort of Christian Science, and figger it’s an ‘error’—hey? Somethin’ to be forgot.”
The lady resented the interruption, and the contempt nettled her.
“Not at all!” she retorted. “We city dwellers have our duties, also.”
“Is that a fact? I want to know!”
“Certainly it is a fact,” tartly. “I have my duties and many of them.”
“Um! So? Well, I s’pose you do feel you must dress just so, and live just so, and do just such and such things. If you call those duties, why—”