“Sociable critter, ain't she!” observed the captain. “Always willin' to help entertain. Comes and sets up with me till bedtime. Tells about her family troubles. Preaches about her niece out West, and how set the niece and the rest of the Western relations are to have her make 'em a visit. I told her she better go—I thought 'twould do her good. I know 'twould help ME consider'ble to see her start.
“She's got so now she finds fault with my neckties,” he added, “says I must be careful and not get my feet wet. Picks out what I ought to wear so's I won't get cold. She'll adopt me pretty soon. Oh, it's all right! She can't hear what you say. Are your dishes done?” he shrieked, turning to the old lady.
“One? One what?” inquired Mrs. Beasley.
“They won't BE done till you go, Ase,” continued the master of the house. “She'll stay with us till the last gun fires. T'other day Angie Phinney called and I turned Debby loose on her. I didn't believe anything could wear out Angie's talkin' machinery, but she did it. Angeline stayed twenty minutes and then quit, hoarse as a crow.”
Here the widow joined in the conversation, evidently under the impression that nothing had been said since she last spoke. Continuing her favorable comments on the weather she observed that she was glad there was so little fog, because fog was hard for folks with “neuralgy pains.” Her brother's wife's cousin had “neuralgy” for years, and she described his sufferings with enthusiasm and infinite detail. Mr. Tidditt answered her questions verbally at first; later by nods and shakes of the head. Captain Cy fidgeted in his chair.
“Come on outdoor, Ase,” he said at last. “No use to wait till she runs down, 'cause she's a self-winder, guaranteed to keep goin' for a year. Good-night!” he shouted, addressing Mrs. Beasley, and heading for the door.
“Where you goin'?” asked the old lady.
“No. Yes. Who said so? Hooray! Three cheers for Gen'ral Scott! Come on, Ase!” And the captain, seizing his friend by the arm, dragged him into the open air, and slammed the door.
“Are you crazy?” demanded the astonished town clerk. “What makes you talk like that?”
“Might as well. She wouldn't understand it any better if 'twas Scripture, and it saves brain work. The only satisfaction I get is bein' able to give my opinion of her and the grub without hurtin' her feelin's. If I called her a wooden-headed jumpin' jack she'd only smile and say No, she didn't think 'twas goin' to rain, or somethin' just as brilliant.”