CHAPTER XII
Mr. Caleb Hammond rose that Sunday morning with a partially developed attack of indigestion and a thoroughly developed “grouch.” The indigestion was due to an injudicious partaking of light refreshment—sandwiches, ice cream and sarsaparilla “tonic”—at the club the previous evening. Simeon Baker had paid for the refreshment, ordering the supplies sent in from Mr. Chris Badger's store. Simeon had received an unexpected high price for cranberries shipped to New York, and was in consequence “flush” and reckless. He appeared at the club at nine-thirty, after most of its married members had departed for their homes and only a few of the younger set and one or two bachelors, like Mr. Hammond, remained, and announced that he was going to “blow the crowd.” The crowd was quite willing to be blown and said so.
Mr. Hammond ate three sandwiches and two plates of ice cream, also he smoked two cigars. He did not really feel the need of the second cream or the second cigar, but, as they were furnished without cost to him, he took them as a matter of principle. Hence the indigestion.
The “grouch” was due partially to the unwonted dissipation and its consequences and partly to the fact that his winter “flannels” had not been returned by Mrs. Melinda Pease, to whom they had been consigned for mending and overhauling.
It was the tenth of November and for a period of twenty-four years, ever since his recovery from a severe attack of rheumatic fever, Caleb had made it a point to lay aside his summer underwear on the morning of November tenth and don a heavy suit. Weather, cold or warm, was not supposed to have any bearing on this change. The ninth might be as frigid as a Greenland twilight and the tenth as balmy as a Florida noon—no matter; on the ninth Mr. Hammond wore light underwear and shivered; on the tenth he wore his “flannels” and perspired. It was another of his principles, and Caleb had a deserved reputation for adhering to principle and being “sot” in his ways.
So, when, on this particular tenth of November, this Sabbath morning, he rose, conscious of the sandwiches and “tonic,” and found no suit of flannels ready for him to don, his grouch began to develop. He opened his chamber door a crack and shouted through the crack.
“Mrs. Barnes,” he called. “Hi—i, Mrs. Barnes!”
Thankful, still busy in the kitchen, where she had been joined by Imogene, sent the latter to find out what was the matter. Imogene returned, grinning.
“He wants his flannels,” she announced. “Wants to know where them winter flannels Mrs. Pease sent home yesterday are. Why, ain't they in his room, he says.”
Thankful sniffed. Her experience with Miss Timpson, and the worry caused by the latter's leaving, had had their effect upon her patience.