“Yes.”
“Who told you?”
“Hiram Baker told me first. He's a fine feller and he's so tickled, now that his youngster's 'most well, that he cruises around spoutin' talk and joy same as a steamer's stack spouts cinders. He told me. Then Obed Gott and Cornelius Rowe and Redny Blount and Pat Starkey, and land knows how many more, came to tell me. I cut 'em short. Why, even the Major himself condescended to march in, grand and imposin' as a procession, to make proclamations about love laughin' at locksmiths, and so on. Since he got Polena and her bank account he's a bigger man than the President, in his own estimate.”
“Humph! Well, he better make the best of it while it lasts. P'lena ain't Hetty Green, and her money won't hold out forever.”
“That's a fact. Still Polena's got sense. She'll hold Hardee in check, I cal'late. I wouldn't wonder if it ended by her bossin' things and the Major actin' as a sort of pet poodle dog—nice and pretty to walk out with, but always kept at the end of a string.”
“You didn't go to Higgins's for dinner to-day, did you?”
“No. Nor I shan't go for supper. Beriah's bad enough when he's got nothin' the matter with him but dyspepsy. Now that his sufferin's are complicated with elopements, I don't want to eat with him.”
“Come and have supper with us.”
“I guess not, thank you, Sim. I'll get some crackers and cheese and such at the store. I—I ain't very hungry these days.”
He turned his head and looked out of the window. Simeon fidgeted.