XIV
Rutherford Berry and Effie, Barnwell K. and the delicate Rose, left after breakfast. Sim drove off behind the sturdy horse and Mrs. Caley was audibly energetic in the kitchen. When Gordon appeared on the porch Lettice was seated in the low rocker that had so often held Clare. She responded in a suppressed voice to her husband’s salutation. “You went and spoiled Effie’s whole visit,” she informed him, “making Rutherford drunk.”
“Why,” he protested, “we never; he just got himself drunk.”
“It was mean anyway—sitting drinking all night in the stable.”
“You’ll say I was drunk too next.”
“It doesn’t matter to you what I say, or what I go through with. I’ve stood more than I rightly ought, more than I’m going to—you must give me one thought in a day. You just act low. Father was self-headed, but he was never real trashy. He never got into fights at those common camp meetings.”
“I threw the stone that hit Buck, didn’t I! I busted his head open, didn’t I! Oh, of course, I’m to blame for it all ... put it on me.”
“Well, how did you get in it? how did you get mixed up with the school-teacher?”
“I got Mrs. Caley to thank for this, and I’ll thank her.” He hotly recited the obvious aspect of his connection at the camp meeting with Meta Beggs.
“It sounds all right as far as it goes,” she retorted; “but I’ll chance there’s a good deal more; I’ll chance you had it made up to meet her there. You would never have gone for any other reason; I don’t believe you have been to a revival for twenty years. You had it made up between you. And that Miss Beggs is too smart for you, she’ll fool you all over the mountain. I don’t like her either, and I don’t want you to give her the satisfaction of making up to you. It’s what she’d like—laughing at my back!”