“Yoh mama says to come t’ tea! Mammy-cook baked some fine choklate cakes fer yo’ all,” said mammy seriously.
The wedding party exchanged looks with each other and it was seen that Jim appeared to be most uncomfortable. He looked back of him and then at his granny, then at his companions-in-disgrace, but they seemed not to feel the same dismay at a possible punishment such as Jim had reasons to anticipate.
Old mammy helped the wedding party free itself of the many and entangling articles of dress, and then they all hurried down to tea, regardless of mammy’s pleading to wash and brush up.
In the library, both mothers were waiting and chatting when the juvenile party rushed in. They never entered a room—it was either a mad rush from the hallway or a stealthy entrance through a window.
“Why, children! Haven’t you been up in the bathroom washing and dressing after the journey, and preparing to come down to tea?” asked Mrs. Davis in surprise.
“Oh, we prepared somewhat for tea, aunty, but not with soap and water,” replied Martha.
“What have you been doing all this time?—and here is John, too. How do you do, John? Come here and meet George and Martha’s aunt from Philadelphia,” said Mrs. Parke sweetly.
As John shuffled over to shake hands with Mrs. Davis, a woolly head peeped from between the folds of the velour portières, where a lean little body was completely hidden. Jim felt that, as Hercules the man-servant, he had a right to watch the toothsome refreshments disappear even if he couldn’t partake of the same.
“Well, mother, we really hadn’t a moment’s time in which to wash and dress. We’ve visited the whole place, met John and Jim, and rehearsed for the wedding. So, you see, we have been a bit crowded for time in which to brush up,” explained Jack.
“Wedding? What wedding?” asked Mrs. Davis, in surprise.