“Of course,” said Naomi, “it’s so long since I’ve sung—not since I used to lead the singing at the revival meetings.”
“And Philip—he used to sing.”
“He never does now. He wouldn’t help me teach the natives at Megambo.”
Philip, listening, fancied that he caught a sympathetic glance from Aunt Mabelle. She was silly and stupid, but sometimes it seemed to him that she had flashes of uncanny intuition: she had, after all, had great experience with the tactics of Elmer and his sister. She sat opposite Philip, eating far too much, lost in cowlike tranquillity. She was still bearing patiently the burden which by some error in calculation had been expected hourly for more than a month. Only yesterday she had said, “I expect little Jimmy will have all his teeth and be two years old when he is born!”—a remark that was followed by an awkward silence. Married to another man she would undoubtedly have had ten or fifteen children, for she was born to such a rôle.
“That’s how I met Elmer,” she said brightly, “singing in the choir. I used to sing alto, and he sang bass. He sat right behind me and his foot....”
“Mabelle!” said Elmer.
She veered aside from the history of a courtship which always engaged her with a passionate interest. “Well, I’ve always noticed that lots of things begin in church choirs. There was that Bunsen woman who ran off with....”
Emma trod upon her, once more throttling her flow of reminiscences.
“That’s right, Naomi,” she said, “it’ll help pass the time while you’re waiting.” And then, polishing her spoon with her napkin (an action which she always performed ostentatiously as an implication upon the character of Mabelle’s housekeeping) she said, “By the way, he’s planned a Sunday night service which is to be given over entirely to you and Naomi—Philip. Think of that. It’s quite an honor.” (She would sit well down in front that night where she could breathe in all the glory.) “I told him, of course, that you’d be delighted to do it.”
“Yes,” said Naomi, “he spoke to me about it. We’ll tell our experiences.” The prospect of so much glory kindled a light in the pale eyes—the light of memories of revival meetings when she had been the great moving force.