“Cost?” says she, a-bustin’ out a-cryin’. “What do I care about cost? I will do everything I can to respect his memory. I do it in remembrance of him.”
Says I, gently, “S. Annie, you wouldn’t forget him if you wuz dressed in white. And as for respect, such a life as his, from all I hear of it, don’t need crape to throw respect on it: it commands respect, and gets it from everybody.”
“But,” says Abel, “it would look dretful odd to the neighbors if she didn’t dress in black.” Says he, in a skairful tone, and in his intense way,—
“I would ruther resk my life than to have her fail in duty in this way: it would make talk!” And says he, “What is life worth when folks talk?”
I turned around the crazed block, and tackled it in a new place (more luny than ever it seemed to me), and says I, mekanickly,—
“It is pretty hard work to keep folks from talkin’, to keep ’em from sayin’ sunthin’.”
But I see from their looks it wouldn’t do to say anything more, so I had to set still and see it go on.
At that time of year flowers wuz dretful high, but S. Annie and Abel had made up their minds that they must have several flower-pieces from the city nighest to Loontown.
One wuz goin’ to be a gate ajar, and one wuz to be a gate wide open. And one wuz to be a big book. Abel asked me what book I thought would be prefferable to represent. And I mentioned the Bible.
But Abel says, “No, he didn’t think he would have a Bible; he didn’t think it would be appropriate, seein’ the deceased wuz a lawyer.” He said “he hadn’t quite made up his mind what book to have. But anyway it wuz to be in flowers,—beautiful flowers.” Another piece wuz to be his name in white flowers on a purple background of pansies. His name wuz William Henry Harrison Rockyfeller. And I says to Abel,—