When Josiah and me was to Ebenezer Spicer’s a-visitin’, Ebenezer told us he did wish that we would stop and see his brother Lank, seein’ we had to pass right by his house. Melankton Spicer, Ebenezer’s twin brother, married Ebenezer’s wife’s sister, makin’ ’em double and twisted relations, as you may say.
And we told him that seein’ it was right on our way, we would stop a few minutes. I told him I guessed we wouldn’t stay long, for I wuzn’t much acquainted with ’em, though they had visited me years ago, and I had seen her to Mother Smith’s once or twice.
Ebenezer told us mebbe we hadn’t better stay long, for they had hard work to get along. He said Delilah Ann wasn’t a mite like his wife, Malinda, only in one way—they both despised a mejum course and follored their own way blindly and to the end of the chain. But their chains was fur different. For whereas, Malinda, havin’ a husband that was well off, would scrub and work every minute, with no need on’t; Delilah Ann, havin’ married a poor man that needed help, wouldn’t work a mite. Hadn’t been no help to him at all since they was married, only in talkin’ on appearances, and havin’ seven girls. And they bein’ growed up, and their ma not allowin’ ’em to do a spec of work, only to dress up to ketch a bo. Lank had to work from mornin’ till night in the store where he was a clerk, and then set up half of the night to copy papers for a lawyer, to try to pay their milliner’s bills and the hired girls. But he couldn’t; he was in debt to everybody. And he didn’t get no rest to home, for the girls and their mother was teazin’ him every minute for gold bracelets, and diamond rings and silk dresses. He said they lived poor and their morals was all run down, Lank not havin’ been able to get enough ahead to buy a Bible. He hadn’t nothin’ but the Pokraphy and a part of the Old Testament, that had fell to him from his father. Fell so fur, that all the old prophets had got tore to pieces, except Malachi, and he was battered awfully.
Ebenezer said that Lank told him that he had hard work to bring up children right and nothin’ but Pokraphy to go by. He said Lank told him when he got his last month’s wages, he did mean to get enough ahead to buy a Bible and a sack of flour; but when he got his pay, his wife said she was sufferin’ for a new gauze head-dress and the seven girls had got to have some bebinet neckties and new ear-rings. He said Delila Ann said, after they had got these necessarys, then, if there was anything left they would get a sack of flour and a Bible. But there wasn’t and so they had to get along with the Pokraphy, and the second sort of flour. And he said that workin’ so hard and farin’ so hard, Lank was most used up.
He said he wasn’t more’n two or three minutes older than he was, but he looked as if he was seventy-nine years of age. And he was afraid he wouldn’t stand it more’n several months longer, if things went on so.
I felt bad when Ebenezer was a-tellin’ us this. I felt sorry for Lank, as sorry as could be. And I was awful indignant at Delila. These wus my first two thoughts, and then it wusn’t probably more’n half a moment before I thought to myself, mebbe here is a chance for me to shoot another shot at old Emer, and win another victory in that cause of right. I felt a feeling that I could advise Delila Ann for her good. And so I spoke up, mildly, but with a firm and noble mean, on me, that we would stop there for an hour or two.
This conversation took place the evenin’ previous to our departure from Ebenezer’ses, but I did not forget it. And when we arrived at the village where Lank lived, it being after ten o’clock, Josiah said he guessed he would go right down to the store where he worked, so’s to see him and I might go in and call on Delila Ann. A small white-headed boy, with two breeches held up by one gallus, told me where they lived, the same boy offerin’ to hitch my horse fer me.
It had been a number of years since I had seen Delila Ann and I didn’t s’pose I should know her, Ebenezer said she had changed so. He said she had that sort of anxious, haggard, dissatisfied, kinder sheepish, kinder bold look, that folks always get by puttin’ on aperiences. I’ve hearn and I believe it is as wearin’ a job as you can get into, to foller from year to year. And Delila Ann havin’ been puttin’ ’em on (the aperiences) for upwards of twenty years, was wore down, as Ebenezer said, to skin and bone.
The hull house and furniture had the look it always wears when anybody is engaged in the aperience business. A sort of gaudy and flashy cut, dreadful thin and hazy look. The front door had it bad. The knob was broke off; the latch was gone; two of the panels was ready to fall out, besides a place to the bottom big enough for a cat to crawl under. It rode back on one hinge and that was as shaky as shaky could be. There didn’t seem to be anything whole and secure about the door, except the key-hole. But they had a bran new bell on it and a new brass plate, bearin’ Lank’s name in bold, noble letters, which, I s’pose, was a comfort to the family and lifted ’em above the small afflictions of the snow and rain that entered at will, and when it was a mind to.
The white-haired boy, with the solitary and lonesome gallus, says to me, as he stood waitin’ for the ten-cent bill I wuz a-gettin’ for him out of my pork-money: “That door needs mendin’ bad.”