CHAPTER VII.
Mr. Himes, or “Old Himes,” as he was often, with irreverent familiarity, designated in the neighborhood, took his seat at the supper-table in his own kitchen and looked across it with an expression of mingled contempt and disgust at the woman who sat opposite and poured his coffee.
Her face, though young and blooming, was hardly clean; her frowzy, unkempt hair was in curl papers over her forehead; her dress, originally a gayly colored calico, soiled, faded, and torn—a not inviting picture for even a rough, hard-working old farmer to see at the head of his table.
“Things has changed considerable since courtin’ days, B’lindy,” he remarked in a bitter, sarcastic tone. “You used to slick up real nice in them times when you knowed I was comin’.”
“Of course I did; but now my fortin’s made, what ud be the use o’ goin’ to all that trouble?” she returned, with a short laugh.
“It’s a kind o’ cheatin’, I think,” he went on, eyeing her with increasing disgust, “to ’low a man to marry you with the idee that he’s gettin’ a neat, managin’, orderly woman, and then turn out a slattern such as you.”
“Not a bit more cheatin’ than fer a man to give a woman the notion that he’a a goin’ to pet and humor her and give her everything she wants, and then, when he’s got her fast, turn out mean and stingy and hard, wantin’ to force her to work mornin’, noon, and night, like a nigger, and never have nothin’ decent to wear, let alone a cent o’ money to call her own,” she retorted, angrily.
“I was just objectin’ to your not lookin’ decent. You’ve got clo’es a plenty if you’d wear ’em.”
“I haven’t. I’d ought to have a new dress this minute, and a handsome one too. I’m sure I deserve it fer throwin’ myself away on an old codger like you when there was a plenty o’ likely young fellers as would a been glad enough to get me, and treat me decent, too!” she cried, bursting into angry tears.
“That isn’t no way to get nothin’ out o’ me, I kin tell ye!” he growled.