“If you’ll excuse me now, my dear, I’ll go to my room. It’s just come to my mind now that this here is one of my anniversaries, an’ I’ll have to look up the facts in my family Bible, an’ change my ring.”
At dinner-time the chastised and chastened twin appeared in freshly starched raiment. His eyes were swollen and his face flushed, but otherwise his recent painful experience had remarkably improved him. He said “please” and “thank you,” and did not even resent it when Willie slyly dropped a small piece of watermelon down his neck.
“This afternoon,” said Elaine, “Mr. Perkins composed a beautiful poem. I know it is beautiful, though I have not yet heard it. I do not wish to be selfish in my pleasure, so I will ask him to read it to us all.”
The poet’s face suddenly became the colour of his hair. He dropped his napkin, and swiftly whispered to Elaine, while he was picking it up, that she herself was the subject of the poem.
“How perfectly charming,” said Elaine, clearly. “Did you hear, Mrs. Carr? Poor little, insignificant me has actually inspired a great poem. Oh, do read it, Mr. Perkins? We are all dying to hear it!”
Fairly cornered, the poet muttered that he had lost it—some other time—wait until to-morrow—and so on.
“No need to wait,” said Dick, with an ironical smile. “It was lost, but now is found. I came upon it myself, blowing around unheeded under the library window, quite like a common bit of paper.”
Mr. Perkins was transfixed with amazement, for his cherished poem was at that minute in his breast pocket. He clutched at it spasmodically, to be sure it was still safe.
Very different emotions possessed Harlan, who choked on his food. He instinctively guessed the worst, and saw his home in lurid ruin about him, but was powerless to avert the catastrophe.
“Read it, Dick,” said Mrs. Dodd, kindly. “We are all a-perishin’ to hear it. I can’t eat another bite until I do. I reckon it’ll sound like a valentine,” she concluded, with a malicious glance at Mr. Perkins.