“Rebecca had a big diamond pin,” said Mrs. Dodd, after a brief silence, “that she allers said was to be mine when she got through with it. Ebeneezer give it to her for a weddin’ present. You ain’t seen it layin’ around, have you?”
“No, I haven’t seen it ‘laying around,’” retorted Dorothy, conscious that she was juggling with the truth.
“Well,” continued Mrs. Dodd, easily, nibbling her pen holder, “when it comes to light, just remember that it’s mine. I don’t doubt it’ll turn up sometime. An’ now, my dear, I’ll just begin on them letters. Cousin Si Martin’s folks are a-packin’ an’ expectin’ to get here next week. I suppose you’re willin’ to furnish the stamps?”
“Willing!” cried Dorothy, “I should say yes!”
Mrs. Dodd toiled long at her self-imposed task, and, having finished it, went out into the kitchen, where for an hour or more she exchanged mortuary gossip with Mrs. Smithers, every detail of the conversation being keenly relished by both ladies.
At dinner-time, eleven people sat down to partake of the excellent repast furnished by Mrs. Smithers under the stimulus of pleasant talk. Harlan was at the head, with Miss St. Clair on his right and Mrs. Dodd on his left. Next to Miss St. Clair was the poet, whose deep sorrow did not interfere with his appetite. The twins were next to him, then Mrs. Holmes, then Willie, then Dorothy, at the foot of the table. On her right was Dick, the space between Dick and Mrs. Dodd being occupied by Uncle Israel.
To a careless observer, it might have seemed that Uncle Israel had more than his share of the table, but such in reality was not the case. His plate was flanked by a goodly array of medicine bottles, and cups and bowls of predigested and patent food. Uncle Israel, as Dick concisely expressed it, was “pie for the cranks.”
“My third husband,” remarked Mrs. Dodd, pleasantly, well aware that she was touching her neighbour’s sorest spot, “was terribly afflicted with stomach trouble.”
“The only stomach trouble I’ve ever had,” commented Mr. Chester, airily spearing another biscuit with his fork, “was in getting enough to put into it.”
“Have a care, young man,” wheezed Uncle Israel, warningly. “There ain’t nothin’ so bad for the system as hot bread.”