“Oh, why?” said Mrs. Day. “They would please him so.”
“He couldn’t carry them, Mrs. Day. I’ve thought it all out. He’ll be walked to the jail between strong men. We must have some small bokay to pin on his coat, for his hands will be shackled.”
“You don’t say!” cried Mrs. Slocum. “How awful! I must get to that train. I’ve never seen a man in shackles in my life.”
So violets were selected; Mrs. Campbell brought some in the afternoon from her own borders, and Mrs. Parsons furnished a large pin. She claimed also the right to affix the decoration upon the prisoner’s breast because she had suggested the idea of flowers; but the other ladies protested, and the president seemed to think that they all should draw lots. It fell to Mrs. Day.
“Now I declare!” twittered the little matron. “I do believe I’ll never dare.”
“You must say something to him,” said Amanda; “something fitting and choice.”
“Oh dear no, Mrs. Campbell. Why, I never—my gracious! Why, if I’d known I was expected—Really, I couldn’t think—I’ll let you do it!”
“We can’t hash up the ceremony that way, Mrs. Day,” said Amanda, severely. And as they all fell arguing, the whistle blew.
“There!” said Mrs. Slocum. “Now you’ve made me late, and I’ll miss the shackles and everything.”