“It’s a case of standin’ broad jump,” says I, “from housekeeper to governess, with an age handicap and a crooked entry.”
Course, I has to work out the details for ’em, and when I’ve stated the whole hideous plot, from the passing of Truckles the Thirsty to the high pride of Katy the Barkeep’s Bride, includin’ the tale of the stolen character and chuckin’ the nervy bluff—well, they didn’t any of ’em know what to say. They just stands around gawpin’ curious at this sobbin’, wabbly kneed old party slumped down there on the hall seat.
Aunt Martha, actin’ as prosecutor for the State, is the first to recover. “Well, there’s no knowin’ how far she might have gone,” says she. “And she ought to be punished some way. Pinckney, what are you going to do with her?”
For a minute he looks from Aunt Martha to the object in the middle of the circle, and then he drops them black eyelashes lazy, like he was half-asleep, and I knew somethin’ was coming worth listenin’ to.
“Considering all the circumstances,” says Pinckney, “I think we shall discharge Marie, increase Mrs. Truckles’ salary, give her an assistant, and ask her to stay with us permanently. Eh, Geraldine?”
And Geraldine nods hearty.
“Pinckney, let’s shake on that,” says I. “Even if your head is full of soap bubbles, you’ve got an eighteen-carat heart in you. Hear the news, Mrs. Truckles?”
“Then—then I’m not to go to jail?” says she, takin’ her hands off her face and lookin’ up straight and steady for the first time in months.
“Jail nothin’!” says I. “There’s goin’ to be a new deal, and you start in fresh with a clean slate.”
“Humph!” snorts Aunt Martha. “Do you expect me to stay here and countenance any such folly?”