Uncle Clem cleared his throat thoughtfully.
“Humiliatin’!—that’s what I’d call it. A strong maur’l sermon all round. A man couldn’t hear it ’thout bein’ humiliated more ways’n one.” He was back at the watch-chain again.
“It’s a pity you couldn’t of gone, Delia—you an’ Matty always was so intimate too. You certainly missed a grand treat, I can tell you; though, if you hadn’t the right clothes—”
“Well, I haven’t,” Maw spoke dryly. “I don’t go no-wheres, as you know—not even church.”
“I s’pose not. Time was it was different, though, Delia. Ain’t nobody but talks how bad off you are. Ann Chester said she seen you in town a while back and wouldn’t of knowed it was you if it hadn’t of b’en you was wearin’ my old brown cape, an’ she reconnized it. Her an’ me got ’em both alike to the same store in Rockville. You was so changed, she said she couldn’t hardly believe it was you at all.”
“Sometimes I wonder myself if it is,” said Maw grimly.
“Well, ’s I was sayin’, it was a grand funeral. None better! They even had engraved invites, over a hundred printed—and they had folks from all over the state. They give Clem, here, the contract fur the supper meat——”
“The best of everything!” Uncle Clem broke in. “None o’ your cheap graft. Gimme a free hand. Jim Bisbee tole me himself. ‘I want the best ye got,’ he sez; an’ I give it. Spring lamb and prime ribs, fancy hotel style——”
“An’ Em Carson baked the cakes fur ’em, sixteen of ’em; an’ Dickison the undertaker’s tellin’ all over they got the best quality shroud he carries. Well, you’ll find it all in the Biweekly, under Death’s Busy Sickle. Jim Bisbee shore set a store by Matty oncet she was dead. It was a grand affair, Delia. Not but what we’ve had some good ones in our time too.”
It was Aunt Mollie’s turn to stare pridefully at the Peel plate on the chimney shelf.