Mrs. Minks Soldier and Other Stories | Page 3

at the other. Is it any wonder that when
she beheld a strange young foreigner sitting stiffly on her parlor sofa,
and realized that she must entertain him for at least an hour, that panic
seized her?
"I better be seeing to dinner," she said hastily. "You can look at the
album till I get things dished up."
Private Bowinski, surnamed Alexis, sat with knees awkwardly hunched
and obediently turned the leaves of the large album, politely scanning
the placid countenances of departed Minks for several generations.
Miss Mink, moving about in the inner room, glanced in at him from
time to time. After the first glance she went to the small store room and
got out a jar of sweet pickle, and after the second she produced a glass
of crab apple jelly. Serving a soldier guest who had voluntarily adopted
her country, was after all not so distasteful, if only she did not have to
talk to him. But already the coming ordeal was casting its baleful
shadow.
When they were seated opposite one another at the small table, her
worst fears were realized. They could neither of them think of anything
to say. If she made a move to pass the bread to him he insisted upon
passing it to her. When she rose to serve him, he rose to serve her. She
had never realized before how oppressive excessive politeness could
be.
The one point of consolation for her lay in the fact that he was enjoying
his dinner. He ate with a relish that would have flattered any hostess.
Sometimes when he put his knife in his mouth she winced with
apprehension, but aside from a few such lapses in etiquette he
conducted himself with solemn and punctilious propriety.
When he had finished his second slice of pie, and pushed back his chair,
Miss Mink waited hopefully for him to say good-bye. He was evidently
getting out his car fare now, searching with thumb and forefinger in his
vest pocket.
"If it is not to trouble you more, may I ask a match?" he said.
"A match? What on earth do you want with a match?" demanded Miss
Mink. Then a look of apprehension swept over her face. Was this
young man actually proposing to profane the virgin air of her domicile
with the fumes of tobacco?
"Perhaps you do not like that I should smoke?" Bowinski said instantly.

"I beg you excuse, I--"
"Oh! that's all right," said Miss Mink in a tone that she did not
recognize as her own, "the matches are in that little bisque figure on the
parlor mantel. I'll get you to leave the front door open, if you don't
mind. It's kinder hot in here."
Five o'clock that afternoon found Miss Mink and Alexis Bowinski still
sitting facing each other in the front parlor. They were mutually
exhausted, and conversation after having suffered innumerable relapses,
seemed about to succumb.
"If there's any place else you want to go, you mustn't feel that you've
got to stay here," Miss Mink had urged some time after dinner. But
Alexis had answered:
"I know only two place. The Camp and the railway depot. I go on last
Sunday to the railway depot. The Chaplain at the Camp advise me I go
to church this morning. Perhaps I make a friend."
"But what do the other soldiers do on Sunday?" Miss Mink asked
desperately.
"They promenade. Always promenade. Except they go to photo-plays,
and dance hall. It is the hard part of war, the waiting part."
Miss Mink agreed with him perfectly as she helped him wait. She had
never spent such a long day in her life. At a quarter past five he rose to
go. A skillful word on her part would have expedited matters, but Miss
Mink was not versed in the social trick of speeding a departing guest.
Fifteen minutes dragged their weary length even after he was on his
feet. Then Miss Mink received a shock from which it took her an even
longer time to recover. Alexis Bowinski, having at last arrived at the
moment of departure, took her hand in his and, bowing awkwardly,
raised it to his lips and kissed it! Then he backed out of the cottage,
stalked into the twilight and was soon lost to sight beyond the hedge.
Miss Mink sank limply on the sofa by the window, and regarded her
small wrinkled hand with stern surprise. It was a hand that had never
been kissed before and it was tingling in the strangest and most
unaccountable manner.
The following week was lived in the afterglow of that eventful Sunday.
She described the soldier's visit in detail to the few customers who
came in. She went early to prayer-meeting in order to