Other Peoples Business | Page 6

filthy habit.
"Persis," he began in his deepest tones, "I was thinking as I came
along--"
The stairs creaked and Persis interrupted him. "There's Joel. It makes it
hard for him when the days are getting longer all the time. He'll be glad
when we have to light the lamps at five."
Thomas was in a mood to wish that the village of Clematis basked in
the rays of the midnight sun. He forced a smile to his reluctant lips as
Persis' brother entered and magnanimously put the question, "How do
you find yourself to-night, Joel?" though he knew only too well the
consequences to which this exposed him. There was no surer passport
to Joel's favor than to inquire about his health if one was also willing to
listen to his answer. The people who said, "How do you do?" and
immediately began to talk of something else were the objects of Joel's
detestation, while his grateful affection went out to the select few
willing to hear in detail his physical biography since their last meeting.
Joel experienced the same satisfaction in describing the pains in his
abdomen or an attack of palpitation that a bride feels in exhibiting her
trousseau.

"I've nothing to complain of, especially when you take into account that
I'd have been six feet under the sod by now, if I hadn't discovered that
sunshine was poison to my constitution. It sort of draws all the vitality
out of me, same as it draws the oil out of goose feathers. I'd have
improved a good ideal faster," Joel continued with sudden irritation, "if
it hadn't been for Persis' carelessness in leaving the door open. You'd
think that I had a good big life insurance in her favor, the way she acts.
As the Frenchman said, 'Defend me from my friends, I can defend
myself--'"
"I've always understood that sunshine was about the healthiest of
anything," interrupted Thomas, reddening angrily at the criticism of
Persis. "And if you want my opinion, you look to me a good deal like a
plant that's sprouted in the cellar."
The last thing Joel wanted was another's opinion. He continued as
though Thomas had not spoken.
"And besides that, I've been eating too much meat. Science tells us that
the human body is pretty near all water. Don't that show that most of
the needs of the body can be supplied by drinking plenty of water?"
Thomas shook his head. "I'd hate to try it. When I'm hungry, I wouldn't
swap a good piece of beef-steak for a hogshead of water."
"You eat too much meat." Joel, extending an almost transparent hand
toward his sister's caller, shook a bony forefinger in warning. "You're
undermining your constitution. You're shortening your days by your
inordinate use of animal food."
"Me! Why, bless you, Joel, I never was sick a day in my life."
"Well, that don't prove that you never will be, does it? And anybody
with half an eye can see that you're not in good shape. Flesh don't show
nothing. A man who weighs two hundred is the first to go under when
disease gets hold of him. Your color, as like as not, is due to fever.
How many times a day do you eat meat?"

"Well, always twice, and sometimes--"
Joel groaned. "Rank suicide! Suicide just as much as if you put a
revolver to your head. It sounds well to talk about prime cuts of beef
and all that, but when you come down to cold facts, what's meat? Dead
stuff, that's all. It ain't reasonable to talk of building up life out of
death."
Persis' quick ear had caught the sound of stealthy movements in the
adjoining room. She wove her needle into the seam, a practise so
habitual that probably she would have done the same if the lamp had
exploded unexpectedly, and crossing to the kitchen door, opened it
without warning. A small untidy woman, the shortcoming of her
appearance partly concealed by the old plaid shawl that enveloped her
person, dodged away from the key-hole with a celerity perhaps due to
practise.
"It just struck me that there was more voices than two," she explained
with self-accusing haste. "And I didn't want to intrude if you was
entertaining company. Sounded to me like Thomas Hardin's voice."
"Yes, it's Mr. Hardin. Will you come in, Mis' Trotter?" Persis'
invitation lacked its usual ring of cordiality.
"Oh, I wouldn't want to intrude. But I says to Bartholomew this very
day, 'I'm going to run over to Persis Dale's after supper,' says I, 'to see if
she can't let me have some pieces of white goods left over from her
dressmaking.' You're doing a good deal in white this time of the year,
as a rule," concluded Mrs.