Susan Clegg and Her Friend Mrs. Lathrop | Page 8

lieu of an answer swallowed her clover.
"You asked him, didn't you?"
"Yes, I--"
"Well, what 'd he say?"
"He ain't very--"
"My soul 'n' body! What reason did he give?"
"He's afraid your father's livin' on a annu--"
"Well, he ain't." Susan's tone was more than a little displeased. "Whatever else father may 'a' done, he never played no annuity tricks. He 's livin' on his own property, 'n' I'll take it very kindly o' you, Mrs. Lathrop, to make that piece o' news clear to your son. My father's got bank-stock, 'n' he owns them two cottages across the bridge, 'n' the blacksmith-shop belongs to him too. There! I declare I never thought o' the blacksmith,--his wife died last winter."
"Jathrop asked me what I th--"
"Well, what 'd you tell him?"
"I said 't if your father was some older--"
Miss Clegg's eyebrows moved understandingly.
"How long is it since you've seen father?" she asked without waiting for the other to end her sentence.
"Not since your mother died, I guess; I was--"
"I wish you c'd come over 'n' take a look at him now 'n' tell me your opinion. Why can't you?"
Mrs. Lathrop reflected.
"I don't see why I can't. I'll go in 'n' take off--"
"All right, 'n' when you've got it off, come right over 'n' you'll find me in the kitchen waitin' for you."
Mrs. Lathrop returned to her own house to shed her apron and wash her hands, and then sallied over to view Mr. Clegg. The two friends mounted the stair together, and entered the old man's room.
It was a scrupulously clean and bright and orderly room, and the invalid in the big white bed bore evidence to the care and attention so dutifully lavished on him. He was a very wizened little old man, and his features had been crossed and recrossed by the finger of Time until their original characteristics were nearly obliterated. The expression upon his face resembled nothing so much as a sketch which has been done over so many times that its first design is altogether lost, and if there was any answer to the riddle, it was not the mental perception of Mrs. Lathrop that was about to seize upon it.
Instead, that kindly visitor stood lost in a species of helpless contemplation, until at last a motion of Susan's, directed towards the ordering of an unsightly fold in the wide smoothness of the counterpane, led to her bending herself to do a similar kindness upon her side of the bed. The action resulted in a slight change in her expression which Susan's watchfulness at once perceived.
"Was it a needle?" she asked quickly. "Sometimes I stick 'em in while I'm sewin'. You see, his havin' been paralyzed so many years has got me where I'm awful careless about leavin' needles in his bed."
"No," said Mrs. Lathrop; "it wasn't a--"
"Come on downstairs again," said the hostess; "we c'n talk there."
They went down into the kitchen, and there Mrs. Lathrop seated herself and coughed solemnly.
"What is it, anyhow?" the younger woman demanded.
Mrs. Lathrop coughed again.
"Susan, did I feel a feather--"
"Yes," said Susan, in great surprise; "he likes one."
"I sh'd think it was too hot this--"
"He don't never complain o' the heat, 'n' he hates the chill o' rainy days."
Mrs. Lathrop coughed again.
Miss Clegg's interest bordered on impatience.
"Now, Susan, I ain't sayin' as it's noways true, but I have heard as there's them 's can't die on--"
"On feathers?" cried the daughter.
"Yes; they say they hold the life right in 'n'--"
Miss Clegg's eyes opened widely.
"But I couldn't take it away from him, anyhow," she said, with a species of determined resignation in her voice. "I'd have to wait 'till he wanted it took."
Mrs. Lathrop was silent. Then she rose to go. Susan rose too. They went out the kitchen door together, and down the steps. There they paused to part.
"Do you believe 't it 'd be any use me thinkin' o' Jathrop any more?" the maiden asked the matron.
"I believe I'd try the blacksmith if I was you; he looks mighty nice Sundays."
Miss Clegg sighed heavily and turned to re-enter the house.
Mrs. Lathrop went "round by the gate" and became again an inmate of her own kitchen. There the thought occurred to her that it was an excellent morning to clean the high-shelf over the sink. For years past whenever she had had occasion to put anything up there, showers of dust and rolls of lint had come tumbling down upon her head. Under such circumstances it was but natural that a determination to some day clean the shelf should have slowly but surely been developed. Accordingly she climbed up on the edge of the sink and undertook the initiatory proceedings. The lowest stratum of dirt was found to rest upon a newspaper containing an account of one day of Guiteau's trial. Upon the discovery of