The Albany Depot | Page 6

token."
McIlheny: "Sure it's no bad joke on ye, sor."
Campbell, interposing: "I was having my laugh at him when your good
lady here noticed us. You see, I know his wife--she's my sister--and I
could understand just how she would do such a thing, and--ah, ha, ha,
ha, ha! Ha, ha, ha! I don't think I shall ever get over it."
McIlheny: "Sure it is good! Hu, hu, hu, hu! Mary, it's what ye'd call a
bull, if it was Irish, I'm thinkun'; an' it's no bad bull as it is, my dear."
Mrs. McIlheny, laughing: "Ye're right there, Mike. It's as fine a bull as
ever there was."
Campbell: "And my friend here insisted on going over and speaking to
the lady, in hopes she could help him out of the difficulty. I suppose he
bungled it; he only wanted to ask her if she'd seen a cook here, who had
an appointment to go out of town with a gentleman. I'd been joking him
about it, and he thought he must do something; and I fancy he made a
mess of it. He was a good deal worked up. Ha, ha, ha! Ah, ha, ha, ha!"
Mr. and Mrs. McIlheny join in his laugh, and finally Roberts himself.

The Colored Man who calls the Trains, coming and going: "Cars for
Auburndale, Riverside, Pine Grove, and Newton Lower Falls. Express
to Auburndale, Track No. 7."
Mrs. McIlheny: "There's our train. Mike! Come!"
McIlheny: "So 'tis, Mary! Well, I'm hawpy to make yer acquaintance,
gentlemen; and if ye're ever in the City Hahl when the Council is sittun',
and ye'll send in yer names to Mike McIlheny, I'll be pl'ased to show ye
ahl the attintion in me power. Ye must excuse me _now_; we're jist
runnun' out to the Fahls to pass Sunday at a cousin's of Mrs.
McIlheny's." He snakes hands with Roberts and Campbell, and runs out,
followed by his wife.

IV
ROBERTS AND CAMPBELL Campbell: "Distinguished public
character. Well, we're out of that, Roberts. I had to crowd the truth a
little for you, but I fetched the belligerent McIlheny. What are you
going in for next?"
Roberts: "I--upon my word, I haven't the least idea. I think I shall give
up trying to identify the cook. Agnes must do it herself when she comes
here."
Campbell: "Oh no! That won't do, old fellow. The cook may come here
and give you the slip before Agnes gets back."
Roberts: "What would you do?"
Campbell: "Well, I don't know; I don't like to advise, exactly; but it
seems to me you've got to keep trying. You've got to keep your eye out
for respectable butter-balls, and not let them slip through your fingers."
Roberts: "You mean, go up and speak to them? I _couldn't_ do that
again."
Campbell: "Well, of course you didn't make a howling success with
Mrs. McIlheny; but it wasn't a dead-failure either. But you must use a
little more diplomacy--lead up to the subject gently. Don't go and ask a

woman if she's a cook, or had an appointment to meet a gentleman here.
That won't do. I'll tell you! You might introduce the business by asking
if she had happened to see a lady coming in or going out; and then
describe Agnes, and say you had expected to meet her here. And she'll
say she hadn't seen her here, but such a lady had just engaged her as a
cook. And then you'll say you're the lady's husband, and you're sure
she'll be in in a moment. And there you are! That's the way you ought
to have worked it with Mrs. McIlheny. Then it would have come out all
right."
Roberts, pessimistically: "I don't see how it would have made her the
cook."
Campbell: "It couldn't have done that, of course; but it would have
done everything short of that. But we're well enough out of it, anyway.
It was mighty lucky I came in with my little amendment just when I did.
There's all the difference in the world between asking a lady whether
she is a cook and whether she's seen a cook. That difference just saved
the self-respect of the McIlhenys, and saved your life. It gave the truth
a slight twist in the right direction. You can't be too careful about the
truth, Roberts. You can't offer it to people in the crude state; it's got to
be prepared. If you'd carried it through the way I wanted you to, the
night you and old Bemis garroted each other, you'd have come out
perfectly triumphant. What you want is not the real truth, but the ideal
truth; not what you _did,_ but what you ought to have done. Heigh?
Now, you see, those McIlhenys have gone