Each recent remarkable occurrence had obliterated its predecessor,and it was with difficulty that I made a straight parting in my hair.Had it been Miss Rieppe that John so suddenly ran away to?It seemed now more as if the boy had been running away from somebody.The waitress had stared at him with extraordinary interest;she had seen his bruise;perhaps she knew how he had got it.Her excitement--had he smashed up his official superior at the custom house?That would be an impossible thing,I told myself instantly;as well might a nobleman cross swords with a peasant.
Perhaps the stare of the waitress had reminded him of his bruise,and he might have felt disinclined to show himself with it in a company of gossiping strangers.Still,that would scarcely account for it-the dismay with which he had so suddenly left me.Was Juno the cause--she had come up behind me;he must have seen her and her portentous manner approaching--had the boy fled from her?
And then,his fierce outbreak about taking orders from a negro when I was moralizing over the misfortune of marrying a jackass!I got a sort of parting in my hair,and went down to the dining room.
Juno was there before me,with her bonnet,or rather her headdress,still on,and I heard her ****** apologies to Mrs.Trevise for being so late.
Mrs.Trevise,of course,sat at the head of her table,and Juno sat at her right hand.I was very glad not to have a seat near Juno,because this lady was,as I have already hinted,an intolerable person to me.
Either her Southern social position or her rent (she took the whole second floor,except Mrs.Trevise's own rooms)was of importance to Mrs.
Trevise;but I assure you that her ways kept our landlady's cold,impervious tact watchful from the beginning to the end of almost every meal.Juno was one of those persons who possess so many and such strong feelings themselves that they think they have all the feelings there are;at least,they certainly consider no one's feelings but their own.She possessed an inexhaustible store of anecdote,but it was exclusively about our Civil War;you would have supposed that nothing else had ever happened in the world.When conversation among the rest of us became general,she preserved a cold and acrid inattention;when the fancy took her to open her own mouth,it was always to begin some reminiscence,and the reminiscence always began:"In September,1862,when the Northern vandals,"etc.,etc.,or"When the Northern vandals were repulsed by my husband's cousin,General Braxton Bragg,"etc.,etc.Now it was not that I was personally wounded by the term,because at the time of the vandals I was not even born,and also because I know that vandals cannot be kept out of any army.Deeply as I believed the March to the Sea to have been imperative,of "Sherman's bummers"and their excesses I had a fair historic knowledge and a very poor opinion;and this I should have been glad to tell Juno,had she ever given me the chance;but her immodest sympathy for herself froze all sympathy for her.Why could she not preserve a well-bred silence upon her sufferings,as did the other old ladies I had met in Kings Port?Why did she drag them in,thrust them,poke them,shove them at you?Thus it was that for her insulting disregard of those whom her words might wound I detested Juno;and as she was a woman,and nearly old enough to be my grandmother,it was,of course,out of the question that I should retaliate.When she got very bad indeed,it was calm Mrs.Trevise's last,but effective,resort to tinkle a little handbell and scold one of the waitresses whom its sound would then summon from the kitchen.This bell was tinkled not always by any means for my sake;other travellers from the North there were who came and went,pausing at Kings Port between Florida and their habitual abodes.
At present our company consisted of Juno;a middle-class Englishman employed in some business capacity in town;a pair of very young honeymooners from the "up-country";a Louisiana poetess,who wore the long,cylindrical ringlets of 1830,and who was attending a convention the Daughters of Dixie;two or three males and females,best described as et ceteras;and myself."I shall only take a mouthful for the sake of nourishment,"Juno was announcing,"and then I shall return to his bedside.""Is he very suffering?"inquired the poetess,in melodious accent.
"It was an infamous onslaught,"Juno replied.
The poetess threw up her eyes and crooned,"Noble,doughty champion!""You may say so indeed,madam,"said Juno.
"Raw beefsteak's jolly good for your eye,"observed the Briton.
This suggestion did not appear to be heard by Juno.
"I had a row with a chap,"the Briton continued.He's my best friend now.
He made me put raw beefsteak--"
"I thank you,"interrupted Juno."He requires no beefsteak,raw or cooked."The face of the Briton reddened."Too groggy to eat,is he?"Mrs.Trevise tinkled her bell."Daphne!I have said to you twice to hand those yams.""I done handed 'em twice,ma'am."
"Hand them right away,Daphne,and don't be so forgetful."It was not easy to disturb the composure of Mrs.Trevise.
The poetess now took up the broken thread."Had I a son,"she declared,"I would sooner witness him starve than hear him take orders from a menial race.""But mightn't starving be harder for him to experience than for you to witness,y'know?"asked the Briton.
At this one of the et ceteras made a sort of snuffing noise,and ate his dinner hard.
It was the male honeymooner who next spoke."Must have been quite a tussle,ma'am.""It was an infamous onslaught!"repeated Juno."Wish I'd seen it!"sighed the honeymooner.
