Why, he was really quite civil to me the other day when I passed him," replied Miss Saidie, facing Fletcher with her hand resting on the belt of her apron."I was in the phaeton, and he got down off his wagon and picked up my whip.I declare, it almost took my breath away, but when I thanked him he raised his hat and spoke very pleasantly.""Oh, you and your everlasting excuses!" sneered Fletcher, going up the steps and turning on the porch to look down upon her."Itell you I've had as many of 'em as I'm going to stand.This is my house, and what I say in it has got to be the last word.If you squirt any more of that blamed water around here the place will rot to pieces under our very feet."Miss Saidie placed her watering-pot on the step and lifted to him the look of amiable wonder which he found more irritating than a sharp retort.
"I forgot to tell you that Susan Spade has been waiting to speak to you," she remarked, as if their previous conversation had been of the friendliest nature.
"Oh, drat her! What does she want?"
"She wouldn't tell me--it was for you alone, she said.That was a good half-hour ago, and she's been waiting in your setting-room ever sence.She's such a sharp-tongued woman I wonder how Tom manages to put up with her.""Well, if he does, I won't," growled Fletcher, as he went in to meet his visitor.
Mrs.Spade, wearing a severe manner and a freshly starched purple calico, was sitting straight and stiff on the edge of the cretonne-covered lounge, and as he entered she rose to receive him with a visible unbending of her person.She was a lank woman, with a long, scrawny figure which appeared to have run entirely to muscle, and very full skirts that always sagged below the belt-line in the back.Her face was like that of a man--large-featured, impressive, and not without a ruddy masculine comeliness.
"It's my duty that's brought me, Mr.Fletcher," she began, as they shook hands."You kin see very well yo'self that it's not a pleasure, as far as that goes, for if it had been I never should have come-not if I yearned and pined till I was sore.I never saw a pleasure in my life that didn't lead astray, an' I've got the eye of suspicion on the most harmless-lookin' one that goes.As Itell Tom--though he won't believe it--the only way to be sartain you're followin' yo' duty in this world is to find out the thing you hate most to do an' then do it with all yo' might.That rule has taken me through life, suh: it married me to Tom Spade, an'
it's brought me here to-day.'Don't you go up thar blabbin' on Will Fletcher,' said Tom, when I was tyin' on my bonnet.'You needn't say one word mo' about it,' was my reply.'I know the Lord's way, an' I know mine.I've wrastled with this in pra'r, an' I tell you when the Lord turns anybody's stomach so dead agin a piece of business, it means most likely that it's the very thing they've got to swallow down.""Oh, Will!" gasped Fletcher, dropping suddenly into his armchair.
"Please come to the point at once, ma'am, and let me hear what the rascal has done last.""I'm comin', suh; I'm comin'," Mrs.Spade hastened to assure him.
"Yes, Tom an' I hev talked it all down to the very bone, but Iwouldn't trust a man's judgment on morals any mo' than I would on matchin' calico.Right an' wrong don't look the same to 'em by lamplight as they do by day, an' if thar conscience ain't set plum' in the pupils of thar eyes, I don't know whar 'tis, that's sho'.But, thank heaven, I ain't one of those that's always findin' an excuse for people--not even if the backslider be my own husband.Thar's got to be some few folks on the side of decency, an' I'm one of 'em.Virtue's a slippery thing--that's how I look at it--an' if you don't git a good grip on it an'
watch it with a mighty stern eye it's precious apt to wriggle through yo' fingers.I'm an honest woman, Mr.Fletcher, an' Iwouldn't blush to own it in the presence of the King of England "Great Scott!" exclaimed Fletcher, with a brutal laugh; "do you mean to tell me the precious young fool has fallen in love with you?""Me, suh? If he had, a broomstick an' a spar' rib or so would have been all you'd ever found of him agin.I've never yit laid eyes on the man I couldn't settle with a single sweep, an' when a lone woman comes to wantin' a protector, I've never seen the husband that could hold a candle to a good stout broom.That's what I said to Jinnie when she got herself engaged to Fred Boxley.'Married or single,' I said, 'gal, wife, or widow, a broom is yo' best friend.'"Fletcher twisted impatiently in his chair.
"Oh, for heaven's sake, stop your drivelling," he blurted out at last, "and tell me in plain language what the boy has done.""Oh, I don't know what he's done or what he hasn't," rejoined Mrs.Spade, "but I've watched him courtin' Molly Peterkin till Itold Tom this thing had to stop or I would stop it.If thar's a p'isonous snake or lizard in this country, suh, it's that tow-headed huzzy of Sol Peterkin's; an' if thar's a sex on this earth that I ain't go no patience with, it's the woman sex.A man may slip an' slide a little because he was made that way, but when it comes to a woman she's got to w'ar whalebones in her clothes when I'm aroun'.Lord! Lord! What's the use of bein'
honest if you can't p'int yo' finger at them that ain't? Virtue gits mighty little in the way of gewgaws in this world, an' Ireckon it's got to make things up in the way it feels when it looks at them that's gone astray--""Molly Peterkin!" gasped Fletcher, striking the arm of his chair a blow that almost shattered it."Christopher Blake was bad enough, and now it's Molly Peterkin! Out of the frying-pan right spang into the fire.Oh, you did me a good turn in coming, Mrs.
Spade.I'll forgive you the news you brought, and I'll even forgive you your blasted chatter.How long has this thing been going on, do you know?""That I don't, suh, that I don't; though I've been pryin' an'
peekin' mighty close.All I know is, that every blessed evenin'
