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"Her satchel?" "Yes. Inie wouldn't take it north herself, but Di had it." "Mother," said Lulu, "when Di went away just now, was she carrying a satchel?" "Didn't I just tell you?" Mrs. Bett demanded, aggrieved. "I said I didn't think Inie " "Mother! Which way did she go?" Monona pointed with her spoon. "She went that way," she said. "I seen her." Lulu looked at the clock.
I could hear Temple rehearsing his German vocabulary, 'Brod, butter, wasser, fleisch, bett, as we stumbled along. Then it fell to 'Brod, wasser, bett, and then, 'Bett' by itself, his confession of fatigue.
The difficulty of making sure of a bed when you are once detached from your home, was the philosophical reflection we arrived at, for nothing practical presented itself. To arm ourselves we pulled out Miss Goodwin's paper. 'Gasthof is the word! cried Temple. 'Gasthof, zimmer, bett; that means inn, hot supper, and bed. We'll ask. We asked several of the men.
The difficulty of making sure of a bed when you are once detached from your home, was the philosophical reflection we arrived at, for nothing practical presented itself. To arm ourselves we pulled out Miss Goodwin's paper. 'Gasthof is the word! cried Temple. Gasthof, zimmer, bett; that means inn, hot supper, and bed. We'll ask. We asked several of the men.
In the early hours of the next afternoon with the sun shining across the threshold, Lulu was paring something at the kitchen table. Mrs. Bett was asleep. Di was not there. A man came round the house and stood tying a puppy to the porch post. A long shadow fell through the west doorway, the puppy whined. "Oh," said this man. "I didn't mean to arrive at the back door, but since I'm here "
Bett and Lulu and Cornish and Monona supped alone. All were at ease, now that they were alone. Especially Mrs. Bett was at ease. It became one of her young nights, her alive and lucid nights. She was there. She sat in Dwight's chair and Lulu sat in Ina's chair. Lulu had picked flowers for the table a task coveted by her but usually performed by Ina.
His second book depends largely upon the craving for sex experience, in which it resembles Mr. Hergesheimer's "Cytherea," but also plays heavily upon the motive of escape, and upon sheer curiosity. "Miss Lulu Bett" was a story of revenge.
'Why, no! she says, 'they'd call me a liar! they would, indeed! and I do not wish to say anything to destroy my own character for veracity, though what I say is strictly true. Some things have been omitted through forgetfulness, which not having been mentioned in their places, can only be briefly spoken of here;-such as, that her father Bomefree had had two wives before he took Mau mau Bett; one of whom, if not both, were torn from him by the iron hand of the ruthless trafficker in human flesh;-that her husband, Thomas, after one of his wives had been sold away from him, ran away to New York City, where he remained a year or two, before he was discovered and taken back to the prison-house of slavery;-that her master Dumont, when he promised Isabella one year of her time, before the State should make her free, made the same promise to her husband, and in addition to freedom, they were promised a log cabin for a home of their own; all of which, with the one-thousand-and-one day-dreams resulting therefrom, went into the repository of unfulfilled promises and unrealized hopes;-that she had often heard her father repeat a thrilling story of a little slave-child, which, because it annoyed the family with its cries, was caught up by a white man, who dashed its brains out against the wall.
"How did you know?" Lulu asked. "Know! Know what?" "That it ain't Lulu Deacon. Hello, mamma." She passed the others, and kissed her mother. "Say," said Mrs. Bett placidly. "And I just ate up the last spoonful o' cream." "Ain't Lulu Deacon!" Ina's voice rose and swelled richly. "What you talking?" "Didn't he write to you?" Lulu asked. "Not a word." Dwight answered this.
Bett, her arm still circling the child Monona, now made her first observation. "Pity not to have went while the going was good," she said, and said no more. Nobody knew quite what she meant, and everybody hoped for the best. But Ina frowned. Mamma did these things occasionally when there was company, and she dared. She never sauced Dwight in private. And it wasn't fair, it wasn't fair
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