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It was a shock to know that at last there was something which could make her afraid of Mrs. Bogart's spying. "What am I doing? Am I in love with Erik? Unfaithful? I? I want youth but I don't want him I mean, I don't want youth enough to break up my life. I must get out of this. Quick." She said to Kennicott on their way home, "Will! I want to run away for a few days.
He could not escape his debtor and his debtor's awful sufferings on account of not being able to pay. He dreaded to show himself in the street, lest he should find Stephen lying in wait for him at the corner. Bogart's billiard saloon was a great resort for pilots in those days. They met there about as much to exchange river news as to play.
Cy was to be heard publishing it abroad that if he couldn't get the Widow Bogart's permission to enlist, he'd run away and enlist without it. He shouted that he "hated every dirty Hun; by gosh, if he could just poke a bayonet into one big fat Heinie and learn him some decency and democracy, he'd die happy."
Zitterel, the coldness of cold days, the price of poplar wood, Dave Dyer's new hair-cut, and Cy Bogart's essential piety. "As I said to his Sunday School teacher, Cy may be a little wild, but that's because he's got so much better brains than a lot of these boys, and this farmer that claims he caught Cy stealing 'beggies, is a liar, and I ought to have the law on him." Mrs.
She could not find a glass-headed picture-nail in town; she did not hunt for the sort of veiling she wanted she took what she could get; and only at Howland & Gould's was there such a luxury as canned asparagus. Routine care was all she could devote to the house. Only by such fussing as the Widow Bogart's could she make it fill her time. She could not have outside employment.
And I'd been having lots of fun dancing with the nicest young farmer, so strong and nice, and awfully intelligent. But I got uneasy when I saw how Cy was. So I doubt if I touched two drops of the beastly stuff. Do you suppose God is punishing me for even wanting wine?" "My dear, Mrs. Bogart's god may be Main Street's god.
Bogart, whose alarm was pacified by this positive proof. Neither Anneke nor Mary exhibited any fear; but, on the contrary, as the sleighs separated again, each had something pleasant, but feminine, to say at the expense of poor Mrs. Bogart's imagination. I believe I was the only person in our own sleigh who felt any alarm, after the occurrence of this little incident.
And the volumes of Hunt's Merchant's Magazine, 1839-60, DeBow's Review, 1846-60, and the American Banker's Magazine for the same period are storehouses of the economic history of the time, K. Coman's Industrial History of the United States ; E. L. Bogart's The Economic History of the United States ; and Horace White's Money and Banking Illustrated by American History , are the best special works in their several lines.
The voice of the other interlocutor Carol did not catch, nor, though Mrs. Bogart was proclaiming that he was her confidant and present assistant, did she catch the voice of Mrs. Bogart's God. "Another row with Cy," Carol inferred. She trundled the go-cart down the back steps and tentatively wheeled it across the yard, proud of her repairs. She heard steps on the sidewalk.
Who else had seen her with Erik? What had she to fear from the Dyers, Cy Bogart, Juanita, Aunt Bessie? What precisely had she answered to Mrs. Bogart's questioning? All next day she was too restless to stay home, yet as she walked the streets on fictitious errands she was afraid of every person she met. She waited for them to speak; waited with foreboding.
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