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White gloves and white topped shoes completed my outfit, and, my own CHAPEAU showing the effect of a rainstorm on the way home from church while away at school, I took a chance on one of Sis's, a perfectly madening one of rose-colored velvet. As the pink made me look pale, I added a touch of rouge. I looked fully out, and indeed almost Second Season.
"And while we're on names," he continued, "do try to remember in case you ever get among people, that Sis's name is Psyche and not Pish." The blond and complacent Miss Bines here moved uneasily in her patent blue plush rocker and spoke for the first time, with a grateful glance at her brother. "Yes, Uncle Peter, for mercy's sake, do try! Don't make us a laughing-stock!" "But your name is Pish.
"I know him, and I know all of you." "But ef they is a trap sot," continued Teague, ignoring Sis's tears, "ef they is, I tell you, honey, a thousau' folks like me can't hol' the boys down. The time 'a done come when they er teetotally wore out with thish 'ere sneakin' aroun' an' hidin'-out bizness." This appeared to end the conversation, but it left Woodward considerably puzzled.
He lighted their pipes, and even filled them out of his own tobacco-pouch, a proceeding which caused Mrs. Mrs. Hightower found early opportunity to deliver her verdict in Sis's ear, whereupon the latter gave her a little hug, and whispered: "Oh, I just think he's adorable!" It was very queer, however, that as soon as Sis was left to entertain Mr.
Sis's response to this transparent fib was an infectious peal of laughter, and a kiss which amply repaid Teague for any discomfort to which he may have been subjected. Once, after Sis had nestled up against Teague, she asked somewhat irrelevantly "Pap, do you reckon Mr. Woodward was a revenue spy after all?" "Well, not to'rds the last. He drapped that business airter he once seed its which-aways.
He's my brother-in-law Sis's husband. Insufferably old-timy. Don't think of anything but business. Used to look at me through his horn-rimmed glasses and say I was entirely too young to be receiving attentions from a man as old as Mr. Warren; but he didn't know. I'm not young, really, you know. Of course, I'm not twenty yet, but a girl can be under twenty and yet be a woman, can't she?"
"The chicken coughs a couple of times. "'That explains it, says the swell guy. "'Now, I says to him, 'I hate to tie a can to one of sis's friend, but she's goin' East at six o'clock, 'n' she's got to pack her duds. "'Oh, Blister, am I? says the chicken. "'Yep, I hears from auntie, I says, pullin' out the roll 'n' lay in' it on the table.
"I understood you didn't think much of sis's choice." "Well, of course, he wouldn't be much in Montana City, but he's all right in his place, and he seems to be healthy. What knocks me is how he ever got all them freckles. He never come by 'em honestly, I bet. He must 'a' got caught in an explosion of freckles sometime. But that ain't neither here nor there.
You're only a little girl, with all your high and mightiness, and there's going to be no scandal in this Familey if I can help it." I put the bedclothes over my head, and she went out. But of course I could not sleep. Sis was not home yet, or mother, and I went into Sis's room and got a novel from her table.
No one came to say good-night to me, and by half past ten I was alone with my misery. I knew Carter Brooks would be at the ball, and H also, very likely, dancing around as agreably as if he really existed, and I had not made him up. I got the book from Sis's room again, and re-read it. The woman in it had been in great trouble, too, with her husband cleaning his revolver and making his will.
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