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Updated: May 13, 2025
Bean's shoulder and turned her so that she looked straight at the small group of home-stayers down on the wharf. She pointed a sepulchral finger, "That there, in the brown with the basket, is Hetty Cronney, own sister to Mis' Josiah Tuttle." Mrs. Bean clutched her reticule and leaned over the rail, gasping with interest. "Ye don't say that's her? My! My! My!"
When I think of that there bird goin' on this excursion and Hetty Cronney stayin' home because she's too poor, I get nesty, Mrs. Bean, yes, I do!" "Don't your cousin Hetty live over to Chadwick's Harbor," inquired Mrs. Bean, "and don't this boat-ride stop there to take on more folks?" Mrs.
Bean listened to the story of the hairs to the Hutches' money. "Mabel was the favorite; her Pa set great store by her. There was another sister consumpted she should have been a hair, but she died. Then the youngest one, Hetty, she married my second cousin Hen Cronney well it seemed like they hadn't nothing but bad luck and her Pa and Mabel sort of took against Hetty." Mrs.
Cronney, these young men deposited a glittering burden, the gold parrot-cage with the green bird sitting within, in her surprised and gratified embrace. Like flashes these agile young men jumped back upon the deck of the Fall of Rome just before the space between wharf and deck became too wide to jump. Meanwhile on the upper deck, before the petrified Mrs. Tuttle could open her mouth, Mr.
"Uh-huh?" she called down in apparent acceptance of these lurid statements, at the same time remarking baldly to Mr. Tinneray, who had placed himself at her side, "She ain't got no telephone!" At this moment something seemed to occur to little Mrs. Cronney. As she gave a parting defiant scrutiny to her opulent sister her black eyes snapped in hollow reminiscence and she called out,
Tinneray related to his spouse how Mabel Tuttle was bragging about her brick house and her shower-bath and her automobile and her hired girl, and how she'd druv herself and that there bird down to Boston and back. "Hetty, she just stands there, just as easy, and hollers back that Cronney has bought a gramophone and how they sets by it day and night listening, and how it's son and daughter to 'em.
Tuttle serene and pampered on the deck, and Hetty Cronney desolate on the wharf! She pronounced verdict. "It's terrible that's what it is!" Mr. Tinneray with great sagacity said he'd like to show Mabel Tuttle her place then he nudged his wife and chuckled admiringly, "But yet for all, Hetty's got her tongue in her head yet say, ain't she the little stinger?" Sotto voce Mr.
She could see in her mind's eye, she said, how it all looked to Hetty Cronney, the Fall of Rome with its opulent leisurely class of excursionists steaming away from her lonely little figure on the wharf; while Mabel Tuttle, selfish devourer of the Hutches' substance and hair to everything, would still be handing aroun' her boxes of French-mixed and talking baby talk to that there bird!
My wife's took in four a'ready." But little Mrs. Cronney did not answer. Shading her eyes from the sun glare, she was establishing recognizance with her cerulean relative who, waving a careless blue-mitted hand, called down in girlish greeting, "Heigho, Hetty, how's Cronney? Why ain't you to the excursion?" The little woman on the wharf was seen to wince slightly.
Tinneray would "cling to the old rugged cross." Suddenly, however, she remarked to the surrounding Summer air, "Hen Cronney is my second cousin on the mother's side. Some thought he was pretty smart until troubles come and his wife was done out of her rights." The shaft, carefully aimed, went straight into Mrs. Turtle's blue bosom and stuck there.
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