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Updated: May 5, 2025
"Well, you've got picnic weather, all right. Yes sir, you have!" Comment concerning the weather is the inevitable preliminary to all commercial transactions in Trumet. Now, preliminaries being over, Daniel waited hopefully for what was to follow. His hopes were dashed. "Is is Miss Dott about?" inquired one of the callers. "Miss Dott? Oh, Gertie! No, she ain't. She's gone down street somewheres.
However, he consented to the employment of the bridge teacher for her and, thereafter, two hours of each alternate afternoon, Sundays excepted, were spent by Mrs. Dott and two other female students in company with a thin and didactic spinster who quoted Elwell and Foster and discoursed learnedly concerning the values of no-trump hands. The lessons were given at the Dott home and Mr.
Hungerford had invited Miss Dott to accompany him to a water-color exhibition at a neighboring studio. Gertrude said she thought she might accept the invitation, if the exhibition was to remain for a few days. "Is the artist a friend of yours?" she asked casually. "Oh, no," was the languid answer. "He's a queer old gink old chap, I mean whose work is quite the go about here recently.
"Yes, sir; she's gone. Died in Italy a fortnight ago. Naples, I think 'twas or some such outlandish place; you know she's done nothin' but cruise around Europe ever since Uncle Jim died. The letter says she was taken sick on a Friday, and died Sunday, so 'twas pretty sudden. But Mrs. Dott interrupted. "What else does it say?" she asked excitedly. "What else does that letter say? Who is if from?"
The captain will be on board by ten o'clock, I have no doubt, and then I will contrive to see him, somehow or another." "But you could trust the master why not see him?" "I'll think of it but there's no hurry." I was afraid that Tommy Dott would have discovered me, and I kept out of his way as much as I could.
The laundress came in on Mondays and Tuesdays to do the washing and ironing, and the "man" acted as janitor's helper at the factory three days of the week. The chauffeur was but a summer flourish; B. Phelps drove his own car eight months in the year. So when the door of the Dott mansion was opened by a butler and such a dignified, polite, imposing butler Mrs.
There, Daniel Dott! aren't you proud of your wife?" There was a little hesitation in her husband's manner, and yet he tried his best to be enthusiastic. "Oh, yes," he said, "but then I was proud of you before, Serena. But but what does this mean? Have you and I got to traipse way over to Atterbury?" "Not you. You're not going. None of the men are. This is a women's convention.
I hardly need say, that as soon as we had thrown the snuff, Mr Dott and I had gone down and taken our places very demurely in the box by the side of my mother, and appeared just as astonished, and indeed added as much as possible to the company of sneezers.
And here the conversation ended. I had contracted a great alliance with Mr Dott, the midshipman, who followed Captain Delmar about, just as Bob used to follow me, and generally remained in the shop or outside with me, when his captain called upon my mother.
Even Captain Dan, the long-suffering, grew weary of her exclamations and chatter at last. "Say, Zuba," he remonstrated, "is this an all-day service you're givin' us? If it is, I wish you'd take up a collection or somethin', for a change. Mrs. Dott and I are gettin' sort of tired of the sermon." "Why why, what do you mean?
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