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Updated: May 25, 2025
I 'm one that likes to have peace in the neighborhood, if it wa'n't for the likes of her, that makes the top of me head lift and clat' wit' rage like a pot-lid!" "What was the matter with the two of you?" asked a listener, with simple interest. "Faix indeed, 't was herself had a thrifle of melons planted the other side of the fince," acknowledged Mrs. Dunleavy.
Dunleavy aloud, "and there's nobody I can ask a civil question, with every one that ought to be me neighbors stopping their mouths, and keeping black grudges whin 't was meself got all the offince." "Faix 't was meself got the whack on me nose," responded Mrs. Connelly quite unexpectedly. She was looking squarely at the window where Mrs. Dunleavy sat behind the screen of blue mosquito netting.
One evening that strikes into Carl's memories of those days of the pays du tendre is the evening on which Phil Dunleavy insisted on celebrating a Yale baseball victory by taking them to dinner in the oak-room of the Ritz-Carlton, under whose alabaster lights, among the cosmopolites, they dined elaborately and smoked slim, imported cigarettes.
Dunleavy went on in his thin, overbred, insolent voice, "Now I have it on good authority, from a man who's a member of the Aero Club, that next year will be the greatest year aviation has ever known, and that the Wrights have an aeroplane up their sleeve with which they'll cross the Atlantic without a stop, during the spring of 1914 at the very latest."
He might have used the whole evening in being psychological about Ruth and Phil Dunleavy and English-basement houses with cream-colored drawing-rooms. But he went up to Gertie's.
"Well, I missed it the most on Sundays going all alone to mass," confessed Mary Dunleavy. "I 'm glad there's no one here seeing us go over, so I am." "'T was ourselves had bold words at the bridge, once, that we 've got the laugh about now," explained Mrs. Connelly politely to the stranger. One day, many years ago, the old Judge Pyne house wore an unwonted look of gayety and youthfulness.
He was glad to have her desert him for an evening now and then and go out to the Peace Waters Country Club for a dance with Phil and Olive Dunleavy. She felt guilty when she came home and found him still making calculations. But she hummed waltzes while she put on a thin, blue silk dressing-gown and took down her hair.
He called on her before her nose had quite lost the grippe or her temper the badness. Phil Dunleavy was there, lofty and cultured in evening clothes, apparently not eager to go. He stayed till ten minutes to ten, and, by his manner of cold surprise when Carl tried to influence the conversation, was able to keep it to the Kreisler violin recitals, the architecture of St.
But I'll fight them all off. I won't let them take you, Ruth." "I'm sure you won't, Carl." "And oh you won't let Phil Dunleavy keep you from running away, not for a while yet?" "M-maybe not." The sky had cleared. She tilted up her chin and adored the stars stars like the hard, cold, fighting sparks that fly from a trolley-wire.
She raised her eyebrows a bit, but hesitated. "Oh yes no, I don't suppose he does. Or anyway, mostly about the violin. He played a lot when he was in Yale." Thus was Carl encouraged to be fatuous, and he said, in a manner which quite dismissed Phil Dunleavy: "I don't believe he's very deep. Ra-ther light, I'd say." Her eyebrows had ascended farther. "Do you think so? I'm sorry." "Why sorry?"
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