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Updated: May 8, 2025
As though the tin had been his own flesh the act goaded Barton half upright into the light a brightly naked young Viking to the waist, a vaguely shadowed equestrian Fashion Plate to the feet. "Well I certainly never saw anybody like you before!" he glowered at her. With equal gravity but infinitely more deliberation little Eve Edgarton returned the stare.
And old plaster!" Without further ado then, she turned away, and, except for the single ecstatic episode of making the four hundred muffins for breakfast, resumed her pulseless role of being just little Eve Edgarton.
Vaguely its soft curving outline merged into shadow and turf. The third thud was a battered old drinking-cup dully silver, mysteriously Chinese. The fourth thud was a big glass jar of frankly American beef. Familiarly, reassuringly, its sleek sides glinted in the flickering flame. "Supper," announced little Eve Edgarton.
MY name is Arthur Gordon Pym. My father was a respectable trader in sea-stores at Nantucket, where I was born. My maternal grandfather was an attorney in good practice. He was fortunate in every thing, and had speculated very successfully in stocks of the Edgarton New Bank, as it was formerly called. By these and other means he had managed to lay by a tolerable sum of money.
Absent-mindedly, one by one, Edgarton handed the articles to her, and then sank down on the foot of her bed with his thin-lipped mouth contorted into a rather mirthless grin. "Don't care much for your old father, do you?" he asked trenchantly.
"Well, it wouldn't hurt you to smile just a tiny bit now and then!" "Wouldn't it?" said little Eve Edgarton. Thoughtfully for a moment, with her scissors poised high in the air, she seemed to be considering the suggestion. Then quite abruptly again she resumed her task of prying some pasted object out of her scrap-book. "Oh, no, thank you, Mr. Barton," she decided.
"Well, then, good old John Ellbertson good old John Ellbertson how I do love his kind gray eyes," she began all over again. Palpably Edgarton shifted his standing weight from one foot to the other. "I understood your mother," he asserted a bit defiantly. "Did you, dear? I wonder?" mused little Eve Edgarton. "Eh?" jerked her father.
"But of course if I marry him," she confided without the slightest flicker of emotion, "it's what I'll have to write all the rest of my life." "But " stammered Barton. "For mercy's sake, do you want to marry him?" he asked quite bluntly. "Oh, no," drawled little Eve Edgarton. Impatiently Barton threw away his half-smoked cigarette and lighted a fresh one. "Then why?" he demanded.
With extreme distaste he began to untie the soft flimsy lavender ribbon that encompassed them. "In their native state, you know," he confided, "one very seldom finds them growing with sashes on them." From her nest of cushions across the room little Eve Edgarton loomed up suddenly into definite prominence. "What did you bring me, Mr. Barton?" she asked. "Why, Eve!" cried her father.
As one eminently relieved of all future worry in the matter, he jumped up, pushed away his microscopic work, and, grabbing up the biggest book on the table, bolted unceremoniously for an easy chair. Indifferently for a moment little Eve Edgarton stood watching him.
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