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Updated: June 28, 2025
I reckon he don't try it on much with father." "Your fawther ain't ever been a perfessor," her mother interposed; "but he's always been a good church-goin' man." "Not since we come to New York," retorted the girl. "He's been all broke up since he come to New York," said the old woman, with an aggrieved look. Mrs. Mandel attempted a diversion.
Mrs. Dryfoos came down for the ceremony. She understood that it was for Coonrod's sake that his father wished the funeral to be there; and she confided to Mrs. March that she believed Coonrod would have been pleased. "Coonrod was a member of the 'Piscopal Church; and fawther's doin' the whole thing for Coonrod as much as for anybody. He thought the world of Coonrod, fawther did.
"I reckon it ain't agoun' to be anything very bad; and if it is, Coonrod, why you can just git right up and come out." "It will be all right, mother. And I will go, of course." "There, now, I knowed you would, Coonrod. Now, fawther!" This appeal was to make the old man say something in recognition of Conrad's sacrifice.
"You'll always find," he said, "that it's those of your own household that have the first claim on you." "That's so, Coonrod," urged his mother. "It's Bible truth. Your fawther ain't a perfesser, but he always did read his Bible. Search the Scriptures. That's what it means." "Laws!" cried Mely, "a body can see, easy enough from mother, where Conrad's wantun' to be a preacher comes from.
"I reckon it ain't agoun' to be anything very bad; and if it is, Coonrod, why you can just git right up and come out." "It will be all right, mother. And I will go, of course." "There, now, I knowed you would, Coonrod. Now, fawther!" This appeal was to make the old man say something in recognition of Conrad's sacrifice.
Starkweather drooped her mouth, and raised her brows, with a sigh of extreme and most self-sacrificial virtue. "Oh, of course Idy fires up if anybody says anythin' ag'in' 'er fawther. I guess that's always the way; them that does least fer their fam'lies always gets the most credit.
"I'm just middlin'," Mrs. Dryfoos replied. "I ain't never so well, nowadays. I tell fawther I don't believe it agrees with me very well here, but he says I'll git used to it. He's away now, out at Moffitt," she said to March, and wavered on foot a moment before she sank into a chair.
He took off his hat, and nervously wiped the damp hair from his forehead. His daughter did not look at him. Ricardo could see the frayed plume on her jaunty turban quiver. "My fawther here's a temperance man, a prohibitionist: he don't believe in wine; he hates it; he wouldn't touch it with a ten-foot pole. That felluh Barden knowed it didn't he, pappy? He lied!"
"If your fawther was the man he'd ought to be, he wouldn't be rode over that way by nobody." The girl's face flamed until it seemed that her blonde thatch of hair would take fire. "Pappy ain't to blame," she said angrily; "he can't help thinkin' the way he does. There ain't no call to be mad with pappy; it's all that miser'ble, lyin' Barden. It'll be a cold day fer him when I ketch 'im."
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