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Updated: May 31, 2025
They were letters that, for stiff-lipped pride and brazen boasting, were of a piece with those written by Sentimental Tommy's mother when things were going worst with her. "My wine-coloured silk is almost worn out," she wrote. "I'm thinking of making it over into a tea-gown with one of those new cream pongee panels down the front. Hermie says he's tired of seeing me in it, evenings.
The two children arrived with mathematical promptness first Horace, named after his grandfather Winter, of course; then Martha, named after no one in particular, but so called because Hermie Slocum insisted, stubbornly, that Martha was a good name for a girl. Martha herself fixed all that by the simple process of signing herself Marcia in her twelfth year and forever after.
Hermie was the sort of man who, christened Herman, is called Hermie. That all those who had known her before her marriage still spoke of her as Hannah Winter forty years later was merely another triumph of the strong over the weak. At twenty Hannah Winter had been a rather sallow, lively, fun-loving girl, not pretty, but animated; and forceful, even then.
Besides, doctors know all about it, and they'd see what was to pay, and they'd send me off to some kind of a hospital, and there'd be a pretty bill o' costs." "I don't believe a word of it," Myron ventured, with a grasp at mental liberty. He essayed, at the same time, to draw away his hand, but Caddie seemed to fix him with a sharper eye-gleam, and he forbore. "There's Hermie," she said.
"I had a friend out there Joe Kelsannie, of Albuquerque. Remember him, Sylvette?" "Do I!" "I'm going out there myself some day if the going's good, and get me a cowboy west of Newark." Mr. Loeb leaned forward, smiling into her quick-fire eyes. "I'll take you!" "Stick her on your watch-fob, Herman." "No, sirree, I'll take her life size." "Watch out, Hermie; remember the upside-down postage stamp!"
"I want you should make over the Turnbull place to Hermie, and have him fetch Annie there as soon as ever she'll come, and let him farm it without if or but from you and me." Myron was on his feet. He looked portentously large and masterful. "You better not think o' packin' the chiny," he said, in his ordinary tone of generalship.
The little face, littler with each year, broke into smile. "So, little Sadie-sha, you got good times, not? A good husband and good times? New York! To New York she goes, Bertha?" "Yes, mamma." Mrs. Schulien fell to crooning slightly, redigesting with the senility of years. "To New York! Nowadays young wives got it good. How long you stay, Hermie?" "It's just my Pittsburgh-New York trip, grandma."
They had been married seventeen years when Hermie Slocum, fifty-two, died of pneumonia following a heavy cold. The company was kind, but businesslike. The insurance amounted, in all, to about nine thousand dollars. Trust Hermie for never quite equalling that ten again. They offered her the agency left vacant by her husband, after her first two intelligent talks with them.
In those days you married at twenty if a decent chance to marry at twenty presented itself. And Hermie Slocum seemed a decent chance, undoubtedly. A middle-class, respected, moderately well-to-do person himself, Hermie, with ten thousand dollars saved at thirty-five and just about to invest it in business in the thriving city of Indianapolis. A solid young man, Horace Winter said.
"I guess she wants, Hermie, for her bad-girl notions you should give up the best retail business in St. Louis and take her to live in New York, where she can always be in with that nix-nux theatri " "No, no, he knows I don't want that!" "If she did, ma, we'd go!" "Herm knows it was all a mistake with me. I didn't know my own mind. I wanna go back along where I came from and where I belong!
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