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Updated: May 4, 2025
March began, with change of subject in her voice, "who is Mrs. Mandel?" "Who? What do you think of her?" he rejoined. "I'll tell you about her when we get in the cars. Look at that thing! Ain't it beautiful?" They leaned over the track and looked up at the next station, where the train, just starting, throbbed out the flame-shot steam into the white moonlight.
Miss Mela looked round for applause of her sally, but March was saying to his wife: "It's a Pennsylvania German sect, I believe something like the Quakers. I used to see them when I was a boy." "Aren't they something like the Mennists?" asked Mrs. Mandel. "They're good people," said the old woman, "and the world 'd be a heap better off if there was more like 'em."
Suddenly the car stopped with so quick a turn of the brake that he was half thrown from his seat, and the policeman jumped down from the platform and ran forward. Dryfoos sat at breakfast that morning with Mrs. Mandel as usual to pour out his coffee.
"Excuse me again, Mrs. Mandel. Do you ask this from the young ladies?" "Certainly not," she said, with the best temper, and with something in her tone that convicted Beaton of vulgarity, in putting his question of her authority in the form of a sneer. "As I have suggested, they would hardly know how to help themselves at all in such a matter.
They were confirmed in their belief by the sensation of Mrs. Mandel when she returned to duty that afternoon, and they consulted her about going to Mrs. Horn's musicale. If she had felt any doubt at the name for there were Horns and Horns the address on the card put the matter beyond question; and she tried to make her charges understand what a precious chance had befallen them.
"Now you just make your plans to go with the girls, Tuesday night. They can't go alone, and Mrs. Mandel can't go with them." "Pshaw!" said Mela. "We don't want to take Conrad away from his meetun', do we, Chris?" "I don't know," said Christine, in her high, fine voice. "They could get along without him for one night, as father says." "Well, I'm not a-goun' to take him," said Mela. "Now, Mrs.
The old man made a start toward her, but he fell back in his chair before she was gone, and, with a fierce, grinding movement of his jaws, controlled himself. "Take-take those things up," he gasped to Mrs. Mandel. He seemed unable to rise again from his chair; but when she asked him if he were unwell, he said no, with an air of offence, and got quickly to his feet.
Beaton, with me," those within heard him say; and then, after a sound of putting off overcoats, they saw him fill the doorway, with his feet set square and his arms akimbo. "Ah! hello! hello!" Fulkerson said, in recognition of the Marches. "Regular gathering of the clans. How are you, Mrs. Dryfoos? How do you do, Mrs. Mandel, Miss Christine, Mela, Aunt Hitty, and all the folks? How you wuz?"
After a while the subject of Mela's hoarse babble and of Christine's high-pitched, thin, sharp forays of assertion and denial in the field which her sister's voice seemed to cover, made its way into the old man's consciousness, and he perceived that they were talking with Mrs. Mandel about it, and that his wife was from time to time offering an irrelevant and mistaken comment.
There are moods in which I could imagine myself in love with an academic person. That regularity of line; that reasoned strictness of contour; that neatness of pose; that slightly conventional but harmonious grouping of the emotions and morals you can see how it would have its charm, the Wedgwood in human nature? I wonder where Mrs. Mandel keeps her urn and her willow."
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