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"Say, now, you take it right back! I can get along; I got my two upstairs rooms rented, and I've got a new mealer. And if Jacky only keeps well, I can manage fine. But that girl that's been wheelin' him has measles at her house little slut!" Wanted her two dollars a week! If Jacky's caught 'em, I I'll see to her!"
This tune, played with emotional throbbings managed by spasmodic movements of the hands over the sides of the mouth, seemed to convey anything but age to Miss Mealer, the girl who was so refined. She also sat alone in the stern, also staring down at the white water. As the wailings of the harmonica ceased, she put up a thin hand and furtively controlled some waving strands of hair.
Himes clutched the pipe in his teeth till it clicked, and stared in helpless resentment at his mealer. "What's the matter with you?" he demanded. "Speak lower, so the gals won't hear you, or you'll wish you had," counselled Shade. "I sent that there thing on to Washington to get a patent on it, and now I find that they was a model of the same there in the name of Gideon Himes.
The mealer loved and respected the haul-mealer, or wished him in Jericho, and the haul-mealer in like manner the mealer, on general grounds, like other persons with whom he came in contact, without any reference to his place of abode. All were covered by the grand old name of boarder, and that was enough.
She advanced upon a tall sallow woman in mourning, challenging, "Now Mis' Mealer, why don't you just set and take a little comfort, it won't cost you nothing? Ain't that your girl over there by the coffee fountain? I should ha' known her by the reesemblance to you; she's rill refined lookin'." Mrs. Mealer, a tall, sallow widow with carefully maintained mourning visage, admitted that this was so.
I've set and listened till I didn't know where I was settin' of course I had to buy a drink, you understand, or I couldn't 'a' set." "And they call that vice," remarked Miss Mealer with languid criticism. The mild-mannered youth looked at her gratefully. The light of reason and philosophy seemed to him to shine in her eyes.
Mealer after a faint "Excuse me," also abandoned the parrot-cage; and Mrs. Bean, a small stout woman with a brown false front, followed the large lady with blue spectacles and the tan linen duster. Here they trod as in the very sanctities of luxury. "These carpets is nice, ain't they?" remarked Mrs. Bean.
"Is that so?" responded the refined Miss Mealer. She smoothed her gloves. She opened her "mesh" bag and took out an intensely perfumed handkerchief. The mild-mannered youth put his harmonica in his pocket and warmed to the topic. "Many's the time I've set into a saloon listening to that Lady that sings high up higher than any piano can go.
Refinement, she averred, was in the family, but she hinted at some obscure ailment which, while it made Emma refined, kept her "mizzable." "I brought her along," sighed Mrs. Mealer, "tain't as if neither of us could take much pleasure into it, both of us being so deep in black fer her Popper, but the styles is bound to do her good. Emma is such a great hand for style." "Yuess?" replied Mrs.
Tuttle blandly. This lady in blue was not nearly so interested in Emma as in keeping a circle of admirers hanging around her cerulean presence, but even slightly encouraged, Mrs. Mealer warmed to her topic. "Style?" she repeated impressively, "style? Seems like Emma couldn't never have enough of it. Where she got it I don't know.
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