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Where's it got me these eight years? Nowheres! She had enough sense to cut loose from Ed Bevins, who was a lodestone, too, and beat it. She's singing now in New York for forty a week with a voice that wasn't strong enough to be more than chorus to mine." "Kittie Scogin, Hanna, is a poor comparison for any woman to make with herself." "It is, is it? Well, I don't see it thataway.
Once label a man with hard drinkin', and it's hard to get justice for him. There never was a man had more the makin' of a pillar than mine, dead now these sixteen years and molderin' in his grave for justice." "Yes, Mrs. Scogin." "You can lean back against that bow." "Thanks." "So Burkhardt's been made deacon." "Three years already you was at the church." "A deacon.
There was a moving about within, the scrape of a match, and finally the door opening slightly, a figure peering out. "It's me, Mrs. Scogin Hanna Burkhardt!" The door swung back then, revealing a just-lighted parlor, opening, without introduction of hall, from the sidewalk. "Well, if it ain't Hanna Burkhardt! What you doin' out this kind of a night? Come in. Kittie's dryin' her hair in the kitchen.
In the frontal bone pushing itself forward, the cheeks receding, and the eyes still bright. There was yet that trenchant quality in Mrs. Scogin, in the voice and gaze of her. "Sit down, Hanna." "Don't care if I do." "You can lean back against that chair-bow." "Hate to muss it." "How's Burkhardt?" "All right." "He's been made deacon not?" "Yeh." "If mine had lived, he'd the makin' of a pillar.
"Yes, I know; you snored into my singin' with enjoyment, all right." "It's the twelve hours on my feet that just seem to make me dead to the world, come evening." "A girl that had the whole town wavin' flags at her when she sung 'The Holy City' at the nineteen hundred street-carnival! Kittie Scogin Bevins, one of the biggest singers in New York to-day, nothing but my chorus!
Scogin Bevins threw out her hands to Mrs. Burkhardt in a wide gesture, indicating her mother with a forefinger, then with it tapping her own brow. "Crazy as a loon! Bats!" "If your father had " "Ma, for Gossakes " "You talk to Kittie, Hanna. My girls won't none of 'em listen to me no more. I tell 'em they're fightin' over my body before it's dead for this house and the one on Ludlow Street.
Scogin Bevins flung herself up, then, a wave of red riding up her face. "If you don't go up if you don't! Go now! Honest, you're gettin' so luny you need a keeper. Go you hear?" The door shut slowly, inclosing the old figure. She relaxed to the couch, trying to laugh. "Luny!" she said. "Bats! Nobody home!" "I like your hair like that, Kittie. It looks swell." "It's easy.
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