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Updated: May 21, 2025
It was when we got up to go that Vernabelle told me things about Cousin Egbert. She said he must have great reserve strength in his personality. She said he fairly frightened her, he was so superbly elemental. "It is not so much Mr. Floud that frightens me," says she, "as the inevitability of him just beautifully that! And such sang fraw!"
But all the food she took didn't make her torpid; she giggled easily and had eyes like hothouse grapes, and in spite of her fat there was something about her, like Cousin Egbert said of Vernabelle. Anyway, she prevailed.
The prof is a German, but not a pro-German, and plays first rate in the old-fashioned way, with his hands. Then, when all the comrades get settled and their cigarettes lighted, the prof drifted into something quite mournful and Vernabelle appeared from behind a screen without her kimono. The early Greeks must of been strong on art jewellery.
They was willing to listen to anything like that if New York society was really mad about it, even if it conflicted with lifelong habits no one in Red Gap but small boys having ever slid downhill. And still I didn't suspect Dulcie was going to groundsluice Vernabelle. It looked like the Latin Quarter would still have the best of it, at least during a cold winter.
Cousin Egbert just looked at the pictures in an uncomfortable manner. He spoke only once and that was about the mottled lady reaching over her shoulder and smiling. "Grinitch," says he with a knowing leer. But Vernabelle only says, yes, it was painted in the dear old village. Then the crowd sort of got together on the couch and in chairs and Vernabelle talked for one and all.
He didn't seem to be so darned sure about it. Then Vernabelle worked over by the easel it took her about six attitudes leaning against things, to get there and showed her oil paintings to the newcomers.
Vernabelle said it was by way of being ancient history; that from time immemorial these little groups of choice spirits who did things had been scorned and persecuted, but that every true Bohemian would give a light laugh and pursue his carefree way, regardless of the Philistine And so it went, venomous on both sides, but with Vernabelle holding the bridge.
The Bigler barn is just the place, with no horse there since Metta bought one of the best-selling cars that ever came out of Michigan, and Vernabelle says she has written a couple of stunning little one-act pieces, too powerful for the big theatres because they go right to the throbbing raw of life, and it will be an inspiration and uplift to the community, of which all present can be proud.
So she was led to the punch bowl by Comrades Price and Tuttle, with the others pushing after and lighting cigarettes for her. It was agreed that the evening had been a triumph for Vernabelle's art. Almost every Bohemian present, it seemed, had either been tore or maddened by that last Russian bit. Vernabelle was soon saying that if she had one message for us it was the sacred message of beauty.
But I still didn't see any stuff in Dulcie to vanquish Vernabelle. And I didn't see it a minute later when Dulcie wolfed her tenth marshmallow and broke out about winter sports. She first said what perfectly darling snow we had here. This caused some astonishment, no one present having ever regarded snow as darling but merely as something to shovel or wade through.
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