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Updated: August 14, 2024
She broke right into her mother's description of a harrowing lumbago she had suffered from: it was that bad she couldn't neither lay nor set that is to say, comfortable. Kedzie's own new-fangled pronunciations and phrases fell from her mind, and she spoke in purest Nimrim: "Listen, momma and poppa. I'm in a peck of trouble, and maybe you can help me out." "Is it money?" Adna wailed, sepulchrally.
After that our way lay through a suburban parish fête, and we pursued it under strings and strings of little glass lanterns, red, and green, and blue, that swung across the streets; and there were goats and more children, and momma vainly endeavoured to keep off the smells with her parasol.
Left to ourselves, we discussed our breakfast and the waiters, the only French people we could see from where we sat, and expressed our annoyance, which was great, at being offered tooth-picks. I was so hungry that it was only when I asked for a third large roll that I noticed momma regarding me with mild disapproval.
"Right," I responded, and hung up the handle. I did not wish to keep poppa out of bed any longer than was necessary, he was already up so much later than I was. I turned away from the instrument to go down stairs again, and there, immediately behind me, stood momma. "Well, really!" I exclaimed.
We went to the starting place early, so as to get good seats, for, as momma said, the whole of the Parisian élite with the President thrown in wouldn't induce her to ride with her back to the horses. In that position she would be incapable of observation. The coaches were not there when we arrived, and presently the Senator discovered why.
"The poet Lamartine, with a note-book and pencil in his hand, seated in a triumphal chariot, drawn through the clouds by beautiful Muses." "Oh," said momma, in a relieved voice, "there's nothing so dreadfully French about that." "You should have seen it," said Miss Callis. "It was simply immoral. Lamartine was in a frock coat!"
Arline Montague's shoulders ceased to shake, she lifted her blond head alertly. Then she uttered a breathless exclamation. Buddy, meanwhile, had been staring at the door, and he was surprised when, instead of his family, he saw entering a strange man and a boy small of stature but old of face, a boy insouciant, impudent, swaggering. It was this boy who spoke first. "Hello, momma!" he cried.
I did not hesitate to express the most liberal sentiments. "Since there are to be no marriages in heaven," I said, "what difference can it make, in married life, how people get there?" "The signor and signora think also so?" "Oh, I daresay poppa and momma have got their own opinions," I said, "but that is mine." "You do not think as they!" he exclaimed.
They had no one to look to, no one to care for them now, but him. He sprang to his feet. "Why, yes, kiddies," he said, with a painful assumption of lightness. "You're needing food sure. Say, I guess we won't wait for your momma. We'll just hand her an elegant surprise. We'll get dinner ourselves." Jamie gurgled his joyous approval, but Vada was more intelligible. "Bully!" she cried.
The steamer was full of Venetians, and we saw that they were charming, though momma wishes it to be understood that the modern Portia wears her bodice cut rather too low in the neck and gazes much too softly at the modern Bassanio. Poppa and I thought it mere amiability that scorned to conceal itself, but momma referred to it otherwise, admitting, however, that she found it fascinating to watch.
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