Kitabı oku: «Molly Brown of Kentucky», sayfa 6
CHAPTER XII.
TUTNO
The sea was comparatively calm and quite warm. If it had been anything but a shipwreck, our young men would have enjoyed the experience. They congratulated themselves that they had trusted to their own endurance and the life preservers rather than to the crazy boats when they saw one of the overloaded vessels come within an ace of turning turtle.
The submarine was now on top of the water and was slowly steaming towards the scene of disaster. The boats made for the opposite direction as fast as the oarsmen could pull. They had not realized that all the submarine wanted was to destroy the pork and beef cargo. The hungrier the French army got the sooner they would be conquered by the Germans.
“Well, my friend the book agent, what do you think about swimming in the direction of the enemy? Remember we are Americans, just plain Americans with no desire to do anything in the way of swatting Prussians. – Neutral noncombatants!” said Kent, swimming easily, the life preserver lifting him so far out of the water that he declared he felt like a bell buoy.
“Yes, I’ll remember! My line is family albums and de luxe copies of Ruskin. I hope those poor devils in the boats will make land or get picked up or something.”
“Me, too! If the sea only stays so smooth they can make a port in less than a day, if they don’t come a cropper. We are almost in the English Channel, I should say, due south of the Scilly Islands.”
“Well, I feel as though I belonged on them – here we are shipwrecked and floating around like a beach party, conversing as quietly as though it were the most ordinary occurrence to book agents and damsel seekers!”
“There is no use in getting in a stew. I have a feeling that the Germans are going to pick us up. They are heading this way and I don’t reckon they will let us sink before their eyes. If they don’t pick us up, we are good for many hours of this play. I feel as fresh as a daisy.”
“Same here!”
“Thank God, there weren’t any women and children on board!” said Kent fervently.
“Yes, I was feeling that all the time. I’d hate to think of their being in those crazy boats.”
The German boat was quite close to them now. The deck was filled with men, all of them evidently in great good humour with themselves and Fate because of the terrible havoc they had played with the poor Hirondelle de Mer, who was now at her last gasp, the waves washing over her upper decks.
“Wei gehts?” shouted Jim, raising himself up far in the water and wigwagging violently at the death dealing vessel.
It was only a short time before the efficient crew had Kent and Jim on board, in dry clothes and before an officer. The fact that they were Americans was beyond dispute, but their business on the other side was evidently taken with a grain of salt by the very keen looking, alert young man who questioned them in excellent English.
Jim was quite glib with his book agent tale. He got off a line of talk about the albums that almost convulsed Kent.
“Why were you going to Paris to sell such things? Would a country at war be a good field for such an industry?”
“But the country will not be at war long. We expect the Germans to have conquered in a short time, and then they will want many albums for the snapshots they have taken during the campaign. I have been sent as an especial favor by my company, who wish to honor me. I hate to think of all my beautiful books being sunk in the Hirondelle.” Jim looked so sad and depressed that the young officer offered him a mug of beer and urged him to try the Bologna sausage that was among the viands waiting for them.
Kent’s reason for going to Paris was received with open doubt. It was very amusing in a way that they should be completely taken in by Jim’s ingenuous tale of albums while Kent, telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, should be doubted.
“Going to Paris to bring home a young lady? Is she your sister?”
“No, she is a friend of my sister,” answered Kent, feeling very much as though he were saying a lesson.
“Do you know Paris?”
“Yes, I studied architecture at the Beaux Arts last winter.”
“Ah, then your sympathies are with France!”
“I am an American and my nation is remaining neutral on the war.”
“Yes, your nation but not the individuals! What were your intentions after finding the young lady?”
“To take her back to United States as fast as we could go.”
“Well, well! I am afraid the young lady will have to content herself in Paris for some weeks yet, as we are bound for other ports now. Make yourselves at home,” and with a salute the officer left them to the welcome meal which had immediately been furnished them after their ducking.
If the Kentuckians had had nothing to do but enjoy life on that submarine, no doubt they could have done it. They were treated most courteously by officers and men. The food was plentiful and wholesome, the life was interesting and conversation with the sailors most instructive, but Jim was eager to strike that blow against Prussia and it was extremely irksome to him to have to keep up the farce of being a book agent. Kent was more and more uneasy about Judy, realizing, from the sample of Germans he now came in contact with, that ruthlessness was the keynote of their character. They were fighting to win, and win they would or die in the attempt; by fair means or foul, they meant to conquer the whole world who did not side with them.
“Gee, if I don’t believe they can do it,” sighed Jim, as he and his friend were having one of their rare tete-a-tetes. “They have such belief in their powers.”
“Yes, they seem much more stable, somehow, than the French. Did you ever imagine anything like the clockwork precision with which this monster is run?”
“When do you reckon we will get off of her? We have been on a week now and I see no signs of landing us. I am always asking that human question mark, Captain von Husser, what he is going to do with us, and he just smiles until his moustache ends stick into his eyes, and looks wise. I feel like Hansel and Gretel and think maybe they are fattening us to eat later on. I am getting terribly flabby and fat,” and Jim felt his muscles and patted his stomach with disapproval.
“I’d certainly like to know where we are. You notice they never tell us a thing, and since we are allowed only in the cabin and on a certain part of the deck, we never have a chance at the chart. I wish they would let us bunk alone and not have that fat head in with us. This is the first time they have let us talk together since we got hauled in, and I bet some one is to blame for this.”
Kent had hardly spoken before a flushed lieutenant came hurriedly up and with ill-concealed perturbation entered into conversation with them.
“Gee whiz!” thought Kent. “I wish Jim Castleman and I knew some kind of a language that these butchers did not know. But the trouble is they are so terribly well educated they know all we know and three times as much besides.” Suddenly there flashed into his mind a childish habit the Browns used to have of speaking in a gibberish called Tutno. “I wonder if Jim knows it! I’ve a great mind to try him.” Putting his hand on his friend’s arm, he said quite solemnly: “Jug i mum, sank a nun tut, yack o u, tut a lul kuk, Tutno.”
“Sus u rur e!” exclaimed Jim, delightedly.
The lieutenant looked quite startled, wigwagged to a brother officer who was passing and spoke hurriedly to him in German. As German was worse than Greek to Kent and Jim (they had studied some Greek at school but knew no German) they did not know for sure what they were saying, but from the evident excitement of the two officers they gathered they had quite upset the calculations of their under-sea hosts.
“Gug o tot, ’e mum, gug o i nun gug, sus o mum e!” exclaimed Kent with such a mischievous twinkle in his eye that the two officers bristled their moustaches in a fury of curiosity.
“Yack o u, bub e tut!” was Jim’s cryptic rejoinder.
For the benefit of my readers who have never whiled away the golden hours of childhood with Tutno or who have perchance forgotten it, I reckon (being a Southerner myself, I shall say reckon) I had better explain the intricacies of the language. Tutno is a language which is spoken by spelling and every letter sounds like a word. The vowels remain the same as in English but the consonants are formed by adding u and then the same consonant again. For instance: M is mum; N is nun; T is tut; R is rur. There are a few exceptions which vary in different localities making the language slightly different in the states. In Kentucky, C is sank; Y is yack; J is jug. Now when Jim exclaimed: “Yack o u bub e tut!” he conveyed the simple remark: “You bet!” to Kent’s knowing ears.
Kent had opened the conversation by the brilliant remark: “Jim, can you speak Tutno?” and Jim had answered: “Sure!” Then Kent had come back with: “Got ’em going some!”
The Kentuckians were in great distress when they realized that no doubt the sinking of the Hirondelle de Mer had been reported in the United States and that their families must be in a state of doubt as to their whereabouts. They had requested the Captain to let them send a message if possible, and he had told them with great frankness that in war time the women must expect to be uncertain. Two more ships had been sunk since they had been taken on board, but they were kept in ignorance as to what ships they were or what had been the fate of the crew or passengers. They knew that some men had been added to the number of prisoners on board, but as they were kept in a compartment to themselves, they never saw them.
Between operations, when the submarine came up on top of the water and all on board swarmed on deck to smoke and enjoy the fresh air and sunshine, Kent and Jim were politely conducted down into the cabin after they were deemed to have had enough, and then the other prisoners, whoever they were, were evidently given an airing.
After our young men started their Tutno game they were never left alone one minute. Such a powwowing as went on after it was reported was never beheld. It was evidently considered of grave international importance. Once they found their keeper taking furtive notes. Evidently they hoped to gain something by finding out what the Americans were saying.
The plentiful food that had at first been served to them was growing more meagre and less choice. There was nothing but a small portion of black bread with very bad butter and a cup of coffee for breakfast; a stew of a nondescript canned meat and more black bread for dinner, and for supper nothing but black bread with a smearing of marmalade.
Jim’s superfluous flesh began to go and Kent got as lean as a grey hound.
“Pup rur o vuv i sus i o nun sus, lul o wuv, I rur e sack kuk o nun!” said Jim, tightening his belt.
It had been more than two weeks since the sinking of the Hirondelle and the young men were growing very weary of the life. Their misery was increasing because of the uncertainty they knew their families must be in. No respite was in sight. They could tell by the balmy air when they were allowed on deck that they were further south than they had been when they were struck, but where, they had not the slightest idea.
“The water looks as it does around Burmuda, but surely we are not over there,” said Kent in Tutno.
“The Lord knows where we are!” answered Jim in the same language.
“I wish the brutes would let us telegraph our folks, somehow. They could do it if they chose. They can do anything, these Prussians.” When Kent said Prussians in Tutno: “Pup rur u sus sus i nun sus,” the young officer whose turn it was to guard them whipped out his note book and examined it closely.
“Sus often repeated!” he muttered.
CHAPTER XIII.
THE “SIGNY.”
“The orders of the Commander are for the Americans to disembark!”
A lieutenant clicked his heels in front of our friends and saluted.
“Bub u lul lul yack!” shouted Jim. “Where? When?”
“Immediately!”
The submarine was on the surface of the water, but Jim and Kent had been ushered below, evidently to give their mysterious fellow prisoners a turn at the deck. They were never allowed to see them, and to this day are absolutely ignorant as to who they were or how many or of what nationality.
It turned out that a Swedish vessel, the Signy, had been sighted thirteen miles off the Spanish port of Camariñas. She was signaled and ordered to take aboard the Kentuckians and land them. Explicit commands were given the captain of the Signy that she was to land the young men immediately.
Kent and Jim were too glad to get off the submarine to care where they were being landed. They only hoped it was not in South America.
“Gug o o dud bub yack!” shouted Jim to the grinning crew of the German vessel.
The young lieutenant of the inquisitive mind made another note in his little book as the life boat from the Swedish ship bore the young men away.
They were very cordially received on board the Signy but not allowed to stay a moment longer than was necessary. The ship steamed to within a few miles of the Spanish port, all the time being followed up by the submarine, then the boats were lowered again and Kent and Jim rowed to shore. They were given a good meal in the interim, however, one that they were most pleased to get, too, as black bread and canned stew had begun to pall on these favored sons of Kentucky.
“Where in the thunder is Camariñas?” queried Kent. “I know it is Spain, but is it north, south, east or west?”
“Well, I reckon it isn’t east and that’s about all I know.”
It proved to be in the northwest corner and after some mix-ups, a person was found who could speak English. The American Consul was tracked, cablegrams were sent to Kentucky apprising their families of their safety, and at last our friends were on the train en route for Paris.
It was a long and circuitous journey, over and under and around mountains. They would have enjoyed it at any other time, but Kent was too uneasy about Judy to enjoy anything, and Jim was too eager to get in line to swat the Prussians, as he expressed it, to be interested in Spanish scenery. They traveled third class as they had no intention of drawing too recklessly on their hoarded gold.
After many hours of travel by day and night, they finally arrived in Paris. It was eleven at night and our young men were weary, indeed. The hard benches of the third class coaches had made their impression and they longed for sheets and made-up beds.
“A shave! A shave! My kingdom for a shave!” exclaimed Kent, as they stretched their stiffened limbs after tumbling out of the coach in the Gare de Sud.
“Don’t forget I am a stranger in a strange land, so put me wise,” begged Jim.
“I know a terribly cheap little hotel on Montparnasse and Raspail where we can put up, without even the comforts of a bum home, but we can make out there and it is cheap. The Haute Loire is its high sounding name, but it is not high, I can tell you.”
“Well, let’s do it. I hope there is some kind of a bath there.”
“I trust so, but if there isn’t, we can go to a public bath.”
The Kentuckians were a very much dishevelled pair. They had purchased the necessary toilet articles at Camariñas, but sleeping for nights in suits in which they had already had quite a lengthy swim did not improve their appearance. The submariners had pressed their clothes after their ducking, but Jim’s trousers had shrunk lengthways until he said he felt like Buster Brown, and Kent’s had dried up the other way, so that in walking two splits had arrived across his knees.
“We look like tramps, but the Haute Loire is used to our type. I don’t believe we could get into a good hotel.”
“Are you going to look up your girl – excuse me, I mean Miss Kean, before you replenish your wardrobe?”
“Why, yes, I must not wait a minute. I would like to do it to-night.”
“To-night! Man, you are crazy! Get that alfalfa off your face first. One night can’t get her into much trouble.”
“Perhaps you are right. I am worn out, too, and a night’s rest and a shave will do wonders for both of us.”
Paris looked very changed to Kent. The streets were so dark and everything looked so sad, very different from the gay city he had left only a few weeks before. The Haute Loire had not changed, though. It was the same little hospitable fifth class joint. The madame received the exceedingly doubtful looking guests with as much cordiality as she would had they been the President of the Republic and General Joffre.
There were no baths that night, but tumbling into bed, our Kentuckians were lost to the world until the next day. What if the Prussians did fly over the city, dropping bombs on helpless noncombatants? Two young men who had been torpedoed; had floated around indefinitely in the Atlantic Ocean; had been finally picked up by the submarine that had done the damage; had remained in durance vile for several weeks on the submarine, resorting to Tutno to have any private conversation at all; and at last been transferred to a Swedish vessel and dumped by them on the northwest coast of Spain – those young men cared little whether school kept or not. The bombs that dropped that night were nothing more than pop crackers to them. The excitement in the streets did not reach their tired ears.
Kent dreamed of Chatsworth and of taking Judy down to Aunt Mary’s cabin so the old woman could see “that Judy gal” once more. Jim Castleman dreamed he swatted ten thousand Prussians, which was a sweet and peaceful dream to one who considered swatting the Prussians a privilege.
CHAPTER XIV.
THE CABLEGRAM
“Tingaling, aling, aling! Phome a ringin’ agin! I bet that’s Mr. Paul,” declared Caroline, the present queen of the Chatsworth kitchen. “I kin tell his ring ev’y time. I’m a goin’ ter answer it, Miss Molly.”
Molly, who was ironing the baby’s cap strings and bibs (work she never trusted any one to do), smiled. It was one of Caroline’s notions that each person had a particular way of ringing the telephone. She was always on the alert to answer the “phome,” and would stop anything she was doing and tear to be first to take down the receiver, although it always meant that some member of the family must come and receive the message which usually was perfectly unintelligible to the willing girl.
The telephone was in the great old dining room, because, as Mrs. Brown said, every one would call up at meal time and if you were there, you were there. Molly followed Caroline to the dining room, knowing full well that she would be needed when once the preliminaries were over. She gathered the cap strings and bibs, now neatly ironed and ready for the trip to Wellington that she would sooner or later have to take.
Still no news from the Hirondelle de Mer, that is, no news from Kent. The last boat load of sailors and passengers had been taken up, but none of them could say for sure whether the two Kentuckians had been saved or not. One man insisted he had seen the submarine stop and take something or some one on board, but when closely questioned he was quite hazy as to his announcement. Jimmy Lufton had kept the cables hot trying to find out something. The Browns and Jim Castleman’s sister had communicated with each other on the subject of the shipwrecked boys.
“‘Low!” she heard Caroline mutter with that peculiarly muffled tone that members of her race always seem to think they must assume when speaking through the telephone. “This here is Mrs. Brown’s res-i-d-e-n-c-e! Yessir! This here is Ca’line at the phome. Yessir! Miss Molly done made yo’ maw eat her breakfus’ in the baid. No, sir, not to say sick in the baid – yessir, kinder sick on the baid. Yessir! Miss Molly is a launderin’ of the cap ties fer the baby. We is all well, sir, yessir. I’ll call Miss Molly.”
Of course she hung up the receiver before Molly could drop her cap strings and reach the telephone.
“Oh, Caroline, why did you hang it up? Was it Mr. Paul?”
“Yassum! It were him. I done tole you I could tell his ring. I hung up the reception cause I didn’t know you was so handy, an’ I thought if I kep it down, it might was’e the phome somehow, while I went out to fetch you.”
Molly couldn’t help laughing, although it was very irritating for Caroline to be so intensely stupid about telephoning. Paul, knowing Caroline’s ways, rang up again in a moment and Molly was there ready to get the message herself.
“Molly, honey, are you well? Is Mother well? How is the baby?”
“All well, Paul! Any news?”
“Good news, Molly!” Molly dropped all the freshly ironed finery and leaned against the wall for support. “A cablegram from Spain! Kent was landed there by the German submarine.”
“Kent! Are you sure?”
“As sure as shootin’! Let me read it to you – ‘Safe – well, Kent.’ Tell Mother as soon as you can, Molly, but go easy with it. Good news might knock her out as much as bad news. I’ll be out with John as fast as his tin Lizzie can buzz us.”
“Safe! Kent alive and well!”
Molly’s knees were trembling so she could hardly get to her mother’s room, where that good lady had been pretending to eat her breakfast in bed. Old Shep, standing by her bedside, had a suspiciously greasy expression around his mouth and was very busy licking his lips, which imparted the information to the knowing Molly that her mother’s dainty breakfast had disappeared to a spot to which it was not destined by the two anxious cooks, Molly and Caroline.
“Molly, what is it? I heard the ’phone ring. Was it Paul?”
“Yes, Mother! Good news!”
Mrs. Brown closed her eyes and lay back on her pillows, looking so pale that Molly was scared. How fragile the good lady was! Her profile was more cameo-like than ever. These few weeks of waiting, in spite of the brave front she had shown to the world, had told on her. Could she stand good news any better than she could bad?
“Kent?” she murmured faintly.
“Yes, Mother, a cablegram! ‘Safe, well, Kent.’”
“Where?”
“Spain, I don’t know what part.”
And then the long pent-up flood gates were opened and Mrs. Brown and Molly had such a cry as was never seen or heard of. The cap strings that Molly had dropped on the floor when she heard that there was news, she had gathered up in one wild swoop on the way to her mother’s room, and these were first brought into requisition to weep on, and then the sheets and the napkin from the breakfast tray, and at last even old Shep had to get damp.
“I bus’ stop ad gall up Zue ad Ad Zarah. Oh, Bother, Bother, how good God is!”
“Yes, darling, He is good whether our Kent was spared to us or not,” said Mrs. Brown, showing much more command of her consonants than poor Molly.
Caroline appeared, one big grin, bearing little Mildred in her arms.
“She done woke up an’ say ter me: ‘Ca’line, what all dis here rumpus ’bout?’”
As Mildred had as yet said nothing more than “Goo! Goo!” that brought the smiles to Molly and Mrs. Brown.
“Lawd Gawd a mussy! Is Mr. Kent daid? Is that what Mr. Paul done phomed? I mus’ run tell Aunt Mary. I boun’ ter be the fust one.”
“No, no, Caroline! Mr. Kent is alive and well.”
“‘Live an’ well! Well, Gawd be praised! When I come in an’ foun’ you all a actin’ lak what the preacher says will be in the las’ day er jedgment, a weepin’ an’ wailin’ an’ snatchin’ er teeth, I say ter myse’f: ‘Ca’line, that there dream you had ’bout gittin’ ma’id was sho’ sign er death, drownin’ referred.’ Well, Miss Molly, if’n you’ll hol’ the baby, I’ll go tell Aunt Mary the good news, too. Cose ’tain’t quite so scrumptious to be the fust ter carry good news as ’tis bad, but then news is news.”
Sue was telephoned to immediately and joined in the general rejoicing. Aunt Sarah Clay was quite nonplussed for a moment because of the attitude she had taken about the family mourning, but her affection for her sister, which was really very sincere in spite of her successful manner of concealing it, came to the fore and she, too, rejoiced. Of course she had to suggest, to keep in character, that Kent might have communicated with his family sooner if he only would have exerted himself, but Molly was too happy to get angry and only laughed.
“Aunt Clay can no more help her ways than a chestnut can its burr.” And then she remembered how as children they would take sticks and beat the chestnut burrs open and she wondered if a good beating administered on Aunt Clay might not help matters. She voiced this sentiment to her mother, who said:
“My dear Molly, Life has administered the beating on your Aunt Clay long ago. It is being childless that makes her so bitter. I know that and that is the reason I am so patient, at least, I try to be patient with her. Of course, she always asserts she is glad she has no children, that my children have been a never ending anxiety to me and she is glad she is spared a similar worry.”
“But, Mother, we are not a never-ending anxiety, are we?”
“Yes, my darling, but an anxiety I would not be without for all the wealth of the Indies. Aren’t you a little bit anxious all the time about your baby?”
“Why, yes, just a teensy weensy bit, but then I haven’t got used to her yet.”
“Well, when you get used to her, she will be just that much more precious.”
“But then I have just one, and you have seven.”
“Do you think you love her seven times as much as I love you, or Kent or Milly or any of them?”
“Oh, Mother, of course I don’t. I know you love all of us just as much as I love my little Mildred, only I just don’t see how you can.”
“Maybe you will have to have seven children to understand how I can, but when you realize what it means to have Mildred, maybe you can understand what it has meant always to poor Sister Sarah never to have had any children.”
“I suppose it is hard on her but, Mother dear, if she had had the seven and you had never had any, do you think for a minute you would have been as porcupinish and cactus-like in your attitude toward the world and especially toward Aunt Clay’s seven as she is toward yours? Never!”
Molly’s statement was not to be combatted, although Mrs. Brown was not sure what she would have been like without her seven anxieties; but Molly knew that she would have been the same lovely person, no matter how many or how few children she had had.
“I’m going to try to feel differently toward Aunt Clay,” she whispered into her baby’s ear, as she cuddled her up to her after the great rite of bathing her was completed that morning. “Just think what it must be never to hold your own baby like this! Poor Aunt Clay! No wonder she is hard and cold – but goodness me, I’m glad I did not draw her for a parent.” The baby looked up into her mother’s eyes with a gurgle and crow, as though she, too, were pleased that her Granny was as she was and not as Aunt Clay was.
“We are going to see Daddy soon, do you know that, honey baby?” And Molly clasped her rosy infant to her breast with a heart full of thanksgiving that now there was no dire reason for her remaining in Kentucky longer.
A farewell visit must be paid to Aunt Mary. The baby was dressed in one of her very best slips and Molly put on her new blue suit for the occasion, as she well knew how flattered the old woman was by such an attention.
“Well, bless Gawd, if here ain’t my Molly baby and the little Miss Milly all dressed up in they best bibantucker! I been a lyin’ here a dreamin’ you was all back in the carstle, that there apple tree what you youngsters done built a house up’n an’ Miss Milly done sent me to say you mus’ come an wash yo’ faceanhans fer dinner, jes’ lak she done a millium times, an’ who should be up in the tree with you an’ that there Kent but yo’ teacher an’ that there Judy gal.”
Molly laughed as she always did when Aunt Mary called Professor Edwin Green, her teacher.
“Yes, chile, they was up there with you an’ Kent up’n had the imprence to tell me to go tell his maw that he warn’t comin’ ter no dinner, ’cause he an’ that there Judy gal was a keepin’ house up the tree.” The old woman chuckled with delight at Kent’s “imprence.”
“I shouldn’t be astonished if they did go to housekeeping soon, Aunt Mary, but I don’t fancy it will be up a tree.”
“An’ what I done say all the time ’bout that there Kent not being drownded? When the niggers came a whining ’roun’ me a sayin’ he was sho’ daid ’cause they done had signs an’ omens, I say ter them I done had mo’ ter do with that there Kent than all of ’em put together an’ I lak ter know what they be havin’ omens ’bout him when I ain’t had none. If’n they was any omens a floatin’ ’roun’ they would a lit on me an’ not on that triflin’ Buck Jourdan. He say he dream er teeth an’ ’twas sho sign er death. I tell him mebbeso but ’twas mo’n likely he done overworked his teeth a eatin’ er my victuals, a settin’ ’roun’ here dayanight a strummin’ on his gittah, an’ what’s mo’ I done tole him he better git the blacksmith ter pull out one er his jaw teeth what ain’t mo’n a snaggle. Sukey low she goin’ ter send him in ter Lou’ville ter one er these here tooth dentists, but I say the blacksmith is jes’ as good a han’ at drawin’ teeth as they is, an’ he chawge the same as ter shoe a mule, an’ that ain’t much.”
“But Aunt Mary, I should think if there is anything serious the matter with Buck’s teeth he had better see a dentist. The blacksmith might break his tooth off.”
“Who? This here blacksmith? Lawsamussy, honey, why he’s that strong an’ survigorous that he would bust Buck’s jaw long befo’ he break his tooth. He’ll grab hol’ the tooth and put his knee in Buck’s chist an’ he gonter hol’ on till either Buck or the tooth comes.”
A groan from the next room, the lean-to kitchen, gave evidence that Buck was in there, an unwilling eavesdropper since the method of the blacksmith on his suffering molar was the topic.
“Don’t you think the baby has grown, Aunt Mary?” asked Molly, mercifully changing the subject.
“Yes, she done growed some an’ she done growed prettier. I seed all the time she were gonter be pretty, an’ when that there Paul came down here an’ give it to me that the new baby looked lak a pink mummy – I done tol’ him that I didn’t know what a mummy were, but what ever it were, the new baby didn’t look no mo’ lak one than he did when he was born, ’cause of all the wrinkly, scarlet little Injuns he would a fetched the cake. That done dried that there Paul up an he ain’t been so bombast since bout the looks er no new babies.” The old woman chuckled with delight in remembrance of her repartee.
