Short Sixes. Bunner Henry Cuyler
Lister. – They do dye things so wonderfully nowadays!
Scene. – A Verandah in front of Mr. McCullom McIntosh’s house. Mrs. McCullom McIntosh seated, with fancy work. To her, enter Mr. William Jans and Mr. Milo Smith.
Mrs. McIntosh (with effusion). – Oh, Mr. Jans, I’m so delighted to see you! And Mr. Smith, too! I never expect to see you busy men at this time in the afternoon. And how is Laura? – and Millicent? Now don’t tell me that you’ve come to say that you can’t go fishing with Mr. McIntosh to-morrow! He’ll be so disappointed!
Mr. Jans. – Well, the fact is —
Mrs. McIntosh. – You haven’t been invited to be one of poor Rhodora Boyd’s pall-bearers, have you? That would be too absurd. They say she’s asked a regular party of her old conquests. Mr. Libriver just passed here and told me – Mr. Lister and John Lang and Dexter Townsend —
Mr. Jans. – Yes, and me.
Mrs. McIntosh. – Oh, Mr. Jans! And they do say – at least Mr. Libriver says – that she hasn’t asked a man who hadn’t proposed to her.
Mr. Jans (Dutchily). – I d’no. But I’m asked, and —
Mrs. McIntosh. – You don’t mean to tell me that Mr. Smith is asked, too? Oh, that would be too impossible. You don’t mean to tell me, Mr. Smith, that you furnished one of Rhodora’s scalps ten years ago?
Mr. Smith. – You ought to know, Mrs. McIntosh. Or – no – perhaps not. You and Mac were to windward of the centre-board on Townsend’s boat when I got the mitten. I suppose you couldn’t hear us. But we were to leeward, and Miss Pennington said she hoped all proposals didn’t echo.
Mrs. McIntosh. – The wretched c – but she’s dead. Well, I’m thankful Mac – Mr. McIntosh never could abide that girl. He always said she was horribly bad form – poor thing, I oughtn’t to speak so, I suppose. She’s been punished enough.
Mr. Smith. – I’m glad you think so, Mrs. McIntosh. I hope you won’t feel it necessary to advise Mac to refuse her last dying request.
Mrs. McIntosh. – What —
Mr. Smith. – Oh, well, the fact is, Mrs. McIntosh, we only stopped in to say that as McIntosh and all the rest of us are asked to be pall-bearers at Mrs. Boyd’s funeral, you might ask Mac if it wouldn’t be just as well to postpone the fishing party for a week or so. If you remember – will you be so kind? Thank you, good afternoon.
Mr. Jans. – Good afternoon, Mrs. McIntosh.
Mrs. Sloan. – Why, that surely isn’t one of the new napkins! – oh, it’s the evening paper. Dear me! how near-sighted I am getting! (Takes it and opens it.) You may put those linen sheets on the top shelf, Bridget. We’ll hardly need them again this Fall. Oh, Bridget – here’s poor Mrs. Boyd’s obituary. You used to live at Colonel Pennington’s before she was married, didn’t you?
Bridget. – I did that, Mum.
Mrs. Sloan (reading). – “Mrs. Boyd’s pall-bearers are fitly chosen from the most distinguished and prominent citizens of Trega.” I’m sure I don’t see why they should be. (Reads.) “Those invited to render the last honors to the deceased are Mr. George Lister – “
Bridget. – ’Tis he was foriver at the house.
Mrs. Sloan (reads). – “Mr. John Lang – “
Bridget. – And him.
Mrs. Sloan (reads). – “Mr Dexter Townsend – “
Bridget. – And him, too.
Mrs. Sloan (reads). – “Mr. McIntosh, Mr. William Jans, Mr. Milo Smith – “
Bridget. – And thim. Mr. Smith was her siventh.
Mrs. Sloan. – Her what?
Bridget. – Her sivinth. There was eight of thim proposed to her in the wan week.
Mrs Sloan. – Why, Bridget! How can you possibly know that?
Bridget. – Sure, what does it mean whin a gintleman calls twice in th’ wake an’ thin stops like he was shot. An’ who is the eight’ gintleman to walk wid the corpse, Mum?
Mrs. Sloan. – That is all, Bridget. And those pillow-cases look shockingly! I never saw such ironing! (Exit, hastily and sternly.)
Bridget (sola). – Only siven of thim. Saints bless us! The pore lady’ll go wan-sided to her grave!
Scene. —The Private Office of Mr. Parker Hall. Mr. Hall writing. To him, enter Mr. Aleck Sloan.
Mr. Sloan. – Ah, there, Parker!
Mr. Hall. – Ah, there, Aleck! What brings you around so late in the day?
Mr. Sloan. – I just thought you might like to hear the names of the fellows Rhodora Pennington chose for her pall-bearers. (Produces list.)
Mr. Hall (sighs). – Poor Rhodora! Too bad! Fire ahead.
Mr. Sloan (reads list). – “George Lister.”
Mr. Hall. – Ah!
Mr. Sloan (reads). – “John Lang.”
Mr. Hall. – Oh!
Mr. Sloan (reads). – “Dexter Townsend.”
Mr. Hall. – Well!
Mr. Sloan (reads). – “McCullom McIntosh.”
Mr. Hall. – Say! —
Mr. Sloan (reads). – “William Jans.”
Mr. Hall. – The Deuce!
Mr. Sloan (reads). – “Milo Smith.”
Mr. Hall. – Great Cæsar’s ghost! This is getting very personal!
Mr. Sloan – Yes. (Reads, nervously.) “Alexander Sloan.”
Mr. Hall. – Whoo-o-o-o-up! You too?
Mr. Sloan (reads). – “Parker Hall.”
Mr. Hall (faintly). – Oh, lord, she rounded us up, didn’t she? Say, Parker, can’t this thing be suppressed, somehow?
Mr. Sloan. – It’s in the evening paper.
Mr. Hall (desperately). – Come out and have a bottle with me?
Mr. Sloan. – I can’t. I’m going down to Bitts’s stable to buy that pony that Mrs. Sloan took such a shine to a month or so ago.
Mr. Hall. – If I could get out of this for a pony – Oh, lord!
THE TWO CHURCHES OF ’QUAWKET
The Reverend Colton M. Pursly, of Aquawket, (commonly pronounced ’Quawket,) looked out of his study window over a remarkably pretty New England prospect, stroked his thin, grayish side-whiskers, and sighed deeply. He was a pale, sober, ill-dressed Congregationalist minister of forty-two or three. He had eyes of willow-pattern blue, a large nose, and a large mouth, with a smile of forced amiability in the corners. He was amiable, perfectly amiable and innocuous – but that smile sometimes made people with a strong sense of humor want to kill him. The smile lingered even while he sighed.
Mr. Pursly’s house was set upon a hill, although it was a modest abode. From his window he looked down one of those splendid streets that are the pride and glory of old towns in New England – a street fifty yards wide, arched with grand Gothic elms, bordered with houses of pale yellow and white, some in the homelike, simple yet dignified colonial style, some with great Doric porticos at the street end. And above the billowy green of the tree-tops rose two shapely spires, one to the right, of granite, one to the left, of sand-stone. It was