Hepsey Burke. Frank N. Westcott
“Yes, it is our business; if he’s goin’ to get married, the rectory’s got to be fixed over a whole lot ’fore it’s fit to live in. You know the Senior Warden won’t lift his finger, and you’ve got to help me do it.”
Jonathan sighed profoundly, knowing from past experience that Hepsey’s word carried more weight than all the vestry.
“I suppose I have, if you say so, Hepsey.”
“Yes sir, you’ve got to help me do it. No decent girl is goin’ into that house as it is, with my consent. It’s the worst old rat-trap I ever saw. I’ve got the 68 key, and I’m goin’ through it this afternoon, and then I’m goin’ to plan what ought to be done.”
“But it seems to me you’re venturin’ some. You don’t know they’re goin’ to be married.”
“No, but all the symptoms point that way, and we’ve got to be prepared for it.”
“But the people round town seem to think that Virginia has a first mortgage on the rector already.”
“No doubt she thinks she has; but it ’aint true. He’s made a blunder, though, not announcin’ his engagement, and I’m goin’ to tell him so the first chance I get. I don’t see why he should air his private affairs all over the town, but if he don’t announce his engagement before long, Virginia Bascom’ll make an awful row when he does.”
“Yes, and to the best of my knowledge and belief this’ll be her fifth row.”
“Well, you meet me at the rectory at two o’clock sharp.”
“But we ought to consult the vestry first,” the Junior Warden cautioned her.
“What for, I’d like to know?”
“ ’Cause they are the trustees of the property.”
“Then why don’t they ’tend to the property? The vestry are a lot of––” 69
“Sh! Hepsey, be careful. I’ll be there, I’ll be there!”
Mrs. Burke rose and started for the door; but Jonathan called out to her:
“Hepsey, can’t you stay to dinner? I’d like awful well to have you. It would seem so nice and homelike to see you sittin’ opposite me at the table.”
“Am I to consider this a proposal of marriage, Jonathan?”
“Well, I hadn’t thought of it in that light; but if you would, I’d be mighty thankful.”
But Hepsey was beating her retreat.
Jonathan stood for a minute or two in the middle of the room and looked very sober. Slowly he took off his coat and put on his dressing gown. Then he sat down, and cautiously put his feet in another chair. Next he lighted a cigar—gazing about the room as if his late wife might appear at any moment as an avenging deity, and drag him into the kitchen where he belonged. But nothing happened, and he began to feel a realization of his independence. He sat and thought for a long time, and a mighty hunger of the heart overwhelmed him. Before he knew it, a tear or two had fallen on the immaculate carpet; and then, suddenly recollecting himself, he stood up, saying to himself—such is the consistency of man: 70
“Sarah was a good soul accordin’ to her lights; but she’s dead, and I must confess I’m powerful reconciled. Hepsey Burke’s different. I wonder if––”
But he put he thought away from him with a “get thee behind me” abruptness, and putting on his coat, went out to water the stock.
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