The next morning dawned gloomily. The sky was a dull gray, and a sickening drizzle was falling, mixed with a thick fog that made everything and everybody soggy and damp. It was a most dismal and disheartening Sunday, without a ray of cheerfulness in it, and Mr. and Mrs. Fenelby felt the burden of the day keenly. The house had the usual Sunday morning air of untidiness. It was a bad day on Breakfast was a sad affair. Kitty and Billy, who seemed in high spirits, tried to give the meal an air of gaiety, but Mr. Fenelby was glum and his wife naturally reflected some of his feeling, and after a few attempts to liven things Kitty and Billy turned their attention to each other and left the Fenelbys alone with their gloom. As soon as breakfast was over, Kitty, after a weak suggestion that she should help Laura with the dishes, carried Billy away, saying that no matter what happened she was going “Laura,” said Mr. Fenelby, “I lay awake a long time last night thinking about the tariff, and something has got to be done about it! I cannot, as the father of Bobberts, let it go on as it is going.” “I lay awake too,” said Laura, “and I think exactly as you do, Tom.” “I knew you would,” said Mr. Fenelby. “The way Kitty and Billy are acting is not to be borne. They acted last night as if you and I were not capable of raising our own child! I “Yes,” said Laura sympathetically. “I thought of all that, Tom, and I don’t think it does them much credit. “That is just what I think,” said Mr. Fenelby feelingly, “and I am not going to stand it any longer. I am going to have another meeting of congress this afternoon—” “Probably,” said Mr. Fenelby. “But if they do we will end the whole thing.” “We can’t send them away,” said Laura. “We couldn’t be so rude as that.” “No,” said Mr. Fenelby, “but we will secede. You and I and Bobberts will secede from the Union. I never believed in secession, Laura, but I see now that there are times when conditions become so intolerable that there is nothing else to do. We will give them a chance to vote the tariff out of existence, and if they don’t “Tom,” said Mrs. Fenelby, “that is just what we will do!” And so it was settled. By the time Kitty and Billy returned loiteringly from church Mr. Fenelby had progressed pretty well through four of the sixteen sections of the Sunday paper, and Mrs. Fenelby had Bobberts washed and dressed and was in the kitchen preparing dinner, which on Sunday was supposed to be at noon, but which, this Sunday, “Laura,” cried Kitty, “you must let me help you! And what do you think? We met Doctor Stafford, and he did prescribe whisky and rock candy for Bridget’s cold! So I fixed everything all right. I rushed Billy around to Bridget’s sister’s and Bridget is just getting over her cold, so she was glad to come back to you. She Mrs. Fenelby dropped the potato she was slicing. Her pretty mouth hardened. “Kitty!” she exclaimed. “Now I shall never forgive you! I will never have Bridget in this kitchen again! It wasn’t only that she drank, it was her awful, awful deceitfulness. It was that, Kitty, more than anything else. I won’t have people about me who will not live up to the tariff poor dear Tom worked and worried to make! You may smuggle, Kitty, if you must be so low, and I certainly have no control “Laura,” said Kitty, “I wish you would be reasonable—like Billy and me. We talked it all over on the way to church, and we saw that it was Tom’s crazy old tariff that was making all the trouble and driving Bridget away and everything, and we decided we would stop the tariff right away.” Laura’s chin went into the air and her eyes flashed. “You will stop the tariff!” she “But I thought you wanted it stopped,” said Kitty. “I don’t!” exclaimed Laura, bursting into tears. “It is a nice, lovely tariff, and if I ever said I didn’t want it, it was because you aggravated me. I won’t have it stopped. I won’t be so mean to anything dear old Tom starts. It’s Bobberts’ tariff. You ought to think more of Bobberts than to Kitty stood back and looked at Laura as at some one possessed of evil spirits. Then she turned to the table and took up the potato knife and began slicing potatoes calmly. “Very well, Laura,” she said. “I tried to do what I thought you would like, but if you want the tariff so badly I shall certainly not oppose you. Hereafter, no matter what happens, Billy and I will vote for the tariff!” “And Tom and I certainly will,” said Laura between sobs. “We don’t care who the tariff bothers, or how much trouble it is. We are always, When she told Mr. Fenelby this he was not as happy about it as might have been expected. He agreed that under the circumstances there was nothing else to do; that the tariff must become a permanent fixture; but he did not say so joyfully. He had more the air of a Job admitting that a continued succession of boils was inevitable. Job, under those circumstances was probably as placid as could be expected, but not hilarious, and neither was Mr. Fenelby. Dinner was as gloomy as breakfast had been. It developed into one of “Tom,” she said, “there is somebody in the kitchen!” Mr. Fenelby laid his fork softly on “It’s me, ma’am,” said Bridget. She planted herself before Mrs. Fenelby and placed her hands on her hips. Mrs. Fenelby arose. “I’ve come back,” said Bridget. “And you can go again,” said Mrs. Fenelby regally. “I do not want you, you can go!” “The idea!” exclaimed Mrs. Fenelby. “I have not even hired you, yet!” “No, ma’am,” said Bridget, “but th’ young lady has. She hired me with her own mouth, at me own sister Maggie’s, who will be witness t’ it, an’ I have been workin’ in th’ kitchen already. I’ve washed th’ spoons.” “And hasn’t she, ma’am?” said Bridget angrily. “Let th’ judge in th’ court-house say if she has or hasn’t! Don’t try t’ fool me, Missus Fenelby, ma’am. I’ve worked here before, ma’am, an’ I know all about th’ Commonwealth way ye have of doin’ things. Wan of ye has as good a right t’ vote me into a job as another has, Mrs. Fenelby, an’ th’ young lady an’ th’ young gintleman both asked me t’ come. Even a poor ign’rant Irish girl has rights, Mrs. Fenelby, an’ hired I was, t’ worrk for th’ Commonwealth. Mrs. Fenelby looked appealingly at Tom, and Tom looked at Billy. “I think she’d win, if she took it to law,” said Billy. “You know how the judges are. And if she brought up the matter of the Commonwealth, you know you did make Kitty and me full partakers in it.” “Tom,” said Mrs. Fenelby, “pay her a month’s wages and let her go!” Mr. Fenelby moved uneasily. He had put all his money into Bobberts’ bank. In all the house there was not a month’s wages except in Bobberts’ bank. Mr. Fenelby looked toward the bank. Mr. Fenelby looked away from the bank. He looked, helplessly, all around the room, and ended by looking at Laura. “My dear,” he said, “I think we had better keep Bridget.” “I think ye had!” said Bridget. “For there ain’t no way t’ git rid of me. I’m here, ma’am, an’ I don’t bear no ill will. I forgive ye all, an’ I’m willin’ t’ let by-gones be by-gones, excipt one or two things, which ye will have t’ change.” “Have it yer own way, ma’am,” she said. “Well,” said Mr. Fenelby, controlling his righteous indignation as best he could, “what is it you want?” “I want no more of thim tariff doin’s!” said Bridget firmly. “Thim tariff doin’s is more than mortal mind can stand, Mr. Fenelby, sir! Nawthin’ I ever had t’ do with in anny of me places riled me up like thim tariff doin’s, an’ we will have no more tariff in th’ house, if ye please, sir.” “Well, of all the impert—” began Mr. Fenelby angrily, but Mrs. Fenelby “Tom,” she said, “please be careful! You do not have to spend your days with Bridget, and I do! Don’t be rash. Send her into the kitchen until we talk it over.” Bridget went, willingly. She gathered an armful of dishes, and went into her throne-room, bearing her head high. She felt that she was master and she was. “Now, this Commonwealth—” began Mr. Fenelby, when the kitchen door had closed, but Billy stopped him. “Stop being foolish, Tom,” he said. Mr. Fenelby looked moodily at the kitchen door. “That is what it is,” said Billy decidedly. “The dictator has smashed your republic under her iron heel; your laws are all back numbers—if she wants any laws, she will let you know. I know the signs. When a Great One rises up in the midst of a Republic and puts her hands on her There was a minute’s silence. The Commonwealth was dying hard. “I could shake the money out of Bobberts’ bank,” said Mr. Fenelby, but even as he said it Bobberts wailed. His voice arose clear and strong in protest against that or against something else. The kitchen door swung open and the Dictator ran in and approached the Heir, and Bobberts held out his arms. “Bless th’ darlin’,” said Bridget, “Give him to me,” she said sternly, and Bridget turned to her. And then, in the eyes of all the Commonwealth, Bobberts turned his back on his own mother and clung to the Dictator! Clung, and squealed, until the danger of separation was over. “You see!” said Billy, triumphantly. Mrs. Fenelby sighed. The Dictator had won. The tariff was dead. “And in our house,” said Kitty, cheerfully, “we won’t have any tariff, will we, Billy?” “Your house!” exclaimed Mrs. “Our house,” said Kitty proudly. “Mine and Billy’s.” “Our house,” echoed Billy, blushing. “We can’t stand a Dictator, and we are going to secede and—and have a United State of our own.” “Isn’t it splendid about Kitty and Billy?” said Mrs. Fenelby that evening to Tom, as they bent over Bobberts’ crib. “And if it hadn’t been for our tariff driving them together I don’t believe it would ever have happened.” THE ENDTranscriber’s Note:Minor changes have been made to correct typesetters’ errors; otherwise, every effort has been made to remain true to the author’s words and intent. |