The soup finished, Burnett jumped up again and threw back other portieres
and they all moved out into a dining-room, with its table spread with a
substantial dinner. This time it was the real thing. Candelabra,
ice-pails, etc.
Aunt Mary had a parrot in a gilt tower, and all the men had white mice in
houses shaped like hat-boxes. Mitchell's seat was flanked with wine
coolers, and Burnett's, too. There was all that they could desire to eat
and drink and more. The feast began, and it was grand and glorious.
"I'll tell you what," said Aunt Mary, in the midst of the revel, "if this
is what it means in papers when it speaks of high livin', I don't blame
'em for bein' willin' to die of it young. One week like this is worth ten
years with Lucinda. Twenty. A whole life."
"Say, Jack," said Burnett in an undertone, "let's have Lucinda come to
town next and see the effect on her."
"Miss Watkins," said Clover through his megaphone, "as a mark of my
affection I beg to offer you my white mouse. Do you accept?"
"Oh, I don't want to go back to the house yet," said Aunt Mary, much
disturbed. "It's too soon."
"We won't go home till morning," said Burnett. "Not by a long shot. Here,
Mitchell, give us a speech. Home! we don't want to drink _to_ it, but we
do want to drink to it _here_."
"Home!" said Mitchell, rising with his glass in his hand. "Home! here's to
home, and I'll drink to it in anything but a cab. Home, Aunt Mary and
gentlemen, is the place where one may go when every other place is closed.
Pages:
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170