# Mrs. Lathrop's Love-Affair

Extracted from Century magazine, vol. 69 1904-05, pp. 838–842.
MRS. LATHROP'S LOVE-AFFAIR
BY ANNE WARNER
Author of "Susan Clegg and her Friend Mrs. Lathrop"
MRS. LATHROP collapsed backward and downward, her eyes closed, her mouth opened, her hands fell at her sides, her feet flew out in front of her. Never in the history of the world were the words "This is so sudden!" more vividly illustrated.
Susan sat bolt upright opposite and surveyed her friend's emotion with an expression of calm and interested neutrality.
After a while Mrs. Lathrop's eyes began to open and her mouth to close; she gathered her hands into her lap, and her feet under her skirt, saying weakly:
"Well, I never hear nothin' to beat—"
"I ain't surprised 't your takin' it to heart like that," said the importer of news. "I may tell you in confidence 't I was nigh to laid out myself in the first hearin' of it. I looked upon it jus' as you did, an' jus' as anybody in their common senses naturally would. It wasn't no more 'n was to be expected that me, bein' neat like himself an' unmarried, too, sh'u'd 'a' struck him 's jus' about what he was lookin' for. I'm younger 'n Gran'ma Mullins an' Mrs. Macy, an' older 'n Liza Em'ly an' Polly Ann. I've got property, an' nobody can't say 's I haven't always done my duty by whatever crossed my path, even if it was nothin' but snow in the winter. All the time 't he was talkin' I was thinkin', an' I tell you, Mrs. Lathrop, it's pretty hard work to smile an' look interested in a man's meanderin 's while you're tryin' to figure on how you can will your money safe away from him. I wasn't calc'latin' on havin' Deacon White get any of my money, I c'n tell you, an' I meant to have that understood right in the beginnin'. Maybe he wouldn't 'a' liked it; but if he hadn't 'a' liked it, he c'u'd 'a' give me right square up. Lord knows, I never was after him with no net; I don't set about gettin' what I want that way. An' I never for one minute have thought o' wantin' the deacon. I'm used to lookin' every thin' square in the face, an' no one as has got eyes could look the deacon in the face an' want him. An' the more they turned him round an' round, the less they 'd want him. It ain't in reason 's the friend c'u'd be found to deny 't he's as bow-legged as they make 'em. An' then there's his ears! A woman c'u'd, maybe, overlook the bow-legs if she held the newspaper high enough; but I don't believe 's any one in kingdom come c'u'd overlook them ears. Mr. Kimball says Belgian hares an' Deacon White's both designed to be catched by their ears. I looked at him to-day an' figured on maybe tryin' to tame 'em in a little with a tape nightcap; but then I says to myself, I says: 'No; if he's to be my husband, I'll probably have so much to overlook that them ears 'll soon be mice to the mountain o' the rest,' an' so I give up the idea. I had bother enough with tryin' to see where I'd put him, f er I certainly wouldn't consider movin' down to his house fer a minute, an' it was a question 's to a stove in father's room or givin' him double windows for a weddin' present.
"An' then, all of a sudden, he come out with wantin' you!
"Well, Mrs. Lathrop, I jumped—I really did. Him so tidy an' goin' out on the porch half a dozen times a day to brush up the seeds under the bird-cage—an' wantin' you! I couldn't believe my ears at first, an' he talked quite a while, an' I didn't hear a word he said. An' then, when I did find my tongue, I jus' sat right down an' did my duty by him. Mrs. Lathrop, you know 's well 's I do how fond I am o' you; but you know, too, 's well 's I do 't no woman's calls herself a Christian c'u'd sit silent an' let a man keep on supposin' 't he c'u'd be happy with you. 1 talked kind, but I took no fish-bones out o' the truth. I give him jus' my own observation, an' no more. I told him 't it wasn't in me to try an' fool even a deacon; an' so when I said frank and free 't even your very cats soon gave up washin' their faces, he c'u'd depend upon its bein' so. I says to him, I says: 'Deacon White, there's lots worse things 'n bein' unmarried, an' if you marry Mrs. Lathrop you'll learn every last one of 'em. Your first wife was deaf,' I says, 'an' Mrs. Lathrop c'n hear. She's a very good hearer, too,' I says (for you know 's I'd never be one to run you down, Mrs. Lathrop); 'but anythin' 's is more of a' effort than listenin' never gets done in her house. You're tidy in your ways. Deacon White,' I says; 'any one as 's ever passed when you was hangin' out your dish-towels'd swear to that; an' such bein' the case, how c'u'd you ever be happy with them 's spreads their wash on the currant-bushes or lets it blow to the dogs?' Maybe I was a little hard on him, but I felt 's it was then or never, an' I tried my best to save him. It ain't in nature for them 's goes unhooked to ever realize what their unhookedness is to them 's hooks, an' so it 'd be hopeless to try to let you see why my sympathies was so with the deacon; but, to make a long tale short, he jus' hung on like grim death, an' in the end I had to give up. He said I was your friend, an' he wanted 's I sh'u'd explain everythin' to you; an' to-morrow, when he gets back from Meadville, he'll come up an' get his answer. He didn't ask 'f I thought you'd have him, 'cause o' course he knowed you'd have him 's well 's I did. He said 's he sh'u'd mention it about town to keep any women from takin' the same train with him. He says he hasn't been anywhere by himself for ever so long. He says jus' as soon 's he's married he's goin' off fer a good long trip, all alone."
Susan ceased speaking for a little; Mrs. Lathrop looked dazed and dubious.
"It's so unex—" she said slowly.
"The beginnin' o' gettin' married always is," said her friend; "but it's all there is about it's is even unexpected. It's all cut an' dried from there on. Once you take a man, nothin' 's ever sudden no more. Folks expects all sorts o' pleasant surprises; everybody seems to get married f'r better, an' then get along f'r worse. They begin by imaginin' a lot an' then iookin' f'r the thing to be 'way beyond the imaginin'; it ain't long afore they see 't their imaginin' was 'way beyond the thing, an' after that they soon have it all on top o' them to carry till they die."
"I never was no great hand at marryin'," said Mrs. Lathrop, faintly. "I was propelled into it the first—"
"Well, nobody ain't propellin' you this time," said Miss Clegg. "I'm hangin' back on your skirts, with my heels stuck in 's far 's they'll go." She rose as she spoke.
"I don't know what I shall—" began the older woman, looking up at the younger.
"You've got all to-morrow to decide. He won't be back till five o'clock. I shouldn't worry, 'f I was you. O' course, it's your last love-affair, probably, an' you want to get 's much 's you can out of it; but I don't see no call to fret any. He ain't frettin'. He's jus' in a hurry to get married, an' get rid o' Gran'ma Mullins an' Mrs. Macy an' Polly Ann an' Liza Em'ly, an' get started on that nice long trip he's goin' on alone."
"I shall think—" murmured Mrs. Lathrop.
Susan was decking herself for going home.
"I won't be over in the mornin'," she said as she tied on her cap; "I've got errands down-town: but I'll come over after dinner."
"Good-by," said Mrs. Lathrop.
"Good-by," said her friend.
It was somewhat warmer the next morning. Mrs. Lathrop began the day on a cup of extra-strong coffee, and continued it in an unusual mood of clearing up. Her kitchen was really very close to exemplary when two o'clock arrived, and she took up her knitting to wait for the promised visitation.
It matured about half-past the hour. The visitor brought her knitting, too.
"Well, Mrs. Lathrop," she said pleasantly on entering, "if it wasn't for the automobile, you an' the deacon 'd surely be the talk o' the town this day."
"Whose aut—?"
"Nobody's; jus' two men's. One steers in goggles, an' the other jumps in an' out an' settles fer the damages. I see it first on my way down-town this mornin'; only, as a matter of fact, I didn't see it, an' it was nigh to tootin' right over me, only I jumped in the nick o' time, an' it went over my overshoe an' split the heel open. I can assure you I was glad I was wearin' father's overshoes, as can come off so easy, when I saw the split heel; an' them men was as polite 's could be, churned backward right off, an' settled with me fer a quarter. I can easy sew up the heel myself, so I went on down-town feelin' pretty good. There ain't many things about me 't I can sew up as I wouldn't split fer a quarter any day. The automobile went on ahead, an' by the time I got to the square it had had time to nm down the minister.
"He was crossin' from Mr. Kimball's to Mr. Dill's, an' stopped short fer fear it 'u'd run over him. Not knowin' the minister's make-up, they'd calc'lated on his goin' on when he see a' automobile comin'; an' so it was all over him in a jiffy. I don' know what his wife 'll ever say, fer his hat is completely bu'st. However, they settled with him—hat, feelin's, an' all—for ten dollars, an' he went on over to Mr. Dill's. I said 't if I was his wife I'd anchor him in the middle o' the square an' let automobiles run up an' down him all day long at that price. I said it to Mrs. Craig; she come up to ask me 'f it was really true about you an' the deacon. She says no one can believe it o' the deacon. She says Mr. Jilkins was in town last night, an' he was very mad when he heard of it. He thinks it's a reflection. He says folks 'll say it looks like his sister wasn't wife enough for one man. I told her nobody couldn't say nothin' about it 't I wouldn't agree to, considerin' your age an' his ears. I told her 't it didn't seem to me 's marryin' was anyways necessary to the business o' the world. If mother 'd never married, neither she nor me 'd ever 've had all them years o' work with father. She says this about you an' the deacon was stirrin' up the town a lot. She says there's a good deal o' bitter feelin'. Seems Mrs. Allen never charged him nothin' for his meals on account o' Polly, an' Gran'ma Mullins made him a whole set o' shirts for nothin' on account o' the nut an' the daguerre'type, an' Mrs. Macy did up all his currants fer nothin' on account o' herself. She says Mr. Kimball says he wonders what the deacon's a-expectin' to get out o' you.
"We went across to look at the automobile together. It was standin' still in front o' the drug-store, an' the men was in buyin' cigarettes an' gettin' their bottles filled. I guess half the community was standin' round lookin' at it an' discussin' it.
"It's a brand-new one, fer the price-tag's still hangin' on the back. Billy said it was a bargain, but it struck me 's pretty high. They had a wheel 's 'd come off hung on behind, an' nobody couldn't see where it'd come off of. Mr. Fisher got down an' crawled in underneath, an' while he was under there the men come out. They asked what Mr. Fisher was tryin' to do, an' when Billy told 'em, they laughed.
"They said that wheel was in case o' accidents. John Bunyan spoke right up an said, 'Why, does the accidents ever happen to the automobile?' An' the men laughed some more. Then they got in an' started to start, an' it wouldn't start. It snuffed an' chuffed to beat the band, but it wouldn't budge fer love nor money nor the man in goggles. He jerked an' twisted, an' then all of a sudden it run backward, an' went over Mr. Dill's dog 's was asleep in the way, an' into the lamp-post, an' bu'st the post off short. Well, you never see the beat! They wanted to settle the dog for the same 's the minister, but Mr. Dill wouldn't hear to it for a minute, 'cause he said his dog was worth suthin'. Judge Fitch come up an' said the town 'u'd want three dollars fer the lamp-post, an' they paid that, an' then they tried to arbitrate the dog; an' in the end Mr. Dill took eleven dollars an' fifteen cents, 'cause his collar's still good. Then they got into the automobile again an' twisted the crank the other way, an' it kited across the square an' right over Gran'ma Mullins. She was on her way to ask if it was true about you an' the deacon, an' it was plain's she wa'n't in no disposition to enjoy bein' run over by nothin'. I never see her so nigh to bein' real put out; an' even after they'd settled with her fer five dollars, she still didn't look a bit pleased or happy. Mrs. Craig an' me went with her into Mr. Shores' an' helped her straighten her bonnet an' take a drink o' water, an' then she said she s'posed it was true about you an' the deacon, an' 't, so help her Heaven, she never would 'a' believed's either o' you had so little sense. She said to tell you 't all she's got to say is 't if he deceives you like he's deceived her, you'll know how it feels to have him deceive you 's well 's she knows how it feels to 've had him deceive her. She says she's goin' to take a hammer an' smash that nut an' that daguerre'type into a thousand smithereens this very afternoon."
"I'm sorry 's—" said Mrs. Lathrop, regretfully.
"While we was sittin' there talkin', in come Mrs. Macy, with her cat over her arm, to ask if there was enough of it left to make a muff. Seems 't when the automobile headed out o' town they come on the cat crossin' the road, an' afore she knew 's there was a death in the family they was tryin' to settle the cat at a dollar. She said she never see the beat o' the way the cat was ironed flat; she jus' stood an' stared, an' then they offered her two dollars. She took the two dollars an' come to town, an' 'f there ain't enough f'r a muff, she'll have a cap with the tail over her ear. She wanted to know if it was true about you an' the deacon, an' she tried to swing the cat around 's if she didn't care, but it was easy seen she did. She said she wouldn't have the deacon f'r a gift, an' I told her 's there was others havin' to admit the same thing. I says to her, I says: 'There's a good many in this town's won't have the deacon, but it ain't f'r lack o' tryin' to get him. Lord knows.' Jus' then we see the man with the cap 's does the settlin' f'r damages tearin' by the window afoot. We run to the door an' see him grab Mr. Sweet's bicycle an' ride away on it; an' it didn't take no great brains to guess 's suthin' fresh had happened under the automobile. A little while after the man with goggles an' Mr. Jilkins come walkin' into the square, a-leadin' Mr. Jilkins's horse. The horse was pretty well splintered up, an' the harness was hangin' all out o' tune; the man with goggles looked to be upset, an' Mr. Jilkins looked like he'd been upset an' was awful mad over it. Every one went to know what it was; an' I will say, Mrs. Lathrop,'s I never hear such a story o' unforeseen miseries pilin' up. Seems 't when Mr. Jilkins went home las' night an' told his wife about you an' the deacon, they decided to come to town right off to-day an' try to argue common sense into him. Mr. Jilkins said 't he wasn't afraid o' the property goin' out o' the family, 'cause you an' the deacon couldn't naturally expect nothin' but grandchildren at your age; but he said they jus' didn't want him married, an' they was goin' to see 't he didn't get drug into it. So they took the horse an' the colt an' the democrat an' started up to town this mornin', an' jus' beyond the bridge they met the automobile warmin' up from Mrs. Macy an' her cat. Mr. Jilkins says his horse ain't afraid o' nothin' on earth only threshin'-machines, men asleep, an' bicycles; but it never 'd seen a' automobile afore, an' it jumped right into it. Well, him in goggles an' his friend in damages jumped right out, an' the automobile run into the fence an' run over the colt, an' spilled Mr. an' Mrs. Jilkins an' the horse all out. The horse fell down an' Mrs. Jilkins couldn't get up, an' the man in the cap wanted to settle fer five hundred dollars right on the spot. Then they went to work an' got the tool-box, an' got the horse up, an' he seemed to be all right, only pretty badly marred; an' they backed the automobile out o' the fence an' give Mrs. Jilkins a drink out o' their bottle, an' tucked her up warm in the seat, an' then set to work on the democrat. They was gettin' everythin' all straightened out neat 's a pin when, all of a sudden, Mrs. Jilkins give a yell, an' they looked up to see the automobile kitin' off up the hill, an' her screamin' an' wavin' her hands; an' the next thing they see, she went over the top o' the hill an' out o' sight."
Miss Clegg stopped; Mrs. Lathrop drew in her breath.
"Well, Mrs. Lathrop, seems to me I never hear nothin' to equal that in all my born days. Mrs. Jilkins off in a' automobile alone! An' the man in the cap see it jus' 's I did, f'r he wanted to settle f'r a thousand, spot cash, then an' there. But Mr. Jilkins wouldn't settle; there's no denyin' Mr. Jilkins saw what a good thing he'd got when his wife went off in that automobile; so then the man in the cap hustled in town, got a bicycle, an' scurried after her 's fast 's he could paddle."
"Did they find—?" inquired Mrs. Lathrop.
"Not when I come home they hadn't. The man in goggles had took Mr. Jilkins to the hotel fer dinner, an' Mr. Jilkins was tickled to death, f'r he never eat in a hotel in his life before. If he goes off, he always gets back or else takes a lunch."
"Are you goin'?" Mrs. Lathrop asked.
"Yes; I'm goin' down-town again. I'm goin' right now. I want to know the end 's Mrs. Jilkins made. An' there's lots o' people 's ain't had no chance yet to ask me if it's true about you an' the deacon."
"When's he a-com—?" Mrs. Lathrop asked.
"On the five-o'clock; an' he said 's he sh'u'd come straight up here to settle it all. I s'pose you've turned the subjeck round an' round an' upside down till you've come out jus' where I said you would at first."
"I guess I'll take—"
"I would 'f I was you. Mr. Kimball says Deacon White's as good help 's any woman can hope to get hold o' in a place this size, an' I guess he's hit that nail square on top. I don't see but what, when all's said an' done, you can really take a deal o' comfort havin' him so handy. He likes to keep things clean, an' you'll never let him get a chance to go to Satan empty-handed. An' we can always send him to bed when we want to talk, 'cause bein' 's he'll be your husband, we won't never have to fuss with considerin' his feelin's any."
"I—" said Mrs. Lathrop, thoughtfully.
"O' course there wouldn't be nothin' very romantic in marryin' the deacon; an' yet, when you come right square down to it, I don't see no good an' sufficient reasons f'r long hair bein' romantic an' big ears not. Anyway, I sh'u'd consider 't a man's can clean a sink, an' will clean a sink, was a sight safer to marry 'n one 's whose big hit was standin' up the ends o' his mustache. An' besides, you can have the man with the sink, an' the man with the mustache wouldn't even turn round to look at you the first time."
"I—" said Mrs. Lathrop.
"Romance is a nice thing in its place. I've had my own romances,—four on 'em, an' not many women can say that an' still be unmarried, I guess. I've lived an' I've loved, as the books say; an' I've survived, as I say myself; an' you can believe me or not, jus' as you please, Mrs. Lathrop, but I ain't got no feelin' toward you this night but pity. I wouldn't be you if I could—not now an' not never. I'd really liefer be the deacon, an' Heaven knows 't he's got little enough to look forward to hereafter."
"I—" expostulated Mrs. Lathrop.
"Well, Mrs. Lathrop, if you keep me here much longer, I sha'n't get down-town this afternoon; an' when you think how near Mrs. Jilkins 's comin' to bein' related to you, it certainly will look very strange to the community."
As she spoke. Miss Clegg rapidly prepared herself for the street, and with the last words she went toward the door.
"If the deacon gets here afore I come back," she said, pausing with her hand on the knob, "you'd better say 's what he told me yesterday in confidence an' what I told him in consequence is still a secret; it 'll be pleasanter f'r you both so."
"I—" said Mrs. Lathrop.
"Good-by," said Susan.
Mrs. Lathrop slept some that afternoon and rocked more. She experienced no very marked flutterings in the region of her heart; indeed, she was astonished herself at the calmness of her sensations.
The deacon had not come when Susan returned. Susan looked somewhat puzzled.
"Anybody been here since me?" she inquired, not facing her friend, but examining the stovepipe with interest.
"No; no—"
"Mrs. Jilkins is all safe," she said next.
"I'm so—"
"That automobile run 'way past Cherry Pond, an' their hired man see her ridin' by an' made after her on a mule. The gasolene give out before the mule did, so he hauled her home, an' the man in the cap come an' took the automobile back to town."
"So it's all—"
"They all landed over at the drug-store an' got in an' started out fresh. Mr. Jilkins settled f'r the five hundred, an' they went off feelin' real friendly. They run out across the square, an' then—" Susan hesitated. "You got a shock yesterday," she said, still not looking at her friend, but speaking sympathetically, "an' it seems too bad to give you another to-day; but you'll have to know—"
"Heaven pro—" cried Mrs. Lathrop.
"They run over the deacon comin' out o' the station. They didn't see him, an' he didn't see them. He ain't dead."
Mrs. Lathrop was silent.
"Mrs. Allen took him home. Of course that means Polly 'll get him in the end."
Mrs. Lathrop was silent for a long time. Finally she said very deliberately:
"Maybe it's just as—"
"It's better," said her friend, with decision; "f'r the man settled with the deacon f'r fifteen hundred."
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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