# McClure's Magazine/Volume 28/Number 5/Somepin Nice for Celia

Extracted from McClure's magazine, March 1907, pp. 498–505.
"SOMEPIN NICE FOR CELIA"
BY
MRS. WILSON WOODROW AUTHOR OF "THE RETURN OF THE GIPSY," "THE WAGES OF SALVATION," ETC.
MRS. Nitschkan, in her usual careless, almost masculine attire, stood in the door of her cabin gazing out at the mountains in all their verdant and triumphant glory, the evanescent glory of the late springtime. A pick and fishing-rod lay across the door-sill, a lean, flea-bitten dog dozed at her feet; her arms were akimbo, and a pipe was thrust between her teeth, which, when disclosed by her frequent smile, showed milk-white in her heavily tanned face.
Suddenly her blue, twinkling gaze dropped from the hills to the road which ran before her cabin, and she started slightly, a smile of blended amusement and apprehension crossing her face, for at her gate, fumbling with the knotted rope which held it to the post, were three of her coadjutors and most intimate friends. Now, the arrival of one of them might have shown a feminine longing for consolation or the necessity of relating a grievance; two might have been taken symbolically to represent an important bit of gossip; but three indicated a union of strength for a definite purpose. It meant business, and Mrs. Nitschkan knew it; but, true backwoods-woman that she was, if she scented danger, she gave no outward sign.
"Hello, girls," she called jovially, as the three advanced along the path,—an oddly assorted group to the casual observer. There was Mrs. Thomas, a pink and white Amazon with a softly feminine and appealing manner; Mrs. Landvetter, stout to unwieldiness, stolid, laconic, knitting as she walked; and Mrs. Evans, a tiny, alert creature, the essence of concentrated ambition and capability.
"Have any of you seen Celia?" continued Mrs. Nitschkan, removing the pipe from her mouth. "I sent her to the store an hour ago, and she ain't turned up yet. I don't know whether to do some assessment work or spend the afternoon fishing; but I wisht she'd come, I want to get off."
Her three visitors exchanged significant glances which were not lost upon their friend.
"Is she hangin' 'round with any of them worthless hounds of boys, 'stead of doin' her errand and marchin' straight home?" she asked sharply.
"I don't see but what she's got a right to beaux. You was married 'fore you was her age," remarked Mrs. Evans, cocking her sleek head like a little brown bird. "What for are you so cranky, Sadie Nitschkan, that you got to take on so every time one of the boys pokes his nose around the house?"
"'Cause Celia's got other work to do 'sides thinkin' of gettin' married," said her mother succinctly. "I don't work no claim expectin' to get nothin' out of it, do I? An' I don't bring a lot of kids into the world and spend years teachin' 'em manners,"—she was interrupted by a brief and scornful laugh from Mrs. Landvetter, who, on observing that her friend was gazing at her earnestly and ominously, hastily converted it into a rapid and interested count of the stitches in her interminable piece of lace. "Spend years teachin' 'em manners," repeated Mrs. Nitschkan emphatically, "an' sacrifice myself to stay home an' punish 'em when I might be jantin' 'round my own self; to have 'em go and get married just when they get to the useful age."
"Well, that's between you and her," replied Mrs. Evans coldly; "though I will say, Sadie Nitschkan, that there ain't a soul in this camp that don't consider but what you're actin' real devilish to Celia. But," with a comprehensive gesture of indifference, "we didn't come to point out your plain duty as a mother to you, and——"
"Wait a moment, Mis' Evans," lisped Mrs. Thomas, with a touch of asperity in her voice. "Times when I go callin' I ain't used to standin' on my feet 'till my ankles cracks under me."
"Nor to haf my tongue hang out 'cause it's so dry " muttered Mrs. Landvetter deeply, clicking her needles together, with her an unfailing sign of mental disturbance.
"0h, Lord, ain't you all in the fine humor this mornin'!" commented the mountain woman. She removed the pick and fishing-rod, dragged the dog out of the way, and threw open the door. "Come on right in,"—her tone was grudging,—"and if you wait a minute, I'll stir up the fire and get some water boilin'." Then, as the women entered, the habit of hospitality asserted itself, and she set out rocking-chairs and made a show of bustling preparation of the invariable beverages, tea and coffee.
"Sadie," began Mrs. Evans, adding lump after lump of sugar to her cup, "Sadie, we don't want you to take it hard, nor to rare 'round none; but the entertainment committee of the Bon Ami Club has visited both me an' Mrs. Thomas lately and has pestered us to death about something we don't think we have no call to be pestered about. They say they've called on you again and again, and sent you a written notice, all to tell you it's your turn, and about four times your turn, to entertain the club. Now, Sadie, that ain't right."
Mrs. Thomas sighed deeply and shook her head, and Mrs. Landvetter groaned aloud.
"You and Jack," continued Mrs. Evans accusingly, spurred to fresh efforts by these evidences of moral support, "you and Jack always got the time to shake your feet in other folks' houses an' eat up their vittles; but somethin' pressin' is always on hand when it's up to you to pay back the entertainment."
"Yes, Sadie," complained Mrs. Thomas, emboldened by Mrs. Nitschkan's silence and Mrs. Evans' courage in attack, "yes, Sadie, I've had to have them to my house twict in succession lately, 'cause you always got some excuse handy when your time comes, an' then we've got to shoulder things for friendship's sweet sake." Mrs. Thomas was nothing, if not sentimental.
"I had a excuse every time," returned Mrs. Nitschkan in sullen defense, "an' they was mighty good excuses."
"Maybe they was, and maybe they wasn't," remarked Mrs. Evans; "but I've noticed this—" with the disillusion of those of the strenuous life, in regard to the activity of others—"I've noticed that it's this way in business or society or religion or politics, there's always some that has to take all the burden and the heat of the day."
"An' if you noticed right, Effie Evans," replied Mrs. Nitschkan tartly, her patience worn thin,—a pseudo and uncharacteristic patience born of the knowledge of guilt,—"them's always the bossy kind that thinks nobody can bear a burden with any style, or sit in the sun without a umberrel' but theirselves. They got to mix in and manage, whether or no."
The tiny white dents that always appeared about Mrs. Evans' nose when she was angry were strikingly in evidence; but she maintained an admirable self-control. "Sadie," in tones of cold reproof, "I told you that it was no good to rare and tear; and to quarrel with your best friends ain't goin' to help you now. All we want to know is, are you goin' to entertain the Bon Amis, or are you not?"
"It's the devil's own bother," fretted Mrs. Nitschkan in frank disgust. "You got to cook for days an' then see it all swep' down their throats in half an hour. An' you got to put a green string on every one of Mrs. Landvetter's forks, an' a red string on every one of your spoons; an' then have Mrs. Thomas showin', for a year to come, the cracks that got put in the chiny set her mother give her when she was married. An' you an' Mrs. Landvetter here the next mornin' at daybreak to say that there was three forks an' two spoons missin'. How," petulantly, "kin I be responsible for the spoons an' forks when society's as mixed as it is now in Zenith?"
During this outburst her friends merely looked at each other with the upraised eyebrows of scorn and slowly shook their heads. "Sadie—" Mrs. Evans held steadily to her point—"the question that's before you is, will you or will you not entertain the Bon Amis?"
"I s'pose I got to," ungraciously; "a willin' horse is always drove to death."
"When will you have 'em, Sadie?" probed Mrs. Thomas; "next Tuesday night?"
"Oh, I guess so, I s'pose so, maybe," agreed Mrs. Nitschkan, rebellious, but cornered.
"Very well. Come girls." The tiny spokeswoman arose with magisterial dignity. "We'll go and deliver the invitations."
"Oh, you ain't no call to do that yet," interposed Mrs. Nitschkan eagerly. "Jack's got a awful hand on him. It looks like blood pizen sure."
"Ah' yet, he's workin'." Mrs. Evans paused half way to the gate to fling this over her shoulder.
"Ef you see Celia, tell her to come a-runnin'," adjured Mrs. Nitschkan dejectedly from the door.
Meanwhile Celia, just seventeen, was loitering down the piny trails beside a handsome young fellow with clean, well set-up limbs and a determined, earnest face. Pretty Celia was the capable daughter of an incompetent mother. Educators discourse much on the value of a proper environment and training for the young of the human species; but theories aside, practical results seem rather in favor of casting the "bantling on the rocks"; and so, despite Mrs. Nitschkan's joyous lack of responsibility, Celia had grown up her mother's antithesis. She was a thoroughly feminine little creature, already famous for those womanly accomplishments for which her mother had ever shown a marked distaste. She was assiduous in keeping the tables and floors scoured and shining, and the scarlet geraniums in the windows fresh and blooming. All morning she would brew and bake, and through the long afternoons she sewed diligently, making her own and her sister's trim little gowns, instead of following the example of the other children and "goin' fishin' with Mommie."
"Well, honey," said the young miner, reluctantly loosing her arm as they emerged from the dusky trail padded with pine needles into the clear sunlight of the mountain road, "if you must go now, can't I walk up past the house this evening and sort of santer in for a few minutes?"
Celia shrank visibly. "Oh, no, please don't, Harvey. Mommie would as like as not throw you out. You know she ain't got no objection at all to a rough-house. I'll catch it now hot and heavy for stayin' so long."
But in the press of weightier matters, Celia's delinquencies had passed from Mrs. Nitschkan's mind; and when her daughter entered the cabin, with a brave front but a sinking heart, she found her mother seated at a table shuffling a well-thumbed deck of cards and intently scanning those she laid before her. For once her care-free face wore an expression approaching worry.
"Runnin' the cards, Mommie?" asked the girl, as she hung up her hat and tied on an apron
"That's what," replied her mother abstractedly. "I thought I'd run 'em over an' try and get some light, so as I kin tell how to go ahead. How anyone kin get along without a pack of cards! It's sure a lamp to the feet, like what missioner told about last Sunday. Look here! Did you ever see anything like it?" pointing to the cards in neat rows before her; "trouble, trouble, nothin' but trouble. If it ain't actual murder an' death, it's too near it to be any joke. Look how them spades turns up every whipstitch, an' Gosh A'mighty knows trouble's come to me while you been gone. Celia, how kin folks doubt?"
"What's happened, Mommie? I saw Mis' Evans an' Mis' Thomas an' Mis' Landvetter with their heads together; what's up now?"
"This here's a Wednesday," groaned Mrs. Nitschkan; "well, next Tuesday night I got to entertain those dratted Bon Amis. That means we got to begin about Friday to cook for them pizen coyotes, an' wash an' scrub an' get the house ready; an'," with eyes of wistful longing, "the fish thick out there in the creek, an' I wanted to do a little prospectin' next week. I'll tell you what, Celia, ef you kin get me outen this scrape, I'll give you somepin nice for sure."
"Maybe I can," said Celia brightly.
"I don't know, though, ef it's a square deal," continued her mother, solemnly shaking her head, "to match my child agin Effie Evans."
"She won't know I'm matched," replied Celia easily; "she ain't on to us."
"Gosh A'mighty! That don't make no difference. Effie Evans don't need no mousehole to tell her there's a mouse around, she can smell 'em in the walls."
"Well, I'm a-goin' to get ahead of her this time," averred Celia, with the happy confidence of youth.
"Maybe you can, an' maybe you can't, child. You ain't been tried and proved like Effie Evans has. Why, that woman's been smelted. Do you remember what the missioner was readin' us last Sunday 'bout Daniel, and all? Well, if Effie Evans had 'a' been there, I'll tell you now, Celia, what'd 'a' happened. She can't bear for nobody, man, woman, child, or devil, to get ahead of her; and she'd 'a' looked at that fiery furnace an' then give them Bible boys cards and spades about gettin' the hairs of their heads singed. She'd 'a' took in their asbestos coats and gone 'em one better. Effie Evans would have wore organdie trimmed with val lace."
"Mommie!" expostulated Celia, "I believe you're a-puttin' your money on Mis' Evans 'stead of on me."
"I ain't, Celia, you're my flesh an' blood, an' I got the what-y'-may-call-it that the Bishop talks about—the mother-love for you. But what I got for Mis' Evans is respect. Why, that woman ain't no bigger'n a minute, and yet she's all mind. Don't tell me that Effie Evans' brains is in her head. They ain't nothin' of the kind. They're all over her, in her hands an' feet an' everywheres. I do solemnly believe that she kin think harder with one of her little toes than most people with their whole brain. And Marthy Thomas ain't so slow, neither, when she kin get men outen her head."
Celia cocked her rounded chin. "I'm just as smart as those two," she asserted, in a very splendor of self-reliance. Her mother almost crossed herself at this temerity.
But Celia was quick in thought and action, and the next day returned to the subject. "Mommie," she asked blushingly, as she scrubbed white the kitchen table, "if I think of some way to help you skin out of that party, could I have Harve here to set in the evenings? I scoured the front room an' all, an' you an' Poppy always set in the kitchen."
Her mother, who had been pouring cream with a liberal hand into a fresh cup of coffee, turned and gave her a long, piercing glance. "You ain't so big, Celia," she remarked with cool impartiality, after wiping her mouth on her sleeve, "you ain't so big but what I could give you a good hidin' if you stirred me up enough. Understand, once an' fer all: I'll have no nonsense about beaux. You're entirely too young. Now if you think up some real good plan, I'll give you somepin nice as I promised; an' it's goin' to be this"; she turned over the advertising pages of a magazine and with undisguised pleasure and interest showed Celia a picture, which, however, failed to arouse the same emotions in the younger woman's breast, for she viewed it first with astonishment, then repugnance, and finally turned away with a burst of tears.
"I don't call that somepin nice," she wailed.
"I'm the best judge of what's nice," affirmed her mother. "An' anyway, Celia, I got a little plan of my own to get ahead of Marthy Thomas an' Effie Evans, that I guess is better'n what any inexperienced girl could trump up."
Celia made no rejoinder, but drooped spiritlessly against the window-sill, her tears continuing for some time to water the big, velvety, green leaves of the scarlet geraniums.
But the heart of seventeen is proverbially and phenomenally elastic; and the next afternoon when her mother, accompanied by the younger children, had gone "prospectin'," Celia fastened the buttons of her new blue dimity frock with nervous fingers and, pinning on her white hat trimmed with pink tinted morning-glories, hastened to keep a little appointment in the Land o' Love. But the Land o' Love has invisible barriers, and occasionally trespassers stray therein, seeing with dull, unawakened eyes only commonplace scenes; quite ignorant and unwitting that they tread enchanted ground. And so it happened that Mrs. Evans and Mrs. Thomas, returning from a Friday afternoon meeting of the Ladies' Aid Society, adventured suddenly into a little tree-sheltered glade of Arcady where the sunlight fell very dreamily, and the wind sighed very softly, and the bluejays and thrushes fluttered through the branches of quivering aspen and pine. And Harvey, wiping away the tears in Celia's dark eyes, had stooped to kiss her, and Celia had looked down to blush and looked up—to encounter the gaze of her mother's most intimate friends.
"Oh!" she cried, putting her hands to her burning cheeks, "Oh, Mis' Evans! Oh! Mis' Thomas!"
"'Course you know, ladies, that Celia and me's engaged," said Harvey, stepping manfully forward, "but her mother won't hear of me comin' near the house, an'—an' 'course we got to see each other some time." The explanation became an appeal.
There is undoubtedly some Puck who touches the eyelids of those who look upon young lovers, and the lost youth of the two busy, practical Marthas gazed at them so pleadingly from Harvey's and Celia's eyes that their hearts were touched with a sudden compassion and tenderness; and Celia, feeling their unspoken sympathy, broke into voluble speech.
"Of course we're engaged," she cried, at once indignantly and piteously; "you know. Mis' Evans, that I wouldn't take on that way with no fellow that I wasn't engaged to; but you see we got to sneak all the time, an' you know," growing vehement under her sense of injustice, "you know what a good, steady fellow Harvey is; an' he has been offered to be foreman over to the Crescent Consolidated in Red Fox, an' he's goin' next week. You know Mommie's got no heart for anything but gipsying, and she won't hear to nothin' between Harve an' me. An'," weeping from a full heart, "she promised me that if I thought of a way to get her out of entertainin' the Bon Amis, she'd give me somepin nice, an' I was tryin' to think of somethin' that would tickle her to death; when she showed me what she was goin' to give me. It—it," with shame-stricken sobs, "was a patent, doubje-j'inted, electrical fishin'-rod, like she saw in a picture in the back of a magazine Mis' Evans lent us, an'—an' I wanted a 'cordion plaited skirt."
"There, there, honey," soothed Harvey, "you shall marry me an' have your 'cordion plaited skirt."
The two ladies exchanged glances at once expressing indignant credence and complete comprehension.
"Ain't that just like Sadie Nitschkan?" demanded Mrs. Thomas of Mrs. Evans. "It do beat the dogs."
Her tiny friend shrugged her shoulders in impatience, "Look a-here, Celia," she began authoritatively, "there ain't no reason why you and Harve shouldn't get married. You can't neither of you expect to get nothin' better than each other. Your Paw's on your side, ain't he? Yes. Well, now, me and Mis' Thomas'll help. You come to my house in the afternoons and do your sewin', an' we'll have you married before you know it, and Harve can take you to Red Fox with him."
"That's it, ladies!" cried Harvey joyously, shaking the hands of first one and then the other. "That's what I been beggin' her to do. "
"But Mommie!" gasped Celia, her face alight with tremulous rapture.
"I guess Marthy Thomas an' me can handle your Mommie," returned Mrs. Evans, with magnificent recklessness; "so long, children."
In the two or three days now remaining before the Tuesday selected for Mrs. Nitschkan to pay off her obligations to society, that daughter of the hills gave up with apparent cheerfulness her various open-air activities and excursions, and devoted herself with praiseworthy if suspicious zest to her household duties.
"I guess it's a-goin' to be pulled off, all right," said Celia hopefully, as she sewed diligently on her white organdie wedding-dress in Mrs. Evans' kitchen. "Mommie, she's working hearty, and I've heard no more talk about getting even with you ladies. 'Course her cleanin's real slack, an', she ain't asked near enough for 'em. I told her so: but she says it's all they'll get. She seems awful good-humored, too."
Mrs. Thomas shook her head. "That's a bad sign," she murmured dolefully.
"Oh, I don't think that means anything," averred Mrs. Evans. "It's like goin' to church or gettin' used to new teeth or havin' your picture look. If it's got to be done. you can do it cheerful. Anyway, she's got her j'inted fishin'-rod to tide her along an' keep her spirits up till it's over."
"I do' know," deplored Mrs. Thomas, "I jus' kind o' feel deviltry in the air."
"Fiddlesticks!" returned the smaller woman crossly. "We'll get Celia an' Harve good an' married, an' then we'll go up an' join the Bon Amis at Sadie's, an' be as innocent as you please till Celia's note is brought."
Her cheerful predictions seemed about to be verified, for the fateful Tuesday arrived without any unexpected lightnings from the clear sky of Mrs. Nitschkan's serene activity. She had, according to Celia's reports, set her house in order and was now looking forward, with a resignation which savored of joyous anticipation, to the invasion of the Bon Amis.
Until the eleventh hour, however, Mrs. Thomas refused to take heart at these gratifying evidences of a tamed and chastened spirit; and it was not until after putting the children to bed for the night that she permitted herself to draw a long sigh of relief.
"Praise Gawd, a lot of the Bon Amis just went past the house on their way to Sadie's!" she exclaimed devoutly, turning from the window to assist Mrs. Evans in putting the finishing touches to the bride's toilet. "I kind o' sensed deviltry; but I guess I need a little sasparilla or mountain sage tea."
"I guess yes." Mrs. Evans knelt before Celia, her mouth full of pins. "My patience, Marthy! What was that?" Both women started to their feet in sudden agitation and stood listening a moment in silence, their eyes grown wide, their faces pale.
There was a sound of many voices without, of loud laughter, coming nearer—nearer: then a thunderous knocking on the door.
Mrs. Thomas fell back limply against the wall. "I sensed it right," she moaned. "It wasn't no need for sasparilla."
Her friend, ever quick to act, snatched up a candle. "Get out in the back room with Harve and the preacher, Celia," she ordered the trembling bride. "Come on, Marthy, we got to face it now."
The knocking was becoming louder and more insistent every minute, and with trembling fingers the two women unbarred the outer door.
"Surprise! Surprise!" called a chorus of voices, Mrs. Nitschkan's tones leading all the rest; and the Bon Amis, with a concerted rush, entered the house, each member of the club bearing a basket.
"It's a picnic in the form of a pro-gressive supper," announced Mrs. Nitschkan. "We're a-goin' to eat the first part of it here, and then go on to your house, Effie Evans, for the pies an' cakes an' things."
There was nothing to do but acquiesce. Already the bolder spirits were dragging out tables and laying cloths in preparation for the feast; the uproarious throng enjoying with Mrs. Nitschkan her rollicking and malicious satisfaction in the evident consternation of her two friends.
Mrs. Evans, however, wasted no time among the merrymakers, but quickly withdrew to the back chamber, where she held brief counsel with the frowning bridegroom, the weeping bride, the nervous minister, and her allies, Mrs. Thomas and Mrs. Landvetter.
"It's all over, Harve," wailed Celia. "Mommie, she's sure got ahead of us."
"Shut up, Celia," commanded Mrs. Evans sharply, "and get a little flour out of the barrel to put on your nose. I ain't afraid of your Mommie, and I'm goin' to face her now."
"Oh, don't have it out before folks," besought timid Celia. "Take her out in the backyard where there ain't no lamps to throw, and where she can't break dishes and furniture."
"I'll tend to her," replied Mrs. Evans magnificently. "Go on to the kitchen, Mrs. Landvetter, and get some good, strong, hot coffee ready to pour into her when she gets the strikes.'"
"Don't you want Harve?" asked Celia, with reluctant generosity. "He ain't afraid of anything, even of Mommie."
"This ain't no time for men folks. When a female has to be dealt with, it takes females to do it," replied her mentor.
A moment later she pushed her way through the throng and touched Mrs. Nitschkan on the elbow.
"Come here a minute, Sadie. Marthy wants you to help with the coffee and heat up some of the things."
Mrs. Nitschkan followed good-humoredly, slapping her thighs and indulging in crowing triumph.
"Well, Effie Evans, I sure got ahead of you that time," she laughed.
Mrs. Evans first fastened the kitchen door, then, turning, faced her. "No, Sadie," composedly, "you ain't got ahead of me now, nor," with emphasis, "ever will. It can't be done. Sadie Nitschkan, I got something to tell you that will make you kick and plunge; but it ain't going to do you a mite of good, and all you got to do is to take your medicine an' drink it down like it was a cup of Landvetter's best coffee. Sadie, Celia's a-going to be married in this house in about half an hour."
The smile and triumph faded suddenly from Mrs. Nitschkan's face. Her small, twinkling eyes began to roll ominously and show red, and her relaxed figure became immediately tense and alert as that of a panther on guard.
"What you puttin' up on me?" Her voice was a mere guttural growl. "Celia! A-goin' to be married here at Martha Thomas'! Oh, I guess not! I guess you don't know what all you're talkin' about, Effie Evans. You forget I'm feelin' particularly good, right now?" rolling up her sleeves and showing the great knots of swelling muscles on her arms. "And I'm prepared to do some stunts in the way of cleanin' out this. There won't be a whole dish or a whole stick of furniture or even a pictur' left in this house when I get through. Get out of my way."
With one big sweep of her arm she brushed her companion aside as if she had been a fly; but with incredible rapidity, the tiny woman recovered herself and sprang before the locked portal.
"No, Sadie Nitschkan,"—the steady eyes held in check the infuriated woman—"you ain't a-goin' to do no such thing. You don't want them Bon Amis laughing like jackals, 'cause you put up a game on your two best friends, and they was smart enough to turn the tables on you. Oh, no, I guess not!" Her words dropped hard and cold as icicles.
Mrs. Nitschkan's courage sprang from a sense of trained and responsive muscles and of tremendous physical strength; but at the sound of that cool voice, the sight of those unwavering eyes, there swept over her an old awe of the smaller woman's far higher courage, it was an almost superstitious fear and respect which chilled the hot blood of her passion; the instinctive obedience of the flesh to the indomitable spirit. Too often had this fighting gipsy paid deference to the steel-like, unflinching quality of her friend to ignore it now, when, rising above the frail physique, it faced unafraid the brute strength which threatened it, and dominated the situation by sheer consciousness of power.
For a moment, Mrs. Nitschkan, chilled and subdued, confused by forces she could not understand, fell back a step or two. Then, a hot remembrance of her wrongs giving her a new impulse, she started forward muttering hoarse rage, as if to seize Mrs. Evans and break her; but her dominating purpose was cowed, her muscles felt powerless, and she fell back a step or two, rolling her head and muttering, finally to sink flaccidly into a chair.
Quick as a flash Mrs. Evans threw open the door and beckoned Mrs. Thomas and Mrs. Landvetter, whose attitudes suggested that they might have been in close proximity to the keyhole.
"Here, girls," she ordered, "help me to get her settled more comfortable. Oh, it's the 'strikes,' you see. Yes, let 'em come, Sadie. Take it easy and yell all you want. It'll do you good. "
Mrs. Nitschkan had speedily recovered from her momentarily dazed condition and was now rocking rhythmically back and forth in her chair, throwing her arms above her head and bringing her clenched fists down on her knees, while alternating uncanny and piercing laughter with gasping sobs and cries.
Mrs. Evans watched over her with a dispassionate and scientific interest while the other women busied themselves about the stove; Mrs. Thomas occasionally pausing to shake her head admiringly and murmur, "Ain't she havin' 'em beautiful?"
"Oh!" wailed the gipsy, now at the height of her "strikes," "to think of what a body's got to bear; bein' turned down by your own child and done by your two best friends? It's too hard; but," pausing suddenly in her emotional exhibition, her face purpling, and her eyes again showing red, "I bet I'll get even with Celia. I'm a-goin' to give that girl a good hidin'."
"Now Sadie, Sadie," adjured Mrs. Thomas, "you can't hide a married woman. If there's any hidin' to be done, the husbands are a-goin' to do it theirselves. They ain't goin' to let no mother-in-law get in her whacks."
"Yes, and you've had your cry out now, and you can listen to sense," remarked Mrs. Evans decisively. "Here's your coffee. Take and drink it while it's hot. Now listen; instead of having to give Celia a weddin' and stay at home and sew your fingers to the bone getting her ready, you've been jantin' 'round, fishin' and prospectin', with all the trouble taken off your hands, and no thanks to you that Celia's caught one of the best miners in the county and fixed herself for life."
Mrs. Nitschkan sniffed wrathfully, but drank her coffee.
"Yes," cooed Mrs. Thomas, "an' think what the Bon Amis'll say to two surprises in one evening. They'll say no one ever gave 'em so much for their money as Mrs. Nitschkan's done. Why," her imagination soaring, "twenty years from now they'll be sayin' that in this camp."
The gipsy's eyes began to sparkle. "Ef it would be thought that I managed it; that it wasn't no low-down trick played on me by my two best friends—" she began tentatively.
"They can be made to think so; they shall," affirmed Mrs. Evans.
At that moment there was a tap at the door, and Harvey peered in, his face white, his eyes gleaming. Behind him appeared the reluctant and skulking figure of Mr. Nitschkan.
"Air you ladies ready?" asked the bridegroom. "Preacher says it's time to begin."
"Comin' right off, Harve. Here, Jack," dragging forward Mr. Nitschkan, "you give Sadie your arm an' go right on in."
It was an imposing entrance they made. From the moment she appeared at the door, Mrs. Nitschkan felt herself the object of a new respect and attention. Hasty word of the event about to occur had been passed among the Bon Amis; and now they stood open-mouthed, lost in admiration of the hostess who had devised these various and original methods of entertainment. Some bitterness had undoubtedly been felt by the more conscientious members of the club, that one of their members had so long and successfully evaded the pleasing duties of hospitality; but this was not only completely forgiven, but forgotten, in view of the revelation of resource and spectacular ingenuity which Mrs. Nitschkan had displayed when finally awakened to the sense of her responsibilities.
It was noticed by the more observing that during the ceremony the minister seemed somewhat distrait and fidgetty, and that Celia clung timidly to Harvey's arm; but the mother of the bride, now fully conscious of the importance of her position and lustily enjoying the glare of the lime-light, was the first to extend her hearty and effusive congratulations.
"Oh, yes," she remarked later to a group of admiring Bon Amis, "I picked out Harve for Celia long ago; but I was afraid they wouldn't take to each other 'less I opposed 'em like pizen. Shows how much I think of Harve, when I sent East, clean to New York, for a weddin' present fer him, a double-j'inted, patent electrical fishin'-rod. Why, even the Bishop, he says to me not long ago, shakin' his finger at me, just like this—'Mrs. Nitschkan,' he says, 'ain't you the sly-boots, though! Why, ef you'd 'a' been Eve in the garden of Eden, the Serpent, he wouldn't never have had the courage to offer you that apple. He'd be sure you knew too much about mines not to 'spicion that what was handed out
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
The longest-living author of this work died in 1935, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 88 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
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