aroze. got up. dressed. made me bed. imtied me slops.
“i want you all to lissen to me” ses miss claire, adrissing the assimbled family in the dining-room. “now” ses she, “if i’m to be housekaper and we cant afford but wan girl and the works altogether too hevvy for delia alone and shell be laving us if——”
“sh!” says her mother, “spake lower. shes in the bootlers pantry, making the salad.
“nonsinse” ses mr. james, “shes at the keyhole lissening.”
“well, but do lissen all,” airges miss claire. “iverybody” ses she, “has got to do his indivijool share of work. the lons must be cut. a garden must be planted. frish vegitables are absolootely nicissiry. james” ses she swately, “you can cut the lons.”
“lons!” cryes he in thoondering toans. “i cut lons! why me deer sister its aginst me most artistick instink” ses he. “its wan of me firm and uncontradictible opinyons that lons shud remane uncut. why annyone can have cut lons. luk at the places around us, widout an ixcipshun the lons are cut slick and smooth as a yooths chin. i tell you sister mine” ses he “its more artistick to let your grass grow long.”
“nonsinse” ses miss claire.
here mr. john tuk up the coodgills for his sister.
“unkemp lons” ses he, “are artistick on the same principle as the ass is a boheemyun who smoaks and drinks in out of way outlandish joynts and has an inborn prejydiss aginst a manicar parlor. ‘dirty nales’ ses he, in the like toan of me brother ‘is artistick.’ jimmy, boy, explane the artistick sinse of uncut lons?”
“deny it if you can” shouted mr. james, thoomping on the table “i challinge you. do you mane to assert that the fat broaker who kapes his lons and drives clane as a well swipt parlor has the same artistick sinse as the chap who lets his grarss grow gracefully aloft kissing the gintle seffers which swape the jewey——”
here i heard the contemshus russel of mr. john’s paper.
“do be sinsible jimmy” ses mrs. wolley. “claire is quite right. the lons must be cut. if we don’t cut them nobody’ll call on us. we’ll be marked and shunned in this community.”
here both mr. james and john assayed to spake at wanse, the latter aisily being drowned out by the thoonder toans of the hedstrung orthor.
“mother!” ses he “i’m ashamed of you. can i beleeve me eers. is it me own mother—the woman who gave me berth spaking? do you achooly mane that you are inspired wid a dred that these essenshilly vulger fatheaded raskilly rich nayburs of ours may not call on us? what!” ses he, drowning the interrupting voyce of mr. john, “do you desire there acquaytinse?”
“me brotyer” ses mr. john gintly, “finds his vocatshun rooning from his finger tips to his tung. to him the mere fack of being rich is to be likewise a fool and nave.”
“i claim” ses mr. james thoomping on the table “that a man cannot make a billion onestly. i agree wid me frind andrew carnegie, who denies he sed it, that its impossible.”
“what of those who inherit?” ses mrs. wolley.
“poony-soled, puppy heded eediots. what rite i asks have they to kape the money stolen from the peeple by there fathers?”
mr. wolley put in a word here edgewise.
“it seems to me james” ses he “that you are wilfully departing from the mooted subject. i belave in dyagression—to a limited extint—and whin by gintle degrees it permits us to cum back to the subjeck under discushion.”
“yes” ses miss claire, “we must get back to the lons. its settled. james you will cut them at leest wanse a week.”
“once a week! lord god of isreel!” grones mr. james, “i’ll be a fissicle reck befure the summer wanes.”
“next” ses miss claire, “johnny you must take care of the horse.”
i thort mr. john must be tearing up his paper, from the noyse of its russeling. i pressed up closer to the dure.
“claire, my deer” ses he, “i beg you think befure you spake. i’ve never handled a horse in me life. if you contimplate the purchase of a baste, you will have to hire a man to care for it. i draw” ses he “the lines at stable work.”
“very well” ses she, “you can go walk the mile or 2 to the village after the mail.”
“we’ll take turn about” ses mr. john.
“what!” shouts mr. james, “and me wid my grass cutting!”
“to orffset that” ses miss claire, “john can rayse our vigitables.”
“my deer child—” began mr. john “i know not the first thing of—er——”
“you’re all just horrid.” ses miss claire and she pushed back her chare. “very well then, i wash my hands of the hole affare.”
“james” ses mr. wolley in sturn commanding toans, “you will cut the lons as intercated by your sister. john” ses he “i will expect you to rayse addecut vigitables for the table.”
“daddy” ses miss claire, “you’ll go to the post-office wont you like an angel?”
“certainly my deer” ses he, “it will give me grate pleshure.” a silence followed here, and the auld gintleman must have bethort him of his hasty promise, for ses he:
“we will kape a horse” ses he, “at a neerby livery stable.”
mr. james bust out larfing.
“whats my juties to be?” swately inquires mrs. wolley, trying to change the paneful subject.
“oh mamma” ses miss claire, “you may care for the chickens.”
“let me see” ses mrs. wolley “aren’t there such things as—er—lice—connected with chickens?”
“yes deer—but if you’ll kape the coop always witewashed” ses miss claire, “the lice’ll go.”
mrs. wolley coffed unaisily.
“and now you, miss?” shouts mr. james, “what have you left for yourself to do?”
“theres a thousand and wan things, but as my cheef and spechul jooty outside of the hivvy housekaping wid the constant tack and diplomassy it intales to kape our unsertin delia, i will undertake to—er—rayse sweet flowers for the beutifying of our lons and house.”
“call that work!” larfs mr. james.
“you inappreeshitive duffer” ses mr. john in his gintlest voyce. “i vote that we adjoin.”
“one moment” ses mr. james. “what of billy? is he to be the sole mimber of this innergitick family to live in aise and lazy cumfut?”
“no indeedy” ses miss claire. “never! tho but 6 yeers of age, hes old enuff to ern his daily bred. willy” ses she “shall be our yuniversul caddy. his will be the tax of carrying water to the hungry thoorsty wans what toyle.”
