Part 17 (1/2)
”Why, where is their property all gone?” says I. ”They was well off-Susan had five thousand dollars of her own when she married him.”
”I know it,” says she. ”And I can tell you, Josiah Allen's wife, where their property is gone. It has gone down Philemon Clapsaddle's throat. Look down that man's throat, and you will see 150 acres of land, a good house and barns, 20 sheep, and 40 head of cattle.”
”Why-ee!” says I.
”Yes, you will see 'em all down that man's throat.” And says she, in still more bitter axents, ”You will see four mules, and a span of horses, two buggies, a double sleigh, and three buffalo-robes. He has drinked 'em all up-and 2 horse-rakes, a cultivator, and a thras.h.i.+n'-machine.
”Why! Why-ee!” says I agin. ”And where are the children?”
”The boys have inherited their father's evil habits, and drink as bad as he duz; and the oldest girl has gone to the bad.”
”Oh, dear! oh, dear me!” says I. And we both sot silent for a spell. And then, thinkin' I must say sunthin', and wantin' to strike a safe subject, and a good-lookin' one, I says,-
”Where is your aunt Eunice'es girl? that pretty girl I see to your house once.”
”That girl is in the lunatick asylum.”
”Dorlesky Burpy!” says I. ”Be you a tellin' the truth?” ”Yes, I be, the livin' truth. She went to New York to buy millinary goods for her mother's store. It wus quite cool when she left home, and she hadn't took off her winter clothes: and it come on brilin' hot in the city; and in goin' about from store to store, the heat and the hard work overcome her, and she fell down in the street in a sort of a faintin'-fit, and was called drunk, and dragged off to a police court by a man who wus a animal in human shape. And he misused her in such a way, that she never got over the horror of what befell her-when she come to, to find herself at the mercy of a brute in a man's shape. She went into a melancholy madness, and wus sent to the asylum. Of course they couldn't have wimmen in such places to take care of wimmen,” says she bitterly.
I sithed a long and mournful sithe, and sot silent agin for quite a spell.
But thinkin' I must be sociable, I says,- ”Your aunt Eunice is well, I s'pose?”
”She is a moulderin' in jail,” says she.
”In jail? Eunice Keeler in jail?”
”Yes, in jail.” And Dorlesky's tone wus now like wormwood, wormwood and gall.
”You know, she owns a big property in tenement-houses, and other buildings, where she lives. Of course her taxes wus awful high; and she didn't expect to have any voice in tellin' how that money, a part of her own property, that she earned herself in a store, should be used.
[Ill.u.s.tration: MAN LIFTING UP EUNICE.]
”But she had jest been taxed high for new sidewalks in front of some of her buildin's.
”And then another man come into power in that ward, and he natrully wanted to make some money out of her; and he had a spite aginst her, too, so he ordered her to build new sidewalks. And she wouldn't tear up a good sidewalk to please him or anybody else, so she was put to jail for refusin' to comply with the law.”
Thinks'es I to myself, I don't believe the law would have been so hard on her if she hadn't been so humbly. The Burpys are a humbly lot. But I didn't think it out loud. And I didn't uphold the law for feelin' so, if it did. No: I says in pityin' tones,-for I wus truly sorry for Eunice Keeler,-
”How did it end?”
”It hain't ended,” says she. ”It only took place a month ago; and she has got her grit up, and won't pay: and no knowin' how it will end. She lays there a moulderin'.”
I myself don't believe Eunice wus ”mouldy;” but that is Dorlesky's way of talkin',-very flowery.
[Ill.u.s.tration: EUNICE IN JAIL.]
”Wall,” says I, ”do you think the weather is goin' to moderate?”
I truly felt that I da.s.sent speak to her about any human bein' under the sun, not knowin' what turn she would give to the conversation, bein' so embittered. But I felt the weather wus safe, and cotton stockin's, and factory-cloth; and I kep' her down onto them subjects for more'n two hours.