Part 10 (1/2)
”Of course it is. We'll just rest and play a couple of months, and then come back better than ever. No, let's get a church out there and stay forever. That will be Safety First. Isn't it grand we have that money in the bank, David? Think how solemn it would be now if we were clear broke, as we were before we decided to economize and start a bank-account.”
David nodded, smiling, but the smile was grave. The little bank-account was very fine, but to David, lying there with the wreck of his life about him, the outlook was solemn in spite of it.
CHAPTER IX
UPHEAVAL
”Forty-eight, forty-nine, fifty, fifty-one, fifty-two, fifty-three,--for goodness' sake!--fifty-four, fifty-five.” Carol looked helplessly at her dusty hands and mopped her face desperately with her forearm.
David, watching her from the bed in the adjoining room, gave way to silent laughter, and she resumed her solemn count.
”Forty-six, forty--”
”Fifty-six,” he called. ”Don't try any trickery on me.”
”Fifty-six, fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty.” She sighed audibly. ”Sixty-one, sixty-two, sixty-three, sixty-four--sixty-four perfectly fresh eggs,” she announced, turning to the doorway and frowning at her husband, who still laughed. ”Sixty-four perfectly fresh eggs, all laid yesterday.”
”Now, I give you fair warning, my dear, I am no cold storage plant, and you can't make me absorb any sixty-four egg-nogs daily just to even up the demand with the supply. I drank seven yesterday, but this is too much. You must seek another warehouse.”
”You are very clever and facetious, Davie, really quite entertaining.
But what am I to do with sixty-four fresh eggs?”
”And I may as well confess frankly that I consider a minister's wife distinctly out of her sphere when she tries to corner the fresh egg market, particularly at the present price of existence. It isn't scriptural. It isn't orthodox. I am surprised at you, Carol. It must be some more Methodism cropping out. I never knew a Presbyterian to do it.”
”And as for milk--”
”There you go again,--milk. Worse and worse. Yesterday I had milk toast, and milk custard, and fresh milk, and b.u.t.termilk. And here you come at me again first thing to-day. Milk!”
”Seven whole quarts have arrived this morning,--bless their darling old hearts.”
”The cows?”
”The paris.h.i.+oners,” Carol explained patiently. ”Ever since the doctor said fresh milk and eggs, we've been flooded with milk and--”
”Pelted with eggs. But you can't pelt any sixty-four eggs down me.”
”David,” she said reproachfully, ”I must confess that you don't sound very sick. The doctor says, 'Take him west,' and I am taking you if I ever get rid of these eggs. But I do think it would be more appropriate to take you to a vaudeville show where you might coin some of this extravagant humor. There's a market for it, you know.”
”Here comes Mrs. Sater, with a covered basket,” announced David, glancing from the window. ”I just wonder if the dear kind woman is bringing me a few fresh eggs. You know the doctor advised me to eat fresh eggs, and--”
Carol clutched her curly head in despair. ”c.o.c.k-a-doodle-doo,” she crowed.
”You mean, 'Cut-cut-cut-ca-duck-et,'” reproved David.
Mrs. Sater paused outside the manse door in blank astonishment. Dear, precious David so terribly ill, and poor little Carol getting ready to take him away to a strange and awful country, and the world full of sadness and weeping and gnas.h.i.+ng of teeth, and yet--from the open windows of the manse came the clear ring of Carol's laughter, followed closely by David's deeper voice. What in the world was there to laugh at, since tuberculosis had rapped at the manse door?
They were young, of course, and they were still in love,--that helped.
And they had the deathless courage of the young and loving. But Mrs.
Sater bet a dollar she wouldn't waste any time laughing if tuberculosis were stalking through her home.