Part 6 (2/2)
She felt like a child who works its elbows to throw off some hampering annoyance. How her companion managed to hold her under the spell of domination which seemed merely a heavy weight of silent disapproval, she did not understand. It always meant jealousy, Miss Mehitable knew that, and usually her peace-loving, sunny nature pacified and coaxed the offended one, but occasionally she stood her ground. She knew that presently the Barry car would again draw up before her gate and she felt she must forestall Charlotte's sneers.
”How soon you goin'?” inquired the latter mildly.
”At three o'clock,” returned Miss Upton bravely.
”Let me fix your collar,” said Charlotte, rising; ”your ap.r.o.n rumpled it all up.”
”Why can't I remember to bully her oftener?” thought Miss Mehitable. ”It always does her good just like medicine.”
Promptly at three Ben Barry jumped out of his car before Miss Upton's Emporium, and Mrs. Whipp dodged behind the window-curtain and watched them drive away.
”I saw that cute Lottie looking after us,” said Ben.
”Poor thing, I kind o' hate to leave her on a Sunday,” said Miss Upton, sighing.
”'The better the day, the better the deed,'” remarked her companion.
”You've got me all het up about you and your umbrella. What's my part?
To keep you out of the lock-up? Whom did you 'sault 'n' batter? When are you going to tell me?”
”You see that's one thing that's the matter with Charlotte,” said Miss Mehitable. ”She does hate to think I'm keepin' anything from her and she felt it in the air.”
”Do you believe she'll visit you in prison? I'll address the jury myself. I maintain that one punishment's enough. You at least deserve a holiday. Say, Mehit, me dear, I've a big surprise for you, too. You know I told you I warned mother to have no guests this afternoon.”
”Yes, you said you wanted to write poetry--Ben”--the speaker suddenly grasped the driver's coat-sleeve--”I never thought of it till this minute, but, Ben Barry”--Miss Upton's voice expressed acute dismay--”are you in love?”
”Why, does it mean so much to you, little one?” responded Ben sentimentally.
”You wouldn't take near as much interest, not near as much if you've got a girl on your mind.”
”One? Dozens, Mehit. I'm only human, dear.”
”If it's dozens, it's all right,” returned Miss Upton, relieved.
”There's always room for one more in that case, but what is your surprise, then, Ben?”
”I didn't want to be alone to write poetry. I wanted to gloat, undisturbed. My dandy mother is giving me something I've been aching to have.”
Miss Upton's face brightened. ”Yes, I know. Something's being built way back o' your house. Folks are wonderin' what it is. It looks like some queer kind of a stable. What in the world can you want, Ben! You've got the cars and a motor-cycle, and a saddle-horse.”
”Well”--confidentially--”don't tell, Mehit, but I wanted a zebra. Horses are too commonplace.”
”But they can't be tamed, zebras can't,” returned Miss Upton, much disturbed. ”I've read about 'em. You'll be killed. I shall--”
”I _must_ have a zebra and a striped riding-suit to be happy. While you're wearing the stripes in jail I'll come and ride up and down outside your barred window and cheer you up.”
”I don't believe it's a zebra,” declared Miss Mehitable; ”but if it is I shall tell your mother you cannot have it, Ben Barry.”
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