“She must ‘a’ ben,” remarked Mrs. Bixbee with a sniff that spoke volumes of her opinion of “the feller’s wife.”  David emitted a chuckle.

“Wa’al,” he continued, “I took the tickits on the feller’s recommend, an’ the fact of his wife’s bein’ so pertic’ler, an’ after supper we went.  It was a mighty handsome place inside, gilded an’ carved all over like the outside of a cirkis wagin, an’ when we went in the orchestry was playin’ an’ the people was comin’ in, an’ after we’d set a few minutes I says to Polly, ‘What do you think on’t?’ I says.

“‘I don’t see anythin’ very unbecomin’ so fur, an’ the people looks respectable enough,’ she says.

“’No jail birds in sight fur ‘s ye c’n see so fur, be they?’ I says.  He, he, he, he!”

“You needn’t make me out more of a gump ’n I was,” protested Mrs. Bixbee.  “An’ you was jest as——­” David held up his finger at her.

“Don’t you sp’ile the story by discountin’ the sequil.  Wa’al, putty soon the band struck up some kind of a dancin’ tune, an’ the curt’in went up, an’ a girl come prancin’ down to the footlights an’ begun singin’ an’ dancin’, an’, scat my ——! to all human appearances you c’d ‘a’ covered ev’ry dum thing she had on with a postage stamp.”  John stole a glance at Mrs. Cullom.  She was staring at the speaker with wide-open eyes of horror and amazement.

“I guess I wouldn’t go very fur into pertic’lers,” said Mrs. Bixbee in a warning tone.

David bent his head down over his plate and shook from head to foot, and it was nearly a minute before he was able to go on.  “Wa’al,” he said, “I heard Polly give a kind of a gasp an’ a snort, ’s if some one ’d throwed water ‘n her face.  But she didn’t say nothin’, an’, I swan!  I didn’t dast to look at her fer a spell; an’ putty soon in come a hull crowd more girls that had left their clo’es in their trunks or somewhere, singin’, an’ dancin’, an’ weavin’ ‘round on the stage, an’ after a few minutes I turned an’ looked at Polly.  He, he, he, he!”

“David Harum!” cried Mrs. Bixbee, “ef you’re goin’ to discribe any more o’ them scand’lous goin’s on I sh’ll take my victuals into the kitchin. I didn’t see no more of ’em,” she added to Mrs. Cullom and John, “after that fust trollop appeared.”

“I don’t believe she did,” said David, “fer when I turned she set there with her eys shut tighter ‘n a drum, an’ her mouth shut too so’s her nose an’ chin most come together, an’ her face was red enough so ’t a streak o’ red paint ’d ‘a’ made a white mark on it.  ‘Polly,’ I says, ‘I’m afraid you ain’t gettin’ the wuth o’ your money.’

“‘David Harum,’ she says, with her mouth shut all but a little place in the corner toward me, ‘if you don’t take me out o’ this place, I’ll go without ye,’ she says.

“‘Don’t you think you c’d stan’ it a little longer?’ I says.  ’Mebbe they’ve sent home fer their clo’es,’ I says.  He, he, he, he!  But with that she jest give a hump to start, an’ I see she meant bus’nis.  When Polly Bixbee,” said David impressively, “puts that foot o’ her’n down somethin’s got to sqush, an’ don’t you fergit it.”  Mrs. Bixbee made no acknowledgment of this tribute to her strength of character.  John looked at David.