After this the ice, while not broken, at least had a crack in it, and by the time the first course was served Redding was telling them a funny story, and three of the audience were able to smile.  It had pleased him to order an elaborate supper, and he experienced the keenest enjoyment over the novelty of the situation.  The Wiggses ate as he had never seen people eat before.  “For speed and durability they break the record,” was his mental comment.  He sat by and, with consummate tact, made them forget everything but the good time they were having.

As the supper progressed, Mrs. Wiggs became communicative.  She still wore her black cotton gloves, and gesticulated with a chicken croquette as she talked.

“Yes,” she was saying, “Jim was one of these handy childern; when he was eight years old he could peddle as good as you could!  I guess you heard ‘bout our roof; ever’body was talkin’ ’bout it.  Billy is takin’ right after him; do you know what that boy has gone an’ done?  He’s built his pa a monumint!”

“A monument!” exclaimed Redding.

“Yes, sir, a tombstun monumint!  I was allers a-wishin’ that Mr. Wiggs could have a monumint, and Billy never said a word, but he set his head to it.  One day he come home with a lot of these here tiles what they had throwed out from the tile fact’ry; some of ’em was jes’ a little nicked, an’ the others was jes’ as good as new.  Well, he kep’ on gittin’ ’em ever’ day or two, till he had a consider’ble pile.  Ever’ night he used to set on the floor an’ fool with them things, a-fittin’ ’em here an’ crackin’ ’em off there, but I never paid no ’tention to him.  One night, when I come in from Mrs. Eichorn’s, what did I see on the floor but a sure-’nough tombstun-slab, an’ spelt out in little blue tiles down the middle was: 

“‘Pa.  Gone, but not forgotten.’

“I was jes’ that pleased I set down an’ bust out cryin’.  We made a sorter box to hold it, an’ chinked it up with cement, an’ las’ Sunday me an’ the childern took it out an’ fixed it up on Mr. Wiggs’s grave.  Some day we are going to make Jimmy one; you know Jimmy’s my boy that’s dead.”  Her eyes filled and her lips trembled; even the sunshine of her buoyant nature could not dispel one shadow that always lay across her heart.

At this moment Billy, doubtless thrilled at being the topic of conversation, upset his glass of water, and the deluge descended full upon Australia, drenching the waist of the blue alpaca.  Such a wail as arose!  Threats and persuasion were alike unavailing; she even refused to be mopped off, but slid in a disconsolate heap under the table.  Redding attempted to invade the citadel with an orange as a flag of truce, but his overtures were ineffectual, and he was compelled to retreat under fire.

“I’d leave her be, Mr. Bob,” advised Mrs. Wiggs, placidly, as she spread her salad on a piece of bread.  “She’ll git to holdin’ her breath if you notice her.”