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An Episode of Fiddletown
by
The honeymoon was brief, and brought to a close by an untoward incident. During their bridal trip, Carry had been placed in the charge of Colonel Starbottle’s sister. On their return to the city, immediately on reaching their lodgings, Mrs. Starbottle announced her intention of at once proceeding to Mrs. Culpepper’s to bring the child home. Colonel Starbottle, who had been exhibiting for some time a certain uneasiness which he had endeavored to overcome by repeated stimulation, finally buttoned his coat tightly across his breast, and after walking unsteadily once or twice up and down the room, suddenly faced his wife with his most imposing manner.
“I have deferred,” said the colonel with an exaggeration of port that increased with his inward fear, and a growing thickness of speech–“I have deferr–I may say poshponed statement o’ fack thash my duty ter dishclose ter ye. I did no wish to mar sushine mushal happ’ness, to bligh bud o’ promise, to darken conjuglar sky by unpleasht revelashun. Musht be done–by God, m’m, musht do it now. The chile is gone!”
“Gone!” echoed Mrs. Starbottle.
There was something in the tone of her voice, in the sudden drawing-together of the pupils of her eyes, that for a moment nearly sobered the colonel, and partly collapsed his chest.
“I’ll splain all in a minit,” he said with a deprecating wave of the hand. “Everything shall be splained. The-the-the-melencholly event wish preshipitate our happ’ness–the myster’us prov’nice wish releash you–releash chile! hunerstan?–releash chile. The mom’t Tretherick die–all claim you have in chile through him–die too. Thash law. Who’s chile b’long to? Tretherick? Tretherick dead. Chile can’t b’long dead man. Damn nonshense b’long dead man. I’sh your chile? no! whose chile then? Chile b’long to ‘ts mother. Unnerstan?”
“Where is she?” said Mrs. Starbottle, with a very white face and a very low voice.
“I’ll splain all. Chile b’long to ‘ts mother. Thash law. I’m lawyer, leshlator, and American sis’n. Ish my duty as lawyer, as leshlator, and ‘merikan sis’n to reshtore chile to suff’rin mother at any coss–any coss.”
“Where is she?” repeated Mrs. Starbottle, with her eyes still fixed on the colonel’s face.
“Gone to ‘ts m’o’r. Gone East on shteamer, yesserday. Waffed by fav’rin gales to suff’rin p’rent. Thash so!”
Mrs. Starbottle did not move. The colonel felt his chest slowly collapsing, but steadied himself against a chair, and endeavored to beam with chivalrous gallantry not unmixed with magisterial firmness upon her as she sat.
“Your feelin’s, m’m, do honor to yer sex, but conshider situashun. Conshider m’or’s feelings–conshider MY feelin’s.” The colonel paused, and flourishing a white handkerchief, placed it negligently in his breast, and then smiled tenderly above it, as over laces and ruffles, on the woman before him. “Why should dark shed-der cass bligh on two sholes with single beat? Chile’s fine chile, good chile, but summonelse chile! Chile’s gone, Clar’; but all ish’n’t gone, Clar’. Conshider dearesht, you all’s have me!”
Mrs. Starbottle started to her feet. “YOU!” she cried, bringing out a chest note that made the chandeliers ring–“You that I married to give my darling food and clothes–YOU! a dog that I whistled to my side to keep the men off me–YOU!”
She choked up, and then dashed past him into the inner room, which had been Carry’s; then she swept by him again into her own bedroom, and then suddenly reappeared before him, erect, menacing, with a burning fire over her cheekbones, a quick straightening of her arched brows and mouth, a squaring of jaw, and ophidian flattening of the head.
“Listen!” she said in a hoarse, half-grown boy’s voice. “Hear me! If you ever expect to set eyes on me again, you must find the child. If you ever expect to speak to me again, to touch me, you must bring her back. For where she goes, I go; you hear me! Where she has gone, look for me.”