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He wanted a quiet place to stay, and this was the best I knew.
MARTHA.
Guess it was!--A snap for him.
_She goes out by the hall door._
RHODA.
_Rises, takes the lamp off the mantel, and during the following cleans and refills it._
BEELER.
_As he takes off his coat, and hangs it up._
Rhody, ain't this religious business rather a new thing with you? Up there in St. Louis, didn't go in for it much up there, did you?
RHODA.
_Looks at him quickly._
Why do you ask that?
BEELER.
Oh, I gathered, from things I heard, that you cared more about dancin'
than about prayin', up there.
_She turns away._
That young fellow that was so sweet on you in St. Louis year before last, he wa'n't much in the psalm-singin' line, was he?
RHODA.
_Startled and pale._
Who told you about him?
BEELER.
Oh, Mary's friends, the Higginses, used to write us about your affairs.
We thought it would be a hitch-up, sure as shootin'. Studyin' to be a doctor, wasn't he?
RHODA.
Uncle, please never speak to me about him again!
BEELER.
All right, all right, my girl. I've been young myself, and I know youth is touchy as a gumboil when it comes to love affairs. So it's all off, is it?
RHODA.
Yes.
BEELER.
_Sits down to mend the harness._
If you're partial to the pill trade, we've got a brand new doctor in town now. Took old Doctor Martin's place. He'll be up here to see Mary in a day or two, and you can look him over.
RHODA.
What is his name?
BEELER.
_Tries in vain to recall it._
Blamed if I can remember. Only seen him once. But I tell you, he's smart as tacks. Chuck full of Jamaica ginger. The very kind I'd have swore you'd take to, a while back, before you lost your fun and your spirit. When I first saw you on your father's farm out in Kansas, you was as wild a little gypsy as I ever set eyes on. I said then to your dad, "There's a filly that'll need a good breakin'." I never thought I'd see you takin' up with these Gospel pedlers.
_Martha comes in from the hall and fusses about, dusting, etc. She points in the direction of Mrs. Beeler's room._
MARTHA.
They're prayer-meetin' it again. And Mary lyin' there as if she saw the pearly gates openin' before her eyes.
BEELER.
_Half to himself as he works._
Poor Mary!--Mary's a strange woman.
MARTHA.
_To Rhoda._
Your mother was the same way, Rhody. The whole Beardsley tribe, for that matter. But Mary was the worst. It begun with Mary as soon as her brother Seth got drowned.
BEELER.
_Looks up, angry._
None of that, Sis!
MARTHA.
I guess my tongue's my own.
