E-text prepared by Brendan Lane, Dave Morgan,
and Project Gutenberg Distributed Proofreaders
APRIL
The Deacons were at supper. In the middle of the table was a small,appealing tulip plant, looking as anything would look whose sun was agas jet. This gas jet was high above the table and flared, with a sound.
"Better turn down the gas jest a little," Mr. Deacon said, and stretchedup to do so. He made this joke almost every night. He seldom spoke as aman speaks who has something to say, but as a man who makes something tosay.
"Well, what have we on the festive board to-night?" he questioned,eyeing it. "Festive" was his favourite adjective. "Beautiful," too. InOctober he might be heard asking: "Where's my beautiful fall coat?"
"We have creamed salmon," replied Mrs. Deacon gently. "On toast," sheadded, with a scrupulous regard for the whole truth. Why she should saythis so gently no one can tell. She says everything gently. Her "Couldyou leave me another bottle of milk this morning?" would wring amilkman's heart.
"Well, now, let us see," said Mr. Deacon, and attacked the principaldish benignly. "Let us see," he added, as he served.
"I don't want any," said Monona.
The child Monona was seated upon a book and a cushion, so that herlittle triangle of nose rose adultly above her plate. Her remarkproduced precisely the effect for which she had passionately hoped.
"What's this?" cried Mr. Deacon. "No salmon?"
"No," said Monona, inflected up, chin pertly pointed. She felt herpower, discarded her "sir."
"Oh now, Pet!" from Mrs. Deacon, on three notes. "You liked it before."
"I don't want any," said Monona, in precisely her original tone.
"Just a little? A very little?" Mr. Deacon persuaded, spoon dripping;
The child Monona made her lips thin and straight and shook her headuntil her straight hair flapped in her eyes on either side. Mr. Deacon'seyes anxiously consulted his wife's eyes. What is this? Their progenywill not eat? What can be supplied?
"Some bread and milk!" cried Mrs. Deacon brightly, exploding on "bread."One wondered how she thought of it.
"No," said Monona, inflection up, chin the same. She was affectingindifference to this scene, in which her soul delighted. She twistedher head, bit her lips unconcernedly, and turned her eyes to the remote.
There emerged from the fringe of things, where she perpetually hovered,Mrs. Deacon's older sister, Lulu Bett, who was "making her home withus." And that was precisely the case. They were not making her ahome, goodness knows. Lulu was the family beast of burden.
"Can't I make her a little milk toast?" she asked Mrs. Deacon.
Mrs. Deacon hesitated, not with compunction at accepting Lulu's offer,not diplomatically to lure Monona. But she hesitated habitually, bynature, as another is by nature vivacious or brunette.
"Yes!" shouted the child Mono