The Man in Lonely Land

by Kate Langley Bosher

  III

  SCIENTIFICS

  As he took his seat at the perfectly appointed table, Mr. WinthropLaine nodded at first one child and then the other. "What very piggyrelations I have," he said, opening his napkin. "Not a word ofgreeting to an ancient uncle, but just an announcement of what thereis to eat. One would think you were starving."

  "We are." Dorothea laid down her napkin and got up. "Excuse me forleaving my seat, but mother 'said we could have a good time to-night,and we can't if we're particular about manners. I hate manners. Iguess I get it from you, Uncle Winthrop. I heard Miss Robin Frenchsay you didn't have any. She said she'd invited you to her house adozen times, and you'd never been once, or made a party call oranything."

  "What's a party call?" Channing's mouth was full of soup. "What's aparty call, Uncle Winthrop?"

  "It's the penalty one has to pay for being invited where one doesn'twant to go. What were you saying, Dorothea?"

  "I've forgotten. Channing is just as rude as if he were somebody!Oh yes--I started to say I'm sorry we were piggy about mentioning thefood first. We've been crazy to see you. We had something to tellyou. I think I'll sit down here right by you; it's too far offbehind those flowers, and I'll kiss you now if you don't mind." AndDorothea's arms were around her uncle's neck and her cheek was laidlovingly to his.

  "Of course." Laine unfastened the arms, drew the child's head down,kissed her, and patted the little hands before sending their owner toher seat. "Being the beginning of a woman you kiss and make up,which is more than your heathen brother does. Not another one!" Thedish of almonds was withdrawn from Channing's reach. "Let me seeyour hands, sir! And you a member of polite society! Ah, here's theturkey. And it's the drumstick you said you wanted, did you,Channing? Drumsticks were put on turkeys just for little boys. Ialways got the drumstick and the gizzard."

  "I don't want any drumsticks!" Channing's lips quivered. "I want--"

  "And he can't have the gizzard, Uncle Winthrop, really he can't.Maybe you don't know about Fletcherizing, and you ought to bethankful you don't, but you can't Fletcherize a gizzard, not if youchew all night, and if there's breast enough for everybody, I thinkhe'd better have that. And I'll take plenty of gravy, please, andstuffing, if there's oysters in it. Wait a minute!" Dorothea's handwent up and her head went down. "I'd like to say grace: 'I thankThee, Lord, for this sure-enough food and for Uncle Winthrop beinghere, and please let it happen again and don't let it make us sick.Amen.'"

  Through the grace Channing's fork had been suspended, but his jawshad not stopped work; and at the last word he leaned forward and madea dive for the olives, two of which he put in his mouth at once.

  To the man at the foot of the table the situation was perplexing.His niece and nephew, born of wealth and surrounded by abundance,were eating with the eagerness of little pigs; eating as if afraidtheir plates would be withdrawn before they had had their fill. Onthe tip of Channing's nose a drop of gravy glistened in thecandle-light, and Dorothea was swallowing much too rapidly for health.

  Looking up, she caught her uncle's eye and leaned back in her chair.Hands on her breast and eyes half closed, she sighed regretfully."I'm full already, and we're not half through," she said, andbeckoned to the butler, who came closer. "What kind of salad is it,Timkins, and is there mayonnaise on it or that thin stuff?"

  Timkins coughed slightly behind his hand. "It's mushrooms and whitegrapes with mayonnaise, I think, Miss, but--"

  Dorothea's eyes closed tightly. "Just my luck. I've never tasted itbut once, and it's perfectly grand, Uncle Winthrop. Mother had itfor lunch the day that scraggy-looking woman and her daughter werehere from London. Mother said she was Lady somebody, but our cook ismuch nicer-looking on Sundays. She didn't eat her salad."

  "You ate it." Channing's fork was pointed accusingly at Dorothea."You licked the plate."

  "I certainly did." Dorothea stood up, shook herself, sat down again,and carefully arranged her knife and fork. "We were in the pantry.Antoinette was ill and Timkins let us come in. You see, UncleWinthrop, it's this way. We are scientifics, Channing and I. We'vebeen brought up on a book, and we don't get enough to eat. Mothersays everything has been learned out of science now--I mean about howmuch children can eat, and how much they can drink, and how much airthey can sleep in, and how to breathe right, and Antoinette says whenwe were little we used to be weighed every day. And that's why westuff so when we get a chance. I'm ten, going on eleven."

  "And I'm seven, going on eight"--Channing had not yet yielded theturkey in sight for the salad to come, and his fork was still beingsteadily applied--"and all we have for supper--"

  "Is bread and milk." Dorothea's hand waved silence to Channing."Antoinette says the milk is magnificent, but I'd rather havesomething with more taste that isn't so grand. I wish I'd been bornbefore all this science had been found out. If we sneeze we have tobe sprayed, and if we cough we're sterilized or something, and theonly word in the English language Antoinette pronounces right isgerms! You'd think they were ghosts, the way she lifts her eyes andraises her hands when she says it. And she don't know what they are,either. Did you kiss me when I was a baby, Uncle Winthrop?"

  "I did."

  "In the mouth?"

  "In the mouth."

  "Well, they don't let anybody kiss babies that way now. But if everI have any I'm going to let people kiss them and squeeze them, too.I mean nice people. I don't believe in scientifics for children."

  "But, my dear Miss Warrick"--Mr. Laine was also waiting on his youngnephew--"suppose your husband does. Surely a man should have somesay in the upbringing of his family!"

  "Father don't." Dorothea leaned forward and selected an olivecritically. "Father would let us have anything we want, but he saysmother must decide. He's so busy he hasn't time to see aboutchildren. He has to make the money to buy us--"

  "Milk." Channing pushed his plate back. "I hate milk. Gee! I'mfull. You can have my salad, Dorothea, if you'll give me yourice-cream. It didn't make you sick the day you ate all that ladyleft."

  "You ate leavings!" Laine's voice made effort to be horrified."Dorothea Warrick ate leavings from a lady's plate!"

  "It wasn't leavings. She didn't touch it. I was peeping through thedoor and I heard her say she never ate trash. It was grand. Nobodytold me not to eat it, and I ate."

  "An inherited habit, my dear." Laine put the almonds, the olives,and the mints beyond the reach of little arms. "Once upon a timethere was a lady who lived in a garden and she ate something sheought not to have eaten and thereby made great trouble. She had beentold not to, but being a woman--"

  "I know about her. She was Eve." Dorothea took some almonds fromher uncle's plate and put one in her mouth. "She was made out ofAdam's rib, and Adam was made out of the dust of the earth. Eversince she ate that apple everybody has been made of dust, Antoinettesays."

  Channing sat upright, in his big blue eyes doubt and distress. "WasDorothea and me made out of dust, Uncle Winthrop?"

  "Dust, mere dust, my man."

  For a moment there was silence and seeming thought, then Dorothea'shead bobbed up and down. "Well, we can't help it, and there's no useletting things hurt that you can't help! But I don't think motherknows, Uncle Winthrop, and please don't tell her. She just hatesdirt. Gracious goodness! I'm as full as a frog, and the ice-cream'sgot chocolate on it, too!"

  In the library some minutes later Dorothea was pouring her uncle'scoffee, and as he took the cup she brought him he bowedceremoniously, then put it down to light a cigar. There were timeswhen he wished Dorothea were his. If she were his-- He took a longwhiff of his cigar and threw the match in the fire.