II
Mrs. Bogart was calling upon Carol, protected by Aunt
Bessie Smail.
"Have you heard about this awful woman that's supposed
to have come here to do dressmaking—a Mrs. Swiftwaite—
awful peroxide blonde?" moaned Mrs. Bogart. "They say
there's some of the awfullest goings-on at her house—mere
boys and old gray-headed rips sneaking in there evenings
and drinking licker and every kind of goings-on. We women
can't never realize the carnal thoughts in the hearts of men.
I tell you, even though I been acquainted with Will Kennicott
almost since he was a mere boy, seems like, I wouldn't trust
even him! Who knows what designin' women might tempt
him! Especially a doctor, with women rushin' in to see him
at his office and all! You know I never hint around, but
haven't you felt that—"
Carol was furious. "I don't pretend that Will has no
faults. But one thing I do know: He's as simple-hearted
about what you call `goings-on' as a babe. And if he ever
were such a sad dog as to look at another woman, I certainly
hope he'd have spirit enough to do the tempting, and not be
coaxed into it, as in your depressing picture!"
"Why, what a wicked thing to say, Carrie!" from Aunt
Bessie.
"No, I mean it! Oh, of course, I don't mean it! But—
I know every thought in his head so well that he couldn't
hide anything even if he wanted to. Now this morning—
He was out late, last night; he had to go see Mrs. Perry,
who is ailing, and then fix a man's hand, and this morning
he was so quiet and thoughtful at breakfast and—" She
leaned forward, breathed dramatically to the two perched
harpies, "What do you suppose he was thinking of?"
"What?" trembled Mrs. Bogart.
"Whether the grass needs cutting, probably! There, there!
Don't mind my naughtiness. I have some fresh-made raisin
cookies for you."
