III
Dr. Westlake, Sam Clark, Nat Hicks, and Del Snafflin were
talking in Del's barber shop.
"Well, I see Kennicott's wife is taking a whirl at the
rest-room, now," said Dr. Westlake. He emphasized the "now."
Del interrupted the shaving of Sam and, with his brush
dripping lather, he observed jocularly:
"What'll she be up to next? They say she used to claim
this burg wasn't swell enough for a city girl like her, and
would we please tax ourselves about thirty-seven point nine and
fix it all up pretty, with tidies on the hydrants and statoos on
the lawns—"
Sam irritably blew the lather from his lips, with milky
small bubbles, and snorted, "Be a good thing for most of us
roughnecks if we did have a smart woman to tell us how to
fix up the town. Just as much to her kicking as there was
to Jim Blausser's gassing about factories. And you can bet
Mrs. Kennicott is smart, even if she is skittish. Glad to see
her back."
Dr. Westlake hastened to play safe. "So was I! So was I!
She's got a nice way about her, and she knows a good deal
about books, or fiction anyway. Of course she's like all the
rest of these women—not solidly founded—not scholarly—
doesn't know anything about political economy—falls for every
new idea that some windjamming crank puts out. But she's
a nice woman. She'll probably fix up the rest-room, and the
rest-room is a fine thing, brings a lot of business to town. And
now that Mrs. Kennicott's been away, maybe she's got over
some of her fool ideas. Maybe she realizes that folks simply
laugh at her when she tries to tell us how to run everything."
"Sure. She'll take a tumble to herself," said Nat Hicks,
sucking in his lips judicially. "As far as I'm concerned, I'll
say she's as nice a looking skirt as there is in town. But yow!"
His tone electrified them. "Guess she'll miss that Swede
Valborg that used to work for me! They was a pair! Talking
poetry and moonshine! If they could of got away with it,
they'd of been so darn lovey-dovey—"
Sam Clark interrupted, "Rats, they never even thought
about making love, Just talking books and all that junk.
I tell you, Carrie Kennicott's a smart woman, and these smart
educated women all get funny ideas, but they get over 'em
after they've had three or four kids. You'll see her settled
down one of these days, and teaching Sunday School and
helping at sociables and behaving herself, and not trying to
butt into business and politics. Sure!"
After only fifteen minutes of conference on her stockings,
her son, her separate bedroom, her music, her ancient interest
in Guy Pollock, her probable salary in Washington, and every
remark which she was known to have made since her return,
the supreme council decided that they would permit Carol
Kennicott to live, and they passed on to a consideration of
Nat Hicks's New One about the traveling salesman and the
old maid.
