University of Virginia Library

11. CHAPTER XI.

TWO months had gone by and the Hawkins family were
domiciled in Hawkeye. Washington was at work in the
real estate office again, and was alternately in paradise or the
other place just as it happened that Louise was gracious to
him or seemingly indifferent—because indifference or preoccupation
could mean nothing else than that she was thinking
of some other young person. Col. Sellers had asked him
several times, to dine with him, when he first returned to
Hawkeye, but Washington, for no particular reason, had not
accepted. No particular reason except one which he preferred
to keep to himself—viz. that he could not bear to be away
from Louise. It occurred to him, now, that the Colonel had
not invited him lately—could he be offended? He resolved
to go that very day, and give the Colonel a pleasant surprise.
It was a good idea; especially as Louise had absented herself
from breakfast that morning, and torn his heart; he would
tear hers, now, and let her see how it felt.

The Sellers family were just starting to dinner when
Washington burst upon them with his surprise. For an
instant the Colonel looked nonplussed, and just a bit uncomfortable;
and Mrs. Sellers looked actually distressed; but the
next moment the head of the house was himself again, and
exclaimed:

“All right, my boy, all right—always glad to see you—

always glad to hear your voice and take you by the hand.
Don't wait for special invitations—that's all nonsense among
friends. Just come whenever you can, and come as often
as you can—the oftener the better. You can't please
us any better than that, Washington; the little woman will
tell you so herself. We don't pretend to style. Plain folks,
you know—plain folks. Just a plain family dinner, but such
as it is, our friends are always welcome, I reckon you know
that yourself, Washington. Run along, children, run along;
Lafayette,[1] stand off the cat's tail, child, can't you see what
you're doing?—Come, come, come, Roderick Dhu, it isn't
nice for little boys to hang onto young gentlemen's coat tails
—but never mind him, Washington, he's full of spirits and
don't mean any harm. Children will be children, you know.
Take the chair next to Mrs. Sellers, Washington—tut, tut,
Marie Antoinette, let your brother have the fork if he wants
it, you are bigger than he is.”

Washington contemplated the banquet, and wondered if he
were in his right mind. Was this the plain family dinner?
And was it all present? It was soon apparent that this was
indeed the dinner: it was all on the table: it consisted of
abundance of clear, fresh water, and a basin of raw turnips—
nothing more.

Washington stole a glance at Mrs. Sellers's face, and
would have given the world, the next moment, if he could
have spared her that. The poor woman's face was crimson,
and the tears stood in her eyes. Washington did not know
what to do. He wished he had never come there and spied
out this cruel poverty and brought pain to that poor little
lady's heart and shame to her cheek; but he was there, and
there was no escape. Col. Sellers hitched back his coat

[ILLUSTRATION]

A HEALTHY MEAL.

[Description: 499EAF. Page 110. In-line image of a dinner table with the mother and father looking at their old balding dinner guest.] sleeves airily from his wrists as who should say “Now for
solid enjoyment!” seized a fork, flourished it and began to
harpoon turnips and deposit them in the plates before him:

“Let me help you, Washington—Lafayette pass this plate
to Washington—ah, well, well, my boy, things are looking
pretty bright, now, I tell you. Speculation—my! the whole
atmosphere's full of money. I would'nt take three fortunes
for one little operation I've got on hand now—have anything
from the casters? No? Well, you're right, you're right.
Some people like mustard with turnips, but—now there
was Baron Poniatowski—Lord, but that man did know
how to live!—true Russian you know, Russian to the back
bone; I say to my wife, give me a Russian every time, for a
table comrade. The Baron used to say, `Take mustard,
Sellers, try the mustard,—a man can't know what turnips
are in perfection without mustard,' but I always said, `No,
Baron, I'm a plain man, and I want my food plain—none of
your embellishments for Eschol Sellers—no made dishes for

me! And it's the best way—high living kills more than it
cures in this world, you can rest assured of that.—Yes
indeed, Washington, I've got one little operation on hand that
—take some more water—help yourself, won't you?—help
yourself, there's plenty of it.—You'll find it pretty good, I
guess. How does that fruit strike you?”

Washington said he did not know that he had ever tasted
better. He did not add that he detested turnips even when
they were cooked—loathed them in their natural state. No,
he kept this to himself, and praised the turnips to the peril
of his soul.

“I thought you'd like them. Examine them—examine
them—they'll bear it. See how perfectly firm and juicy they
are—they can't start any like them in this part of the country,
I can tell you. These are from New Jersey—I imported
them myself. They cost like sin, too; but lord bless me, I
go in for having the best of a thing, even if it does cost a little
more—its the best economy, in the long run. These are
the Early Malcolm—it's a turnip that can't be produced
except in just one orchard, and the supply never is up to the
demand. Take some more water, Washington—you can't
drink too much water with fruit—all the doctors say that.
The plague can't come where this article is, my boy!”

“Plague? What plague?”

“What plague, indeed? Why the Asiatic plague that
nearly depopulated London a couple of centuries ago.”

“But how does that concern us? There is no plague here,
I reckon.”

“Sh! I've let it out! Well, never mind—just keep it to
yourself. Perhaps I oughtn't said anything, but its bound to
come out sooner or later, so what is the odds? Old McDowells
wouldn't like me to—to—bother it all, I'll just tell the
whole thing and let it go. You see, I've been down to St.
Louis, and I happened to run across old Dr. McDowells—
thinks the world of me, does the doctor. He's a man that
keeps himself to himself, and well he may, for he knows that
he's got a reputation that covers the whole earth—he won't
condescend to open himself out to many people, but lord bless

you, he and I are just like brothers; he won't let me go to a
hotel when I'm in the city—says I'm the only man that's
company to him, and I don't know but there's some truth in
it, too, because although I never like to glorify myself and
make a great to-do over what I am or what I can do or what
I know, I don't mind saying here among friends that I am
better read up in most sciences, maybe, than the general run
of professional men in these days. Well, the other day he
let me into a little secret, strictly on the quiet, about this
matter of the plague.

“You see it's booming right along in our direction—follows
the Gulf Stream, you know, just as all those epidemics do,—
and within three months it will be just waltzing through this
land like a whirlwind! Aud whoever it touches can make
his will and contract for the funeral. Well you can't cure it,
you know, but you can prevent it. How? Turnips! that's
it! Turnips and water! Nothing like it in the world, old
McDowells says, just fill yourself up two or three times a day,
and you can snap your fingers at the plague. Sh!—keep mum,
but just you confine yourself to that diet and you're all right.
I wouldn't have old McDowells know that I told about it
for anything—he never would speak to me again. Take some
more water, Washington—the more water you drink, the
better. Here, let me give you some more of the turnips.
No, no, no, now, I insist. There, now. Absorb those. They're
mighty sustaining—brim full of nutriment—all the medical
books say so. Just eat from four to seven good-sized turnips
at a meal, and drink from a pint and a half to a quart of
water, and then just sit around a couple of hours and let them
ferment. You'll feel like a fighting cock next day.”

Fifteen or twenty minutes later the Colonel's tongue was
still chattering away—he had piled up several future fortunes
out of several incipient “operations” which he had blundered
into within the past week, and was now soaring along through
some brilliant expectations born of late promising experiments
upon the lacking ingredient of the eye-water. And at such
a time Washington ought to have been a rapt and enthusiastic
listener, but he was not, for two matters disturbed his

mind and distracted his attention. One was, that he discovered,
to his confusion and shame, that in allowing himself
to be helped a second time to the turnips, he had robbed
those hungry children. He had not needed the dreadful
“fruit,” and had not wanted it; and when he saw the pathetic
sorrow in their faces when they asked for more and there
was no more to give them, he hated himself for his stupidity
and pitied the famishing young things with all his heart. The
other matter that disturbed him was the dire inflation that
had begun in his stomach. It grew and grew, it became
more and more insupportable. Evidently the turnips were
“fermenting.” He forced himself to sit still as long as he
could, but his anguish conquered him at last.

He rose in the midst of the Colonel's talk and excused himself
on the plea of a previous engagement. The Colonel
followed him to the door, promising over and over again that
he would use his influence to get some of the Early Malcolms
for him, and insisting that he should not be such a stranger
but come and take pot-luck with him every chance he got.
Washington was glad enough to get away and feel free again.
He immediately bent his steps toward home.

In bed he passed an hour that threatened to turn his hair
gray, and then a blessed calm settled down upon him that
filled his heart with gratitude. Weak and languid, he made
shift to turn himself about and seek rest and sleep; and as
his soul hovered upon the brink of unconciousness, he heaved
a long, deep sigh, and said to himself that in his heart he had
cursed the Colonel's preventive of rheumatism, before, and
now let the plague come if it must—he was done with preventives;
if ever any man beguiled him with turnips and
water again, let him die the death.

If he dreamed at all that night, no gossiping spirit disturbed
his visions to whisper in his ear of certain matters just then
in bud in the East, more than a thousand miles away that
after the lapse of a few years would develop influences
which would profoundly affect the fate and fortunes of the
Hawkins family.