Part 25 (1/2)

Then he walked up to the porch and touched the scarlet paint with his finger and remarked:

”Set harder than a rock, by gum! She must have used a whole lot of dryer. I'll get even with her for this. See if I don't.”

In the afternoon Jonathan brought over some fine apples and presented them to Hepsey, who was knitting on her side porch. She thanked him for the gift, and the conversation drifted from one thing to another while she waited for the expected outburst of reproach which she knew would come sooner or later. But curiously enough, Jonathan was more cheery and cordial than usual, and made no allusion whatever to the scarlet porch, which was conspicuously visible from where they sat.

Again and again Hepsey led the conversation around to the point where it seemed as if he must break covert, but he remained oblivious, and changed the subject readily. Not a word on the subject pa.s.sed his lips that afternoon.

Then, from day to day the neighbors called and inquired of her if Jackson had gone off his head, or what was the matter. His flaming porch outraged Durford's sense of decency. She was at her wits end to answer, without actually lying or compromising herself; so the only thing she said was that she had noticed that he had been acting a bit peculiar lately, now they mentioned it. As time went on, the scarlet porch became the talk of the town. It was duly discussed at the sewing society, and the reading club, and the general sentiment was practically unanimous that Jackson must be suffering from incipient cataract or senile dementia, and needed a guardian. Even Mary McGuire remarked to Mrs. Burke that she was afraid ”that there front porch would sure set the house on fire, if it wasn't put out before.”

Everybody agreed that if his wife had lived, the thing never could have happened.

Meantime, Jonathan went about his daily business, serene and happy, apparently oblivious of the fact that there was anything unusual in the decoration of his house. When his friends began to chaff him about the porch he seemed surprised, and guessed it was his privilege to paint his house any color he had a mind to, and there was no law ag'in' it; it was n.o.body's business but his own. Tastes in color differed, and there was no reason in the world why all houses should be painted alike. He liked variety himself, and n.o.body could say that scarlet wasn't a real cheerful color on a white house.

Occasionally people who were driving by stopped to contemplate the porch; and the Durford Daily _Bugle_ devoted a long facetious paragraph to the matter. All of which Mrs. Burke knew very well, and it was having its effect on her nerves. The porch was the most conspicuous object in view from Hepsey's sitting-room windows, and every time she entered the room she found herself looking at the flaming terror with increasing exasperation. Verily, if Jonathan wanted revenge he was getting far more than he knew: the biter was badly bit. The matter came to a crisis one day, when Jonathan concluded a discussion with Mrs. Burke about the pasture fence. She burst out abruptly:

”Say, Jonathan Jackson, why in the name of conscience don't you paint your porch a Christian color? It's simply awful, and I'm not goin' to sit in my house and have to look at it all winter.”

Jonathan did not seem greatly stirred, and replied in an absent-minded way:

”Why don't you move your sittin' room over to the other side of the house, Hepsey? Then you wouldn't have to see it. Don't you like scarlet?”

”No, I don't like it, and if you don't paint it out, I will.”

”Don't do nothin' rash, Hepsey. You know sometimes colors fade in the moonlight--some colors, that is. Maybe that scarlet porch'll turn to a light gray if you let it alone.”

Mrs. Burke could stand it no longer; so, laying down her work she exploded her pent-up wrath:

”Jonathan Jackson, if that paint isn't gone before to-morrow, I'll come over and paint it myself.”

”Oh, that isn't necessary, Hepsey. And it might set people talkin'.

But if you won't move your sittin'-room to the other side of your own house, why don't you move it over to my house? You wouldn't see so much of the red paint then.”

Hepsey snorted and spluttered in baffled rage.

”Now, now, Hepsey,” soothed Jonathan, ”if that don't suit you, I'll tell you what I'll do: I'll paint it over myself on one condition!”

”And what's that, I'd like to know?”

”That you'll marry me,” snapped Jonathan hungrily.

Instead of resenting such bold tactics on the part of her suitor, Mrs.

Burke gazed at him a long time with a rather discouraged look on her face.

”Land sakes!” she exclaimed at last with a.s.sumed weariness and a whimsical smile, ”I didn't know I'd ever come to this; but I guess I'll have to marry you to keep you from makin' another kind of fool of yourself; widowers are such helpless mortals, and you certainly do need a guardian.” She shook her head at him despondently.

Jonathan advanced towards her deliberately, and clinched the matter:

”Well, Hepsey, seein' that we're engaged----”