Paul Rundel: A Novel

Silas, whose sedentary occupation had supplied him with the surplus flesh his wife needed, and whose genial pate was as bald as an egg, save for a bare fringe of gray which overlapped his ears on the sides and impinged upon his shirt-collar behind, looked up and smiled broadly.

ÒI wish youÕd quit that, Cynthy. I really do.Ó Every outward and inward part of the man lent itself to his smile, the broad, clean-shaven Irish lip, the big, facile mouth, the almost wrinkleless pink cheeks, the clear, twinkling blue eyes, the besmirched goateeÑin fact, all his rotund, satisfied self between his chin and the bench on which he sat shook like a mass of animated jelly.

ÒQuit what?Ó She turned on him suddenly. ÒWhy, quit always and eternally cominÕ to me when IÕm chock full oÕ breakfast, and askinÕ me what I want to eat for dinner. I can still taste my coffee. I reckon settinÕ humped over this way between meals ainÕt exactly accordinÕ to nature in its best state. IÕd ruther live in a boardinÕ-house and take what was served, hit or miss, than to digest a meal in my mind three hours before I eat it.Ó

ÒHuh! I say!Ó Cynthia sniffed, Òand what about me, who not only has to think about it beforehand, but has to pick it in the garden, git it ready for the pots, smell the fumes of it from daylight till dark, and worry all night for fear something, will sour or be ate up by the cat, dog, or chickens?Ó

Silas laughed till his toolsÑlast, hammer, and knifeÑrattled in his leather apron. ÒYou got the best oÕ that argument,Ó he chuckled, as he pressed the shoe he was repairing down between his fat knees, crossed his short feet, and reached for a box of nails which had fallen to the floor. Then his merriment ceased. He bent a tender glance on the woman and a gentle cadence crept into his voice: ÒThe Lord knows you do have a hard time, Cynthy, anÕ no jokinÕ. I wish thar was some way around it. I lie awake many and many a night just thinkinÕ how happy meÕn youÕd be if we could take a trip off someÕrs and not have nothinÕ to bother about for one week anyway. What are you gazinÕ at out thar so steady?ÓÊ