Mr.Caleb Hammond rose that Sunday morning with a partially developed attack of indigestion and a thoroughly developed "grouch." The indigestion was due to an injudicious partaking of light refreshment--sandwiches, ice cream and sarsaparilla "tonic"--at the club the previous evening.Simeon Baker had paid for the refreshment, ordering the supplies sent in from Mr.Chris Badger's store.Simeon had received an unexpected high price for cranberries shipped to New York, and was in consequence "flush" and reckless.He appeared at the club at nine-thirty, after most of its married members had departed for their homes and only a few of the younger set and one or two bachelors, like Mr.Hammond, remained, and announced that he was going to "blow the crowd." The crowd was quite willing to be blown and said so.
Mr.Hammond ate three sandwiches and two plates of ice cream, also he smoked two cigars.He did not really feel the need of the second cream or the second cigar, but, as they were furnished without cost to him, he took them as a matter of principle.Hence the indigestion.
The "grouch" was due partially to the unwonted dissipation and its consequences and partly to the fact that his winter "flannels" had not been returned by Mrs.Melinda Pease, to whom they had been consigned for mending and overhauling.
It was the tenth of November and for a period of twenty-four years, ever since his recovery from a severe attack of rheumatic fever, Caleb had made it a point to lay aside his summer underwear on the morning of November tenth and don a heavy suit.Weather, cold or warm, was not supposed to have any bearing on this change.The ninth might be as frigid as a Greenland twilight and the tenth as balmy as a Florida noon--no matter; on the ninth Mr.Hammond wore light underwear and shivered; on the tenth he wore his "flannels"and perspired.It was another of his principles, and Caleb had a deserved reputation for adhering to principle and being "sot" in his ways.
So, when, on this particular tenth of November, this Sabbath morning, he rose, conscious of the sandwiches and "tonic," and found no suit of flannels ready for him to don, his grouch began to develop.He opened his chamber door a crack and shouted through the crack.
"Mrs.Barnes," he called."Hi--i, Mrs.Barnes!"Thankful, still busy in the kitchen, where she had been joined by Imogene, sent the latter to find out what was the matter.Imogene returned, grinning.
"He wants his flannels," she announced."Wants to know where them winter flannels Mrs.Pease sent home yesterday are.Why, ain't they in his room, he says."Thankful sniffed.Her experience with Miss Timpson, and the worry caused by the latter's leaving, had had their effect upon her patience.
"Mercy sakes!" she exclaimed."Is that all? I thought the house was afire.I don't know where his flannels are.Why should I?
Where'd Melindy put 'em when she brought 'em here?"Imogene chuckled."I don't think she brought 'em at all," she replied."She wa'n't here yesterday.She--why, yes, seems to me Kenelm said he heard she was sick abed with a cold."Thankful nodded."So she is," she said."Probably the poor thing ain't had time to finish mendin' 'em.It's a good deal of a job, Iguess.She told me once that that Hammond man wore his inside clothes till they wa'n't anything BUT mendin', just hung together with patches, as you might say.His suits and overcoats are all right enough 'most always, but he can't seem to bear to spend money for anything underneath.Perhaps he figgers that patches are good as anything else, long's they don't show.Imogene, go tell him Melindy didn't fetch 'em."Imogene went and returned with her grin broader than ever.
"He says she did bring 'em," she announced."Says she always brings him his things on the ninth.He's pretty peppery this mornin', seems to me.Says he don't cal'late to stand there and freeze much longer.""Freeze! Why, it's the warmest day we've had for a fortni't.The sun's come out and it's cleared up fine, like Indian summer.Oh, DO be still!" as another shout for "Mrs.Barnes" came from above.
"Here, never mind, Imogene; I'll tell him."She went into the front hall and called up the stairs.
"Your things ain't here, Mr.Hammond," she said."Melindy didn't bring 'em.She's laid up with a cold and probably couldn't get 'em ready.""Course she's got 'em ready! She always has 'em ready.She knows I want 'em.""Maybe so, but she ain't always sick, 'tain't likely.They ain't here, anyway.You won't need 'em today.""Need 'em? Course I need 'em.It's colder than Christmas.""No, it isn't.It's almost as warm as September.Put on two suits of your others, if you're so cold.And come down to breakfast as soon as you can.We've all had ours."When Mr.Hammond did come down to breakfast his manner was that of a martyr.The breakfast itself, baked beans and fishballs, did not appeal to him, and he ate little.He grumbled as he drank his coffee.
"Healthy note, this is!" he muttered."Got to set around and freeze to death just 'cause that lazy critter ain't finished her job.I pay her for it, don't I?"Thankful sniffed."I suppose you do," she said, adding under her breath, "though how much you pay is another thing.""Is this all the breakfast you've got?" queried Caleb.
"Why, yes; it's what we always have Sunday mornin's.Isn't it what you expected?""Oh, I expected it, all right.Take it away; I don't want no more.
Consarn it! I wish sometimes I had a home of my own.""Well, why don't you have one? I should think you would.You can afford it."Mr.Hammond did not reply.He folded his napkin, seized his hat and coat and went out.When he crossed the threshold he shivered, as a matter of principle.
He stalked gloomily along the path by the edge of the bluff.
Captain Obed Bangs came up the path and they met.
"Hello, Caleb!" hailed the captain."Fine weather at last, eh?
