the end of it. Mebbee I'll be glad enough to have it to come back
to some day, and be thankful for the square meal I can dig out of
it."

By repeated pressure, however, Mulrady yielded the compromise that
a portion of it should be made into a vineyard and flower-garden,
and by a suitable coloring of ornament and luxury obliterate its
vulgar part. Less successful, however, was that energetic woman in
another effort to mitigate the austerities of their earlier state.
It occurred to her to utilize the softer accents of Don Caesar in
the pronunciation of their family name, and privately had "Mulrade"
take the place of Mulrady on her visiting card. "It might be
Spanish," she argued with her husband. "Lawyer Cole says most
American names are corrupted, and how do you know that yours
ain't?" Mulrady, who would not swear that his ancestors came from
Ireland to the Carolinas in '98, was helpless to refute the
assertion. But the terrible Nemesis of an un-Spanish, American
provincial speech avenged the orthographical outrage at once. When
Mrs. Mulrady began to be addressed orally, as well as by letter, as
"Mrs. Mulraid," and when simple amatory effusions to her daughter
rhymed with "lovely maid," she promptly refused the original vowel.
But she fondly clung to the Spanish courtesy which transformed her
husband's baptismal name, and usually spoke of him--in his absence--
as "Don Alvino." But in the presence of his short, square figure,
his orange tawny hair, his twinkling gray eyes, and retrousse nose,
even that dominant woman withheld his title. It was currently
reported at Red Dog that a distinguished foreigner had one day
approached Mulrady with the formula, "I believe I have the honor of
addressing Don Alvino Mulrady?" "You kin bet your boots, stranger,
that's me," had returned that simple hidalgo.