the loss of the first prize, a handsome fern dish, and concerning
which Mrs. Gashwiler had thought it best to speak her mind? What
importance could he attach to the disclosure of Metta Judson, the
Gashwiler hired girl, who chatted freely during her appearances with
food, that Doc Cummins had said old Grandma Foutz couldn't last out
another day; that the Peter Swansons were sending clear to Chicago
for Tilda's trousseau; and that Jeff Murdock had arrested one of the
Giddings boys, but she couldn't learn if it was Ferd or Gus, for
being drunk as a fool and busting up a bazaar out at the Oak Grove
schoolhouse, and the fighting was something terrible.

Scarcely did he listen to these petty recitals. He ate in silence,
and when he had finished the simple meal he begged to be excused. He
begged this in a lofty, detached, somewhat weary manner, as a man of
the world, excessively bored at the dull chatter but still the
fastidious gentleman, might have begged it, breaking into one of the
many repetitions by his hostess of just what she had said to Mrs.
Judge Ellis. He was again Clifford Armytage, enacting a polished
society man among yokels. He was so impressive, after rising, in his
bow to Mrs. Gashwiler that Amos regarded him with a kindling
suspicion.

"Say!" he called, as Merton in the hallway plucked his rakish plush
hat from the mirrored rack. "You remember, now, no more o' that
skylarkin' with them dummies! Them things cost money."

Merton paused. He wished to laugh sarcastically, a laugh of
withering scorn. He wished to reply in polished tones, "Skylarkin'!
You poor, dull clod, what do you know of my ambitions, my ideals?
You, with your petty life devoted to gaining a few paltry dollars!"