Short Fiction Kate Chopin (best e reader for android .txt) đ
- Author: Kate Chopin
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âItâs wâat I say,â chimed in Evariste. âI tell dat gentâman Iâm goinâ make myseâf fine. He sayâ, âNo, no,â like he ent pleaseâ. He wantâ me like I come out de swamp. So much betta if my pantâloonâ anâ coat is tore, he say, anâ colorâ like de mud.â They could not understand these eccentric wishes on the part of the strange gentleman, and made no effort to do so.
An hour later Martinette, who was quite puffed up over the affair, trotted across to Aunt Diceyâs cabin to communicate the news to her. The negress was ironing; her irons stood in a long row before the fire of logs that burned on the hearth. Martinette seated herself in the chimney corner and held her feet up to the blaze; it was damp and a little chilly out of doors. The girlâs shoes were considerably worn and her garments were a little too thin and scant for the winter season. Her father had given her the two dollars he had received from the artist, and Martinette was on her way to the store to invest them as judiciously as she knew how.
âYou know, Aunt Dicey,â she began a little complacently after listening awhile to Aunt Diceyâs unqualified abuse of her own son, Wilkins, who was dining-room boy at Mr. Halletâs, âyou know that stranger gentleman up to Mr. Halletâs? he wantâ to make my popaâs picture; anâ he sayâ he goinâ put it in one fine Magâzine yonda.â Aunt Dicey spat upon her iron to test its heat. Then she began to snicker. She kept on laughing inwardly, making her whole fat body shake, and saying nothing.
âWâat you laughinâ âbout, Aunt Dice?â inquired Martinette mistrustfully.
âI is nâ laughinâ, chile!â
âYas, youâ laughinâ.â
âOh, donât pay no âtention to me. I jis studyinâ how simple you anâ yoâ pa is. You is bof de simplest somebody I eva come âcrost.â
âYou got to say plumb out wâat you mean, Aunt Dice,â insisted the girl doggedly, suspicious and alert now.
âWell, dat wây I say you is simple,â proclaimed the woman, slamming down her iron on an inverted, battered pie pan, âjis like you says, dey gwine put yoâ paâs picture yonda in de picture paper. Anâ you know wâat readinâ dey gwine sot down onâneaf dat picture?â Martinette was intensely attentive. âDey gwine sot down onâneaf: âDis heah is one dem low-down âCajuns oâ Bayeh TĂȘche!âââ
The blood flowed from Martinetteâs face, leaving it deathly pale; in another instant it came beating back in a quick flood, and her eyes smarted with pain as if the tears that filled them had been fiery hot.
âI knows dem kine oâ folks,â continued Aunt Dicey, resuming her interrupted ironing. âDat stranger he got a liâle boy wâat ainât none too big to spank. Dat liâle imp he come a hoppinâ in heah yistiddy wid a kine oâ box onâneaf his arm. He sayâ âGood moâninâ, madam. Will you be so kine anâ stanâ jis like you is dah at yoâ iâoninâ, anâ lef me take yoâ picture?â I âlowed I gwine make a picture outen him wid dis heah flat-iâon, ef he donâ clâar hisseâf quick. Anâ he say he baig my pardon foâ his intrudement. All dat kine oâ talk to a ole nigga âoman! Dat plainly shoâ he donâ know his place.â
âWâat you want âim to say, Aunt Dice?â asked Martinette, with an effort to conceal her distress.
âI wants âim to come in heah anâ say: âHowdy, Aunt Dicey! will you be so kine and go put on yoâ noo calker dress anâ yoâ bonnit wâat you wâars to meetinâ, anâ stanâ âside fâom dat iâoninâ-boaâd wâilse I gwine take yoâ photygraph.â Dat de way foâ a boy to talk wâat had good raisinâ.â
Martinette had arisen, and began to take slow leave of the woman. She turned at the cabin door to observe tentatively: âI reckon itâs Wilkins tells you how the folks they talk, yonda up to Mr. Halletâs.â
She did not go to the store as she had intended, but walked with a dragging step back to her home. The silver dollars clicked in her pocket as she walked. She felt like flinging them across the field; they seemed to her somehow the price of shame.
The sun had sunk, and twilight was settling like a silver beam upon the bayou and enveloping the fields in a gray mist. Evariste, slim and slouchy, was waiting for his daughter in the cabin door. He had lighted a fire of sticks and branches, and placed the kettle before it to boil. He met the girl with his slow, serious, questioning eyes, astonished to see her empty-handed.
âHow come you didnâ bring nuttinâ fâom de stoâ, Martinette?â
She entered and flung her gingham sunbonnet upon a chair. âNo, I didnâ go yonda;â and with sudden exasperation: âYou got to go take back that money; you musâ nâ git no picture took.â
âBut, Martinette,â her father mildly interposed, âI promiseâ âim; anâ heâs goinâ give me some moâ money wâen he finish.â
âIf he give you a baâel oâ money, you musâ nâ git no picture took. You know wâat he want to put unâneath that picture, foâ evâbody to read?â She could not tell him the whole hideous truth as she had heard it distorted from Aunt Diceyâs lips; she would not hurt him that much. âHeâs goinâ to write: âThis is one âCajun oâ the Bayou TĂȘche.âââ Evariste winced.
âHow you know?â he asked.
âI yeard so. I know itâs true.â
The water in the kettle was boiling. He went and poured a small quantity upon the coffee which he had set there to drip. Then he said to her: âI reckon you jusâ as well go care dat two dollaâ back, tomoâ moâninâ; me, Iâll go yonda ketch a mess oâ fish in Carancro lake.â
Mr. Hallet and a few masculine companions were assembled at a rather
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