“Good-morning, gentlemen, good-morning! We had quite a fright last night, didn’t we? Dora and I came pretty near paying dear for a little frolic. You see, we were dressing up in character to amuse ourselves, and I was all fixed up for to represent an old woman, and had put on a gray wig and an old flannel gown that I found, and we’d set up pretty late, having some fun all to ourselves; and I expect Dora must have been pretty sleepy when she was putting some of the things away, and set fire to a dress in the closet without noticing it. I’ve lost my whole wardrobe, nigh about, by her carelessness; but it’s such a mercy we wasn’t burned in our bed that I don’t feel to complain so much on that account. Isn’t it curious how I got caught dressed up like my grandmother? We didn’t suppose we were going to appear before so large an audience when we planned out our little frolic. What character did Dora assume? Really, Mr. Little, I was so scared last night that I disremember. She took off her rigging before she went to bed. Don’t you think I’d personify a pretty good old woman, gentlemen—ha! ha!—for a lady of my age? What’s that, Mr. Little? You wish I’d make you a present of that nightcap, to remember me by? Of course; I’ve no further use for it. Of course I haven’t. It’s one of Bridget’s, that I borrowed for the occasion, and I’ve got to give it back to her. Have some coffee, Mr. Grayson—do! I’ve got cream for it this morning. Mr. Smith, help yourself to some of the beefsteak. It’s a very cold morning—fine weather out of doors. Eat all you can, all of you. Have you any profiles to take yet, Mr. Gamboge? I may make up my mind to set for mine before you leave us; I’ve always thought I should have it taken some time. In character? He! he! Mr. Little, you’re so funny! But you’ll excuse me this morning, as I had such a fright last night. I must go and take up that wet carpet.”
CHAPTER V.
A BRACE OF WITTY WOMEN.
By the courtesy of Harper Brothers I am allowed to give you “Aunt Anniky’s Teeth,” by Sherwood Bonner. The illustrations add much, but the story is good enough without pictures.
AUNT ANNIKY’S TEETH.
BY SHERWOOD BONNER.
Aunt Anniky was an African dame, fifty years old, and of an imposing presence. As a waffle-maker she possessed a gift beyond the common, but her unapproachable talent lay in the province of nursing. She seemed born for the benefit of sick people. She should have been painted with the apple of healing in her hand. For the rest, she was a funny, illiterate old darkey, vain, affable, and neat as a pink.
On one occasion my mother had a dangerous illness. Aunt Anniky nursed her through it, giving herself no rest, night nor day, until her patient had come “back to de walks an’ ways ob life,” as she expressed the dear mother’s recovery. My father, overjoyed and grateful, felt that we owed this result quite as much to Aunt Anniky as to our family doctor, so he announced his intention of making her a handsome present, and, like King Herod, left her free to choose what it should be. I shall never forget how Aunt Anniky looked as she stood there smiling and bowing, and bobbing the funniest little courtesies all the way down to the ground.
And you would never guess what it was the old woman asked for.
“Well, Mars’ Charles,” said she (she had been one of our old servants, and always called my father ‘Mars’ Charles’), “to tell you de livin’ trufe, my soul an’ body is a-yearnin’ fur a han’sum chany set o’ teef.”
“A set of teeth!” said father, surprised enough. “And have you none left of your own?”
“I has gummed it fur a good many ye’rs,” said Aunt Anniky, with a sigh; “but not wishin’ ter be ongrateful ter my obligations, I owns ter havin’ five nateral teef. But dey is po’ sogers; dey shirks battle. One ob dem’s got a little somethin’ in it as lively as a speared worm, an’ I tell you when anything teches it, hot or cold, it jest makes me dance! An’ anudder is in my top jaw, an’ ain’t got no match fur it in de bottom one; an’ one is broke off nearly to de root; an’ de las’ two is so yaller dat I’s ashamed ter show ‘em in company, an’ so I lif’s my turkey-tail ter my mouf every time I laughs or speaks.”
Father turned to mother with a musing air. “The curious student of humanity,” he remarked, “traces resemblances where they are not obviously conspicuous. Now, at the first blush, one would not think of any common ground of meeting for our Aunt Anniky and the Empress Josephine. Yet that fine French lady introduced the fashion of handkerchiefs by continually raising delicate lace mouchoirs to her lips to hide her bad teeth. Aunt Anniky lifts her turkey-tail! It really seems that human beings should be classed by strata, as if they were metals in the earth. Instead of dividing by nations, let us class by quality. So we might find Turk, Jew, Christian, fashionable lady and washerwoman, master and slave, hanging together like cats on a clothes-line by some connecting cord of affinity—”
“In the mean time,” said my mother, mildly, “Aunt Anniky is waiting to know if she is to have her teeth.”
“Oh, surely, surely!” cried father, coming out of the clouds with a start. “I am going to the village to-morrow, Anniky, in the spring wagon. I will take you with me, and we will see what the dentist can do for you.”
“Bless yo’ heart, Mars’ Charles!” said the delighted Anniky; “you’re jest as good as yo’ blood and yo’ name, and mo’ I couldn’t say.”
The morrow came, and with it Aunt Anniky, gorgeously arrayed in a flaming red calico, a bandanna handkerchief, and a string of carved yellow beads that glittered on her bosom like fresh buttercups on a hill-slope.
I had petitioned to go with the party, for, as we lived on a plantation, a visit to the village was something of an event. A brisk drive soon brought us to the centre of “the Square.” A glittering sign hung brazenly from a high window on its western side, bearing, in raised black letters, the name, “Doctor Alonzo Babb.”
Dr. Babb was the dentist and the odd fish of our village. He beams in my memory as a big, round man, with hair and smiles all over his face, who talked incessantly, and said things to make your blood run cold.
“Do you see this ring?” he said, as he bustled about, polishing his instruments and making his preparations for the sacrifice of Aunt Anniky. He held up his right hand, on the forefinger of which glistened a ring the size of a dog-collar. “Now, what d’ye s’pose that’s made of?”
“Brass,” suggested father, who was funny when not philosophical.
“Brass!” cried Dr. Babb, with a withering look; “it’s virgin gold, that ring is. And where d’ye s’pose I found the gold?”
My father ran his hands into his pockets in a retrospective sort of way.
“In the mouths of my patients, every grain of it,” said the dentist, with a perfectly diabolical smack of the lips. “Old fillings—plugs, you know—that I saved, and had made up into this shape. Good deal of sentiment about such a ring as this.”