"Come in, Mr. Salter," bellowed Knox, "tea's just
a-waitin' for you. Pap's here. You know Cal, certain! This is my good
lady, Mrs. Van de Lear. Lottie, put on the oysters and waffles! Don't
forgit the catfish. There's nothing like catfish out of the Delaware,
Mr. Salter."
"Particularly if they have a corpse or two to flavor them," said Calvin
Van de Lear in a low tone.
Mrs. Knox Van de Lear, a fine, large, blonde lady, took the head of the
table. She had a sweet, timid voice, quite out of quantity with her bone
and flesh, and her eyelashes seemed to be weak, for they closed together
often and in almost regular time, and the delicate lids were quite as
noticeable as her bashful blue eyes.
"Lottie," said Rev. Silas Van de Lear, "I came in to-night with a little
chill upon me. At my age chills are the tremors from other wings
hovering near. Please let me have the first cup of coffee hot."
"Certainly, papa," said the hostess, making haste to fill his cup. "You
don't at all feel apprehensive, do you?"
"No," said the old man, with his teeth chattering. "I haven't had
apprehensions for long back. Nothing but confidence."
"Oh, pap!" put in Knox Van de Lear, "you'll be a preachin' when I'm a
granddaddy. You never mean to die.
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