Flags in the Dust Read Online Free PDF Page B

and she was much in demand as a chaperone for picnic parties.
    She now spoke across the room to the hostess. “I’m going home, Belle,” she stated. “I think we are all tired of your party. I know I am.” The hostess was a plump, youngish woman and her cleverly-rouged face showed now an hysterical immersion that was almost repose, but when Miss Jenny broke into her consciousness with the imminence of departure this faded quickly, and her face resumed its familiar expression of strained and vague dissatisfaction and she protested conventionally but with a petulant sincerity, as a well-bred child might.
    But Miss Jenny was adamant and she rose and her slenderwrinkled hand brushed invisible crumbs from the bosom of her black silk dress. “If I stay any longer I’ll miss Bayard’s toddy time,” she explained with her usual forthrightness. “Come on, Narcissa, and I’ll drive you home.”
    “I have my car, thank you, Miss Jenny,” the young woman to whom she spoke replied in a grave contralto, rising also; and the others got up with sibilant gathering motions above the petulant modulation of the hostess’ protestings, and they drifted slowly into the hall and clotted again before various mirrors, colorful and shrill. Miss Jenny pushed steadily on toward the door.
    “Come along, come along,” she repeated. “Harry Mitchell wont want to run into all this gabble when he comes home from work.”
    “Then he can sit in the car out in the garage,” the hostess rejoined sharply. “I do wish you wouldn’t go. Miss Jenny, I dont think I’ll ask you again.”
    But Miss Jenny only said “Goodbye, goodbye” with cold affability, and with her delicate replica of the Sartoris nose and that straight grenadier’s back of hers which gave the pas for erectness to only one back in town—that of her nephew Bayard—she stood at the steps, where Narcissa Benbow joined her, bringing with her like an odor that aura of grave and serene repose in which she dwelt. “Belle meant that, too,” Miss Jenny said.
    “Meant what, Miss Jenny?”
    “About Harry.…… Now, where do you suppose that damn nigger went to?” They descended the steps and from the parked motors along the street came muffled starting explosions, and the two women traversed the brief flower-bordered walk to the street. “Did you see which way my driver went?” Miss Jenny asked of the negro in the nearest car.
    “He went to’ds de back, ma’am.” The negro opened thedoor and slid his legs, clad in army o.d. and a pair of linoleum putties, to the ground. “I’ll go git ’im.”
    “Thank you. Well, thank the Lord that’s over,” she added. “It’s too bad folks haven’t the sense or courage to send out invitations, then shut up the house and go away. All the fun of parties is in dressing up and getting there.” Ladies came in steady shrill groups down the walk and got into cars or departed on foot with bright, not-quite-musical calls to one another. The sun was down behind Belle’s house, and when the women passed from the shadow into the level bar of sunlight beyond they became delicately brilliant as paroquets. Narcissa Benbow wore gray and her eyes were violet, and in her face was that tranquil repose of lilies.
    “Not children’s parties,” she protested.
    “I’m talking about parties, not about having fun,” Miss Jenny said. “Speaking of children: What’s the news from Horace?”
    “Oh, hadn’t I told you?” the other said quickly. “I had a wire yesterday. He landed in New York Wednesday. It was such a mixed-up sort of message, I never could understand what he was trying to tell me, except that he would have to stay in New York for a week or so. It was over fifty words long.”
    “Was it a straight message?” Miss Jenny asked. The other said Yes, and she added: “Horace must have got rich, like the soldiers say all the Y.M.C.A. did. Well, if it has taught a man like Horace to make money, the war was a pretty good thing, after