The Collected Stories of William Humphrey Read Online Free PDF Page B

a boxcar full of souvenirs and treasures.”
    â€œEven then,” said my father, “she was spending money she didn’t have.”
    â€œWell, in those days you didn’t expect a woman like Miss Jane Bledsoe to keep up with whether or not she had it to spend,” said my mother.
    We returned to our food, this time talking as we ate.
    My father said, “Getting back, Mr. Forester, to what you were saying earlier. About the South winning the war if they had followed up the victory at Chickamauga. It is interesting, isn’t it, to try to imagine how things might be now if it had turned out the other way?” He laughed a little from embarrassment.
    â€œWell, I can think of a few things that would be very different,” said my mother with a meaningful, sad look at our guest.
    â€œYes, yes,” said my father.
    â€œPeople may laugh at us for fighting it all over time and time again—even Southerners, the kind coming up now—but they just don’t know,” said my mother.
    â€œNot that you remember any much better times,” said my father with a laugh to her.
    â€œNo,” said my mother, “Lord knows that’s true. But I’ve been told. Well, but it’s not for us to tell Mr. Forester .”
    â€œWell now,” said he, “I don’t know. We have the electric lights now and the telephone, and now the automobile.”
    â€œDoubtful blessings,” said my mother.
    â€œAnd there is the motion picture,” said Mr. Forester.
    â€œIndeed there is,” said my mother.
    â€œOh, I agree with you in disapproving them,” said Mr. Forester, “as a general thing. But some of them, you know, are quite amusing, I must say. Very amusing,” and he chuckled ever so softly over some memory.
    â€œLight amusements,” said my mother sternly, “don’t seem becoming to people with what we have to remember. That’s how it seems to me. Of course, you don’t need any reminders, Mr. Forester. Not a person who has what you have to remember.”
    â€œYes, our family lost a lot, of course,” said Mr. Forester. “But then, every family with a lot or a little to lose lost it, and I am sure it was less hard on such as we than it was on those who may have lost less, but lost all they had.”
    There was a moment’s silence.
    â€œBy Jim!” said my father. “Excuse me for being carried away, but that was well said, Mr. Forester!”
    â€œStill, we don’t have to be modest for you,” said my mother. “And we know how much more it must have hurt the more you had to lose. Anyhow, it’s not the money loss alone I mean. It’s the whole way of life, as they say.”
    â€œYes, yes,” said Mr. Forester somewhat impatiently. “But times change and ways of life must change and we must accustom ourselves and make the best of it. Though I must say that this is the closest to the plentiful old way that I have been in a long while,” and he indicated the table.
    â€œOh! Have more! Give Mr. Forester another one of those bird breasts. Here we have been talking and keeping him from the food!”
    â€œNot at all. Not at all. You can see from my plate that nothing has been keeping me from the food! But I will just pick at another half of one of those birds.”
    With little urging he took a whole one, and he absorbed himself in it so completely that my mother could watch him openly. As his enjoyment increased so did her sadness over the decay of the Old South, as evidenced by Mr. Forester’s appetite.
    My father extended his plate and said, winking at me, “I vow, I believe I might work me up an appetite yet. Mr. Forester is ready for more, too. Give Mr. Forester that brown one there. That one was my best shot of the day—it must have been seventy-five yards, if I do say so myself.”
    â€œNo more for me,” said Mr. Forester. “I have disgraced myself quite