Then
in a flash all the love-fragrance seemed to go to my head--Tom's mixing
of that julep had been skilful, too--and tears rose to my eyes, and
there I might have been crying at my own party if I hadn't felt a strong
warm hand laid on mine as it rested on my lap and Doctor John's kind
voice teased into my ears: "Steady, Mrs. Peaches, there's the loving-cup
to come yet," he whispered. I hated him, but held on to his thumb tight
for half a minute. He didn't know what the matter really was, but he
understood what I needed. He always does.
And after that everybody had a good time, the ginger barber and Judy as
much as anybody, and I could see Aunt Bettie and Mrs. Johnson peeping in
the pantry door, having the time of their lives, too.
That dinner was going like an airship on a high wind, when something
happened to tangle its tail feathers and I can hardly write it for
trembling yet. It was a simple little blue telegram, but it might have
been nitro-glycerin on a tear for the way it acted. It was for me, but
the ginger barber handed it to Tom and he opened it and, looking at me
over his full--after many times emptied--glass, he solemnly read it out
loud.
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