<h2> <SPAN name="ch11" id="ch11"></SPAN>CHAPTER XI. </h2>
<p><br/></p>
<p>Two months had gone by and the Hawkins family were domiciled in Hawkeye.
Washington was at work in the real estate office again, and was
alternately in paradise or the other place just as it happened that Louise
was gracious to him or seemingly indifferent—because indifference or
preoccupation could mean nothing else than that she was thinking of some
other young person. Col. Sellers had asked him several times, to dine with
him, when he first returned to Hawkeye, but Washington, for no particular
reason, had not accepted. No particular reason except one which he
preferred to keep to himself—viz. that he could not bear to be away
from Louise. It occurred to him, now, that the Colonel had not invited him
lately—could he be offended? He resolved to go that very day, and
give the Colonel a pleasant surprise. It was a good idea; especially as
Louise had absented herself from breakfast that morning, and torn his
heart; he would tear hers, now, and let her see how it felt.</p>
<p>The Sellers family were just starting to dinner when Washington burst upon
them with his surprise. For an instant the Colonel looked nonplussed, and
just a bit uncomfortable; and Mrs. Sellers looked actually distressed; but
the next moment the head of the house was himself again, and exclaimed:</p>
<p>"All right, my boy, all right—always glad to see you—always
glad to hear your voice and take you by the hand. Don't wait for special
invitations—that's all nonsense among friends. Just come whenever
you can, and come as often as you can—the oftener the better. You
can't please us any better than that, Washington; the little woman will
tell you so herself. We don't pretend to style. Plain folks, you know—plain
folks. Just a plain family dinner, but such as it is, our friends are
always welcome, I reckon you know that yourself, Washington. Run along,
children, run along; Lafayette,—[**In those old days the average man
called his children after his most revered literary and historical idols;
consequently there was hardly a family, at least in the West, but had a
Washington in it—and also a Lafayette, a Franklin, and six or eight
sounding names from Byron, Scott, and the Bible, if the offspring held
out. To visit such a family, was to find one's self confronted by a
congress made up of representatives of the imperial myths and the majestic
dead of all the ages. There was something thrilling about it, to a
stranger, not to say awe inspiring.]—stand off the cat's tail,
child, can't you see what you're doing?—Come, come, come, Roderick
Dhu, it isn't nice for little boys to hang onto young gentlemen's coat
tails—but never mind him, Washington, he's full of spirits and don't
mean any harm. Children will be children, you know. Take the chair next to
Mrs. Sellers, Washington—tut, tut, Marie Antoinette, let your
brother have the fork if he wants it, you are bigger than he is."</p>
<p>Washington contemplated the banquet, and wondered if he were in his right
mind. Was this the plain family dinner? And was it all present? It was
soon apparent that this was indeed the dinner: it was all on the table: it
consisted of abundance of clear, fresh water, and a basin of raw turnips—nothing
more.</p>
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<p>Washington stole a glance at Mrs. Sellers's face, and would have given the
world, the next moment, if he could have spared her that. The poor woman's
face was crimson, and the tears stood in her eyes. Washington did not know
what to do. He wished he had never come there and spied out this cruel
poverty and brought pain to that poor little lady's heart and shame to her
cheek; but he was there, and there was no escape. Col. Sellers hitched
back his coat sleeves airily from his wrists as who should say "Now for
solid enjoyment!" seized a fork, flourished it and began to harpoon
turnips and deposit them in the plates before him "Let me help you,
Washington—Lafayette, pass this plate to Washington—ah, well,
well, my boy, things are looking pretty bright, now, I tell you.
Speculation—my! the whole atmosphere's full of money. I would'nt
take three fortunes for one little operation I've got on hand now—have
anything from the casters? No? Well, you're right, you're right. Some
people like mustard with turnips, but—now there was Baron
Poniatowski—Lord, but that man did know how to live!—true
Russian you know, Russian to the back bone; I say to my wife, give me a
Russian every time, for a table comrade. The Baron used to say, 'Take
mustard, Sellers, try the mustard,—a man can't know what turnips are
in perfection without, mustard,' but I always said, 'No, Baron, I'm a
plain man and I want my food plain—none of your embellishments for
Beriah Sellers—no made dishes for me! And it's the best way—high
living kills more than it cures in this world, you can rest assured of
that.—Yes indeed, Washington, I've got one little operation on hand
that—take some more water—help yourself, won't you?—help
yourself, there's plenty of it.—You'll find it pretty good, I guess.
How does that fruit strike you?"</p>
<p>Washington said he did not know that he had ever tasted better. He did not
add that he detested turnips even when they were cooked—loathed them
in their natural state. No, he kept this to himself, and praised the
turnips to the peril of his soul.</p>
<p>"I thought you'd like them. Examine them—examine them—they'll
bear it. See how perfectly firm and juicy they are—they can't start
any like them in this part of the country, I can tell you. These are from
New Jersey—I imported them myself. They cost like sin, too; but lord
bless me, I go in for having the best of a thing, even if it does cost a
little more—it's the best economy, in the long run. These are the
Early Malcolm—it's a turnip that can't be produced except in just
one orchard, and the supply never is up to the demand. Take some more
water, Washington—you can't drink too much water with fruit—all
the doctors say that. The plague can't come where this article is, my
boy!"</p>
<p>"Plague? What plague?"</p>
<p>"What plague, indeed? Why the Asiatic plague that nearly depopulated
London a couple of centuries ago."</p>
<p>"But how does that concern us? There is no plague here, I reckon."</p>
<p>"Sh! I've let it out! Well, never mind—just keep it to yourself.
Perhaps I oughtn't said anything, but its bound to come out sooner or
later, so what is the odds? Old McDowells wouldn't like me to—to—bother
it all, I'll jest tell the whole thing and let it go. You see, I've been
down to St. Louis, and I happened to run across old Dr. McDowells—thinks
the world of me, does the doctor. He's a man that keeps himself to
himself, and well he may, for he knows that he's got a reputation that
covers the whole earth—he won't condescend to open himself out to
many people, but lord bless you, he and I are just like brothers; he won't
let me go to a hotel when I'm in the city—says I'm the only man
that's company to him, and I don't know but there's some truth in it, too,
because although I never like to glorify myself and make a great to-do
over what I am or what I can do or what I know, I don't mind saying here
among friends that I am better read up in most sciences, maybe, than the
general run of professional men in these days. Well, the other day he let
me into a little secret, strictly on the quiet, about this matter of the
plague.</p>
<p>"You see it's booming right along in our direction—follows the Gulf
Stream, you know, just as all those epidemics do, and within three months
it will be just waltzing through this land like a whirlwind! And whoever
it touches can make his will and contract for the funeral. Well you can't
cure it, you know, but you can prevent it. How? Turnips! that's it!
Turnips and water! Nothing like it in the world, old McDowells says, just
fill yourself up two or three times a day, and you can snap your fingers
at the plague. Sh!—keep mum, but just you confine yourself to that
diet and you're all right. I wouldn't have old McDowells know that I told
about it for anything—he never would speak to me again. Take some
more water, Washington—the more water you drink, the better. Here,
let me give you some more of the turnips. No, no, no, now, I insist.
There, now. Absorb those. They're, mighty sustaining—brim full of
nutriment—all the medical books say so. Just eat from four to seven
good-sized turnips at a meal, and drink from a pint and a half to a quart
of water, and then just sit around a couple of hours and let them ferment.
You'll feel like a fighting cock next day."</p>
<p>Fifteen or twenty minutes later the Colonel's tongue was still chattering
away—he had piled up several future fortunes out of several
incipient "operations" which he had blundered into within the past week,
and was now soaring along through some brilliant expectations born of late
promising experiments upon the lacking ingredient of the eye-water. And at
such a time Washington ought to have been a rapt and enthusiastic
listener, but he was not, for two matters disturbed his mind and
distracted his attention. One was, that he discovered, to his confusion
and shame, that in allowing himself to be helped a second time to the
turnips, he had robbed those hungry children. He had not needed the
dreadful "fruit," and had not wanted it; and when he saw the pathetic
sorrow in their faces when they asked for more and there was no more to
give them, he hated himself for his stupidity and pitied the famishing
young things with all his heart. The other matter that disturbed him was
the dire inflation that had begun in his stomach. It grew and grew, it
became more and more insupportable. Evidently the turnips were
"fermenting." He forced himself to sit still as long as he could, but his
anguish conquered him at last.</p>
<p>He rose in the midst of the Colonel's talk and excused himself on the plea
of a previous engagement. The Colonel followed him to the door, promising
over and over again that he would use his influence to get some of the
Early Malcolms for him, and insisting that he should not be such a
stranger but come and take pot-luck with him every chance he got.
Washington was glad enough to get away and feel free again. He immediately
bent his steps toward home.</p>
<p>In bed he passed an hour that threatened to turn his hair gray, and then a
blessed calm settled down upon him that filled his heart with gratitude.
Weak and languid, he made shift to turn himself about and seek rest and
sleep; and as his soul hovered upon the brink of unconciousness, he heaved
a long, deep sigh, and said to himself that in his heart he had cursed the
Colonel's preventive of rheumatism, before, and now let the plague come if
it must—he was done with preventives; if ever any man beguiled him
with turnips and water again, let him die the death.</p>
<p>If he dreamed at all that night, no gossiping spirit disturbed his visions
to whisper in his ear of certain matters just then in bud in the East,
more than a thousand miles away that after the lapse of a few years would
develop influences which would profoundly affect the fate and fortunes of
the Hawkins family.</p>
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