Late that night Colonel Tom Gaitskill stuck his head into the door of his wife’s bedroom and demanded in irascible tones:
“Mildred, where are those sky-muckle-dun-colored pajamas young Tom sent me from Chicago?”
“I don’t know,” Mrs. Gaitskill laughed. “Have you looked for them?”
“Yes, but I can’t find ’em. Come and help me hunt!”
Two minutes later Mrs. Gaitskill stuck her head into her husband’s room and demanded:
“Where is my silk flowered kimono? Is it in your room?”
The two began a search, but the missing articles were not found. When finally they abandoned the hunt, Gaitskill sighed in relief:
“I hope those pajamas are gone for good. Young Tom was a fool to send me such a slosh of color as they were--made me look like a soused rainbow!”
The next evening, promptly at eight o’clock, the members of the Dunlap Missionary Society began to arrive. Then Colonel Tom Gaitskill became uneasy and sought out his wife:
“Mildred, are you planning to bring that cannibal wench into the drawing-room and show her off?”
“Certainly, Tom,” she replied. “That’s why I invited the ladies here--to see Diada.”
“No. How could I? I’ve dressed her nicely, and she’s--well--tolerably presentable.”
“Does she appear to understand what you say?”
“No--I don’t know,” Mrs. Gaitskill answered.
Gaitskill rubbed his hand across his forehead, then swept it down his long, white beard.
“All right, Mildred,” he grinned. “It’s your obsequies. But I hope that dear heathen won’t perform any circus stunts.”
The conversation was brought to a close by the arrival of the Reverend Dr. Sentelle, an aged, feeble, badly crippled man, who leaned heavily upon his walking stick as he entered the door.
That walking stick was a curiosity. At the large end it was as big around as an average man’s leg, tapering slightly toward the lower end, and weighing eleven pounds! Thus spoke the owner about it:
“Sir, this stick came from the battlefield of Shiloh. I was wounded in that battle, sir, and as you can observe, have been a cripple ever since. I fell beneath a dogwood tree and lay there for nearly two days. After the surrender, sir, I returned to the battlefield and cut down that tree and have carried it ever since as a walking stick. The tree was fertilized by my blood, sir, and it is only just that it should bear my infirmities.”