Harmon seemed not to hear them. An
excited foreigner of some sort finally rushed from this quarter, and
thrust his head into the booth where Lemuel and Mrs. Harmon sat,
long enough to explode some formula of renunciation upon her, which
left her serenity unruffled. She received with the same patience the
sarcasm of a boarder who appeared at the office-door with a bag in
his hand, and said he would send an express-man for his trunk. He
threw down the money for his receipted bill; and when she said she
was sorry he was going, he replied that he could not stand the table
any longer, and that he believed that French cook of hers had died
on the way over; he was tired of the Nova Scotia temporary, who had
become permanent. A gentleman waited for the parting guest to be
gone, and then said to the tranquil Mrs. Harmon: "So Mellen has
kicked, has he?"
"Yes, Mr. Evans," said Mrs. Harmon; "Mr. Mellen has kicked."
"And don't you want to abuse him a little? You can to me, you know,"
suggested the gentleman.
He had a full beard, parted at the chin; it was almost white, and
looked older than the rest of his face; his eyes were at once sad
and whimsical. Lemuel tried to think where he had seen him before.
"Thank you; I don't know as it would do any good, Mr. Evans. But if
he could have waited one week longer, I should have had that cook.
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