Roxy

Home

18. Gossip And Giggling



Miss Moore was a gossip of the good-natured kind. She never told anything for the sake of harming anybody. She was as innocent in her gossip as she was in her habit of plucking out her front hair with tweezers to make her forehead intellectual. The milliner's shop in a village is in some sort a news-depot. People bring hither their items of news and carry away whatever has been left here by others. It is a fair exchange. The milliner has the start of everybody else ; for who should know so well as she whether Mrs. Greathouse will wear cherry ribbon or brown ? Who knows the premonitory symptoms of a wedding so well as the skillful woman who trims the bonnet ? And shall we condemn gossip ? Only where it is thoughtless or malicious. For without the ventilating currents of gossip the village would be a stagnant pool. We are all gossips. The man who reads the daily paper may despise the " tattle " of the town, but he devours the tattle of the reporter who gets his livelihood b) gossip. Whether we talk about a big world or a little one, it is the gossip about others that saves us from becoming eremites in the wilderness of our own egotism.

But did the red-bird that sang under Miss Moore's window that morning ask whether his notes were a delight to any one's ears ? Or did he just whistle because whistling is a necessity of red-birdism? Miss Moore for her part did not ask whether her function was of use to the community or not. It was not her place to philosophize. about gossips, but to gossip, an employment in which she received the moral support of the best citizens. And in a village the general consent of the best citizens is o 4 More weight than the decalogue.

But why should anything so clearly beneficial as gossip be carried on clandestinely ? Why is a bit of gossip told in a voice that has something sly and delightfully wicked about it? Is it that one enjoys copyrighted information, which one is not to tell, or at most not with the name of the informant attached ? Or is it that one likes to fancy oneself doing something forbidden?

At any rate Miss Moore, having possession of a bit of information which she knew would delight Mrs. Highbury, the wife of the principal ruling elder of Whittaker's church, was perplexed to find a pretext for calling on Mrs. Highbury that sbe might not seem to have come on purpose to tell tales. Experienced gossip that she was, she could not get over the notion that her traffic in information was illicit. She might have called on Mrs. Highbury outright; for there is no caste feeling in a village that proscribes the milliner. A woman was none the worse in the Iloosier Luzerne in 1841 for the possession of that kind of skill which we call a trade. But Miss Moore, at last, remembered something that she wanted to ask Mrs. Highbury's advice about, or at least she remembered something concerning which she contrived to make herself believe she wanted information or counsel. So Miss Moore went up under the grape-vines that led to Mr. Highbury's door, and then around over the stone-paved walk to the backdoor, where the wide arbor shaded the broad pavement;, in the middle of which stood the cistern with its hook in readiness for use.

Miss Moore went m o^er the broad clean porch inL, the sitting-room and was received cordially ; for, besides her importance as a milliner, she was also a member of the Presbyterian church, and in those days of polemical animosities a small and somewhat beleaguered denomination held closely together.

" I thought I'd run over, Mrs. Highbury, and ask you about the cape to your bonnet. How long do you think it ought to be ? "

Mrs. Highbury had a habit of leaving such things to tbo superior judgment of the milliner. For the milliner to throw the decision back on her, was like asking her to 6olve a problem in geometry. And so the plump, wellfed little lady sank down into her arm-chair and began rocking herself so energetically as to lift her feet off the floor at each tilt backward. Her mind was exhausting it 6elf in thinking how impossible it was that she should ever decide what should be the length of a piece of rosecolored silk at the base of a scoop-shovel bonnet.

" I declare to goodness, I don't know, Miss Moore." Here Mrs. Highbury opened her fan, and began to ply it and rock more vigorously and cheerfully than before. ''Did you see the one that lady from Cincinnati had on at church, on Sunday ?"

Of course, Miss Moore had noted every bonnet in the church. She was not such a heathen as not to make the most of her " Sabbath and sanctuary privilege.-." But she did not reply to Mrs. Highbury's question. For here was the opportunity she had sought. It was a dangerous leap from the cape of a straw bonnet in chinch to the pareon's love affaii, Out there might not come a better opportunity.

"Yes; but now you speak of church, reminds me. Did you notice any change in Mr. Whittaker's appearance on Sunday?"

" No, I didn't. Why ? "

Miss Moore felt her superiority now.

" Did you think he had the look of a man just engaged to be married ? "

"You don't tell me Mr. Whittaker's going to be married," cried the stout little lady, forgetting to rock and allowing the toes of her shoes to rest on the floor.

" Well ; I don't say anything about it. I've heard something of the kind."

" Who to, for goodness gracious' sake ? "

" Well, that's a delicate question, especially in view of my peculiar circumstances; I suppose I oughtn't to say anything."

Miss Moore was human, and she knew that so long as she had a secret which curious Mrs. Highbury did not know, that lady was her humble servant.

" Yes ; but you must tell me, " pleaded Mrs. Highbury. " Mr. Whittaker ought not to marry without consulting the session. And if he consults the session I will know, I suppose. You can't keep secrets between man and wife."

" Yery likely. But you know with me it's a sort of a family secret. Not exactly a family secret " here

Miss Moore tittered and stammered. " Well, you know, I didn't mean to let my own secrets out, but I suppose everybody knows. I never did see such a horrible town for talk as this is. They wont let anybody's private affairs alone." Here Miss Moore's face reddened, and she smothered a girlish giggle.

Mrs. Highbury suddenly leaned forward so as to bring her heels on the floor and began to fan herself again.

" Why, Rachel Moore, what 've your family affairs got to do with Mr. Whittaker's marrying? Is he going to marry you ? You're too old, I mean you're already engaged to Mr. Adams, they say. What do you mean ? Don't be so mysterious, or folks " I think you've lost your senses."

" I believe I have," said Miss Moore, and then she burst into another fit of laughing, while the aristocratic little dumpling rocked away again for dear life. Hocking was her substitute for thinking.

Miss Moore's habitual propriety and gravity soon came 'lo her rescue, and she attempted to explain to Mrs. Highbury that by " family secret " she meant to allude chehe to the family die-he with which she was to become the the che-he-he, or rather that Mr. Whittaker was not going to che-he marry her, but that it was somebody else who was going to be a che-he-he-he, that is, he was going che-he-he-he-he.

Poor Mrs. Highbury did not know whether to laugh or get angry, and, being in doubt, she took a middle course she rocked herself. Her round face had a perplexed anc injured look, as she waited for Miss Moore to explain herself.

"I do believe that I am che-he-he-he," said Miss Moore.

" I know you are, Rachel. Why can't you control yourself and tell a straight story ? Who is Mr. Whittaker going to marry ; you, or your mother ? You say it's in your family."

" My mother ! Oh ! che-he-he. Not my mother, but my che-he-he."

" Your che-he-he ! What do you mean ? "

"Not my che-he mother, but my daughter, che-he-he."

" Your daughter ! Why, Miss Moore, you ought to be ashamed of yourself."

" I don't mean my che-he daughter, but my che-he-he -he-hoo ! "

By this time, little fat Mrs. Highbury was also laughing convulsively and screaming between her fits of laughter.

" What is what is che-he, what is your che-he-he ? '

"My che-he my che-he step-daughter, that is to be."

Mrs. Highbury grew sober and began to wipe her eyes.

"Tou don't mean Roxy Adams ?"

" Yes, I do."

Mrs. Highbury shut her pretty mouth tight. She didn't know whether she approved or disapproved of Roxy Adams. How could she tell what she thought until she heard Mr. Highbury's opinion ? For Mrs. Highbury's role was that of echo. It might be that Roxy Adams would make a good Presbyterian. It might be that she would corrupt the church. Mrs. Highbury would wait until her husband spoke. Then she would give him back his own opinions with emphasis, and tell her friends that she had " told Mr. Highbury so." People were certain that the little Mrs. H. had great influence with the big Mr. H. Turned him round her little finger.