The Turmoil by Booth Tarkington (read aloud books .txt) 📕

her own way, following her into the dining-room, and was grateful when she brought him a tiny glass filled from one of the decanters on the sideboard. Roscoe gloomily poured for himself a much heavier libation in a larger glass; and the two men sat, while Sibyl leaned against the sideboard, reviewing the episodes of the day and recalling the names of the donors of flowers and wreaths. She pressed Bibbs to remain longer when he rose to go, and then, as he persisted, she went with him to the front door. He opened it, and she said:

“Bibbs, you were coming out of the Vertreeses’ house when we met you. How did you happen to be there?”

“I had only been to the door,” he said. “Good night, Sibyl.”

“Wait,” she insisted. “We saw you coming out.”

“I wasn’t,” he explained, moving to depart. “I’d just brought Miss Vertrees home.”

“What?” she cried.

“Yes,” he said, and stepped out upon the porch, “that was it. Good night, Sibyl.”

“Wait!” she said, following him across the threshold. “How did that happen? I thought you were going to wait while those men filled the⁠—the⁠—” She paused, but moved nearer him insistently.

“I did wait. Miss Vertrees was there,” he said, reluctantly. “She had walked away for a while and didn’t notice that the carriages were leaving. When she came back the coupé waiting for me was the only one left.”

Sibyl regarded him with dilating eyes. She spoke with a slow breathlessness. “And she drove home from Jim’s funeral⁠—with you!”

Without warning she burst into laughter, clapped her hand ineffectually over her mouth, and ran back uproariously into the house, hurling the door shut behind her.

XIII

Bibbs went home pondering. He did not understand why Sibyl had laughed. The laughter itself had been spontaneous and beyond suspicion, but it seemed to him that she had only affected the effort to suppress it and that she wished it to be significant. Significant of what? And why had she wished to impress upon him the fact of her overwhelming amusement? He found no answer, but she had succeeded in disturbing him, and he wished that he had not encountered her.

At home, uncles, aunts, and cousins from out of town were wandering about the house, several mournfully admiring the Bay of Naples, and others occupied with the Moor and the plumbing, while they waited for trains. Edith and her mother had retired to some upper fastness, but Bibbs interviewed Jackson and had the various groups of relatives summoned to the dining-room for food. One great-uncle, old Gideon Sheridan from Boonville, could not be found, and Bibbs went in search of him. He ransacked the house, discovering the missing antique at last by accident. Passing his father’s closed door on tiptoe, Bibbs heard a murmurous sound, and paused to listen. The sound proved to be a quavering and rickety voice, monotonously bleating:

“The Lo-ord givuth and the Lo-ord takuth away! We got to remember that; we got to remember that! I’m a-gittin’ along, James; I’m a-gittin’ along, and I’ve seen a-many of ’em go⁠—two daughters and a son the Lord give me, and He has taken all away. For the Lo-ord givuth and the Lo-ord takuth away! Remember the words of Bildad the Shuhite, James. Bildad the Shuhite says, ‘He shall have neither son nor nephew among his people, nor any remaining in his dwellings.’ Bildad the Shuhite⁠—”

Bibbs opened the door softly. His father was lying upon the bed, in his underclothes, face downward, and Uncle Gideon sat near by, swinging backward and forward in a rocking-chair, stroking his long white beard and gazing at the ceiling as he talked. Bibbs beckoned him urgently, but Uncle Gideon paid no attention.

“Bildad the Shuhite spake and his says, ‘If thy children have sinned against Him and He have cast them away⁠—’ ”

There was a muffled explosion beneath the floor, and the windows rattled. The figure lying face downward on the bed did not move, but Uncle Gideon leaped from his chair. “My God!” he cried. “What’s that?”

There came a second explosion, and Uncle Gideon ran out into the hall. Bibbs went to the head of the great staircase, and, looking down, discovered the source of the disturbance. Gideon’s grandson, a boy of fourteen, had brought his camera to the funeral and was taking “flashlights” of the Moor. Uncle Gideon, reassured by Bibbs’s explanation, would have returned to finish his quotation from Bildad the Shuhite, but Bibbs detained him, and after a little argument persuaded him to descend to the dining-room whither Bibbs followed, after closing the door of his father’s room.

He kept his eye on Gideon after dinner, diplomatically preventing several attempts on the part of that comforter to reascend the stairs; and it was a relief to Bibbs when George announced that an automobile was waiting to convey the ancient man and his grandson to their train. They were the last to leave, and when they had gone Bibbs went sighing to his own room.

He stretched himself wearily upon the bed, but presently rose, went to the window, and looked for a long time at the darkened house where Mary Vertrees lived. Then he opened his trunk, took therefrom a small notebook half filled with fragmentary scribblings, and began to write:

Laughter after a funeral. In this reaction people will laugh at anything and at nothing. The band plays a dirge on the way to the cemetery, but when it turns back, and the mourning carriages are out of hearing, it strikes up, “Darktown is Out Tonight.” That is natural⁠—but there are women whose laughter is like the whirring of whips. Why is it that certain kinds of laughter seem to spoil something hidden away from the laughers? If they do not know of it, and have never seen it, how can their laughter hurt it? Yet it does.

Beauty is not out of place among gravestones. It is not out of place anywhere. But a woman who has been betrothed to a man