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Daviess, Maria Thompson, 1872-1924

"The Tinder-Box"

I still feel that way.
And as I stood just where my feet were planted, in the dust of the road,
instead of on the little ten-foot platform, that didn't quite reach to
my sleeper steps, I felt as small as I really am in comparison to the
universe. I looked after the train and groveled.
Then, just as I was about to start running down the track, away from
nowhere and to nowhere, I was brought to my senses by a loud boohoo, and
then a snubby choke, which seemed to come out of my bag and
steamer-blanket that stood in a pile before me.
"Train's gone, train's gone and left us! I knew it would, when Sallie
stopped to put the starch on her face all over again. And Cousin James,
he's as slow as molasses, and I couldn't dress two twins in not time to
button one baby. Oh, damn, oh, damn!" And the sobs rose to a perfect
storm of a wail.
Just at that moment, down the short platform an electric light, that was
so feeble that it seemed to show a pine-knot influence in its heredity,
was turned on by the station-agent, who was so slow that I perceived the
influence of a descent from old Mr. Territt, who drove the stage that
came down from the city before the war, and my fellow-sufferer stood
revealed.
She was a slim, red-haired bunch of galatea, stylish of cut as to
upturned nose and straight little skirt but wholly and defiantly unshod
save for a dusty white rag around one pink toe. A cunning little straw
bonnet, with an ecru lace jabot dangled in her hand, and her big brown
eyes reminded me of Jane's at her most inquisitive moments.


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