Jane was the master of ceremonies, because I balked at the last minute.
I think I would be capable of managing even a National Convention in
Chicago--that far away from the Harpeth Valley,--but I couldn't do it
with my friends of pioneer generations looking on. A man or woman never
grows up at all to the woman who has knitted baby socks for them or the
man who has let them ride down the hill on the front of his saddle.
And at the head of the center table Jane asked the Crag to sit beside
her, so that he would be in place to command attention for her when she
wanted to speak, and where everybody could hear him when he did.
And while the table was piled high and emptied, and piled high again, so
many bouquets of oratory were culled, tied, and cast at the guests along
the table that I believe they would have been obliged to pay exclusive
attention to them if the things to eat had not been just as odoriferous
and substantial. Before dinner was over everybody had spoken that was of
a suitable age, and some that had heretofore in the Harpeth Valley been
considered of an unsuitable sex.
Jane's speech of welcome made such an impression that it is no wonder
some of the old mothers in Israel got up to iterate it, as the dinner
progressed.
She, as usual, refrained from prejudice-smashing and
stones-at-glass-houses throwing, and she hadn't said ten sentences
before she had the whole feeding multitude with her.
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