“The Christmas ship to the Belgians--Splendid missionary spirit--I haven’t much to give--I told her God loves the dear cannibals--Home and foreign--All the chickens I took from under the setting hen----”
“Git on up dem front steps!” Hopey howled, as if she were driving a pig. “Go on in dat front do’! Hurry!”
The front door opened and Diada entered, advanced to the center of the drawing-room, and stopped.
It is impossible to describe the peculiar sound which was emitted from the throats of the twenty women at their first sight of Diada.
Her physical ugliness was deplorable and appalling; but that which produced the peculiar utterance from the missionary ladies was this:
Diada was clothed in Mrs. Gaitskill’s light-blue, pink-flowered kimono, and beneath that she wore Colonel Gaitskill’s sky-muckle-dun-colored pajamas!
Diada was six feet tall, and the kimono ended just below her knee and flared wide open in front, for two garments of the same size could not have enveloped her. The pajamas ended just above Diada’s black shoes and revealed about four inches of her stocking--the shoes and stockings being all that she now wore of the garments with which Mrs. Gaitskill had originally clothed her for the reception.
Diada stared about her for a moment, then sat down upon the piano seat.
Her ponderous elbow struck the keys with a crashing discord, and Diada gave forth a sound expressive of delight--it sounded like the snort of an elephant. Then using her elbows instead of her hands, the dear immortal heathen proceeded to make the most unheavenly noise that ever vexed the ears of Christian missionaries, home or foreign.
In the midst of this horrifying situation, Hopey entered the drawing-room, her hands resting upon her hips, her mouth bawling voluble apologies:
“My Gawd, Mis’ Mildred! I ain’t to blame fer dis here turr’ble sight! I foun’ Diader settin’ under de pecan tree in de dark, an’ I couldn’t tell whut she had on till she done open dat front do’ an’ went in whar de light wus shinin’. Lawdamussy! Diader favors a scrambled circus band-waggin!”
The ladies of the missionary society covered their faces with their flimsy, transparent handkerchiefs, and kept up that peculiar sound of outraged modesty.