* * * * *
Meanwhile, the steeple-top hat was giving some silent astonishment to
the house-servants, assembled to gaze upon it from the foot of the hall.
The neat chamber-servant, Virgie, had carried the wondrous information
to the colonnade that the dreadful creditor had come, and Roxy, the
table waiter, had carried it from the colonnade to the kitchen, where
the common calamity immediately produced a revolution against good
manners.
"Hab he got dat debbil hat on he head, chile?" inquired Aunt Hominy,
laying down the club with which she was beating biscuit-dough on the
block.
"Yes, aunty, he's left it on the hat-rack. I'm afraid to go past it to
the do'."
Aunt Hominy threw the club on the blistered bulk of dough, and retreated
towards the big black fireplace, with a face expressive of so much
fright and cunning humor together that it seemed about to turn white,
but only got as far as a pucker and twitches.
"De Lord a massy!" exclaimed Aunt Hominy, "chillen, le's burn dat hat in
de fire! Maybe it'll liff de trouble off o' dis yer house. We got de hat
jess wha' we want it, chillen. Roxy, gal, you go fotch it to Aunt
Hominy!"
The girl started as if she had been asked to take up a snake: "'Deed,
Aunt Hominy, I wouldn't touch it to save my life. Nobody but ole Samson
ever did that!"
"Go' long, gal!" cried Aunt Hominy, "didn't Miss Vessy hole dat ar' hat
one time, an' pin a white rose in it? Didn't he, dat drefful Meshach
Milbun, offer Miss Vessy a gole dollar, an' she wouldn' have none of his
gole? Dat she did! Virgie, you go git dat hat, chile! Poke it off de
rack wid my pot-hook heah.
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