"Well, what do you think?" she cried out explosively.
Mrs. Jones' lips tightened. There was a mean streak in that old woman. I
could see she was feeling for her little hatchet, and was getting out
her little gun.
"Bertha!" exploded the old lady. "Bertha--"
(Mysterious mental processes at once informed me that this was none
other than Bertha's mother.)
Mrs. Jones was coolly taking aim. I was reminded of that old military
dictum: "Don't shoot till you see the whites of their eyes!"
"Bertha," vociferated the old lady fiercely--"Bertha has been secretly
married to Mr. Stuffenhammer for the last three months!"
Another series of kinematographic mental processes informed me that Mr.
Stuffenhammer was an immense catch.
"Twenty thousand dollars a year, and her own carriage," continued Mrs.
McNutt gloatingly. "You could have knocked me down with a feather.
Bertha is such a considerate child; she insisted on marrying secretly so
that she could tone it down by degrees to poor Harry; though there was
no engagement or anything like that, she could not help feeling, of
course, that she owed it to the dear boy to gradually--"
Mrs.
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