17
ON the day of Harry's funeral Tod was drunk. He hadn't
seen Faye since she went off with Mary Dove, but he knew
that he was certain to find her at the undertaking parlour
and he wanted to have the courage to quarrel with her. He
started drinking at lunch. When he got to Holsepp's in the
late afternoon, he had passed the brave state and was
into the ugly one.
He found Harry in his box, waiting to be wheeled out
for exhibition in the adjoining chapel. The casket was open
and the old man looked quite snug. Drawn up to a little
below his shoulders and folded back to show its fancy lining
was an ivory satin coverlet. Under his head was a tiny lace
cushion. He was wearing a tuxedo, or at least had on a black
bow tie with his stiff shirt and wing collar. His face had been
newly shaved, his eyebrows shaped and plucked, and his
lips and cheeks rouged. He looked like the interlocutor in a
minstrel show.
Tod bowed his head as though in silent prayer when he
heard someone come in. He recognized Mrs Johnson's voice
and turned carefully to face her. He caught her eye and
nodded, but she ignored him. She was busy with a man in a
badly fitting frock-coat.
'It's the principle of the thing,' she scolded. 'Your esti-
mate said bronze. Those handles ain't bronze and you know
it.'
'But I asked Miss Greener,' whined the man. 'She okayed
them.'
'I don't care. I'm surprised at you, trying to save a few
dollars by fobbing off a set of cheap gunmetal handles on
the poor child.'
Ted didn't wait for the undertaker to answer. He had seen
Faye pass the door on the arm of one of the Lee sisters.
When he caught up with her, he didn't know what to say.
She misunderstood his agitation and was touched. She
sobbed a little for him.
She had never looked more beautiful.
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