Tiny mentioned this mutilation quite casually--did n't seem
sensitive about it. She was satisfied with her success, but not elated.
She was like some one in whom the faculty of becoming interested is worn
out.
II
SOON after I got home that summer I persuaded my grandparents to have
their photographs taken, and one morning I went into the photographer's
shop to arrange for sittings. While I was waiting for him to come out of
his developing-room, I walked about trying to recognize the likenesses on
his walls: girls in Commencement dresses, country brides and grooms
holding hands, family groups of three generations. I noticed, in a heavy
frame, one of those depressing "crayon enlargements" often seen in
farmhouse parlors, the subject being a round-eyed baby in short dresses.
The photographer came out and gave a constrained, apologetic laugh.
"That's Tony Shimerda's baby. You remember her; she used to be the
Harling's Tony. Too bad! She seems proud of the baby, though; would n't
hear to a cheap frame for the picture. I expect her brother will be in for
it Saturday."
I went away feeling that I must see Antonia again. Another girl would have
kept her baby out of sight, but Tony, of course, must have its picture on
exhibition at the town photographer's, in a great gilt frame. How like
her! I could forgive her, I told myself, if she had n't thrown herself
away on such a cheap sort of fellow.
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