She was extravagant, of course, but he hoped she would n't
squander everything, and have nothing left when she was old. As a young
man, working in Wienn, he had seen a good many artists who were old and
poor, making one glass of beer last all evening, and "it was not very
nice, that."
When the boys came in from milking and feeding, the long table was laid,
and two brown geese, stuffed with apples, were put down sizzling before
Antonia. She began to carve, and Rudolph, who sat next his mother, started
the plates on their way. When everybody was served, he looked across the
table at me.
"Have you been to Black Hawk lately, Mr. Burden? Then I wonder if you've
heard about the Cutters?"
No, I had heard nothing at all about them.
"Then you must tell him, son, though it's a terrible thing to talk about
at supper. Now, all you children be quiet, Rudolph is going to tell about
the murder."
"Hurrah! The murder!" the children murmured, looking pleased and
interested.
Rudolph told his story in great detail, with occasional promptings from
his mother or father.
Wick Cutter and his wife had gone on living in the house that Antonia and
I knew so well, and in the way we knew so well. They grew to be very old
people. He shriveled up, Antonia said, until he looked like a little old
yellow monkey, for his beard and his fringe of hair never changed color.
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