Part 8

"Have it yer own way, ma'am," she said. "I am not one that would dictate t' th' lady of th' house. I am no dictator, ma'am, an' I don't wish t' be, but here I am an' here I stay, an' 'tis no fault of mine if some things riles me temper and makes me act as I shouldn't. I'm one that likes things t' be peaceful, ma'am, for no one knows how much row a girrl can make in th' house better 'n than I does, especially when she's hired by th' month an' can't be fired. I can't forget one Mrs. Grasset I worked for, ma'am, an' her that miserable an' cryin' all th' time, just because I had one of me bad timper spells. I should hate t' have one of thim here, Mrs. Fenelby."

"Well," said Mr. Fenelby, controlling his righteous indignation as best he could, "what is it you want?"

"I want no more of thim tariff doin's!" said Bridget firmly. "Thim tariff doin's is more than mortal mind can stand, Mr. Fenelby, sir! Nawthin' I ever had t' do with in anny of me places riled me up like thim tariff doin's, an' we will have no more tariff in th' house, _if_ ye please, sir."

"Well, of all the impert--" began Mr. Fenelby angrily, but Mrs. Fenelby put her hand on his arm and quieted him.

"Tom," she said, "please be careful! You do not have to spend your days with Bridget, and I do! Don't be rash. Send her into the kitchen until we talk it over."

Bridget went, willingly. She gathered an armful of dishes, and went into her throne-room, bearing her head high. She felt that she was master and she was.

"Now, this Commonwealth--" began Mr. Fenelby, when the kitchen door had closed, but Billy stopped him.

"Stop being foolish, Tom," he said. "What Commonwealth are you talking about? This is not a Commonwealth--this is an unlimited dictatorship, and Bridget is sole dictator! Wake up; don't you know a _coup d'état_ when you see one? Can't you tell a usurper by sight?"

Mr. Fenelby looked moodily at the kitchen door.

"That is what it is," said Billy decidedly. "The dictator has smashed your republic under her iron heel; your laws are all back numbers--if she wants any laws, she will let you know. I know the signs. When a Great One rises up in the midst of a Republic and puts her hands on her hips and says 'What are you going to do about it?' and there _isn't_ anything to do about it, you have a dictator, and all that you can do is knuckle down and be good."

There was a minute's silence. The Commonwealth was dying hard.

"I could shake the money out of Bobberts' bank," said Mr. Fenelby, but even as he said it Bobberts wailed. His voice arose clear and strong in protest against that or against something else. The kitchen door swung open and the Dictator ran in and approached the Heir, and Bobberts held out his arms.

"Bless th' darlin'," said Bridget, cuddling him in her arms, but Mrs. Fenelby frowned.

"Give him to me," she said sternly, and Bridget turned to her. And then, in the eyes of all the Commonwealth, Bobberts turned his back on his own mother and clung to the Dictator! Clung, and squealed, until the danger of separation was over.

"You see!" said Billy, triumphantly.

Mrs. Fenelby sighed. The Dictator had won. The tariff was dead.

"And in our house," said Kitty, cheerfully, "we won't have any tariff, will we, Billy?"

"Your house!" exclaimed Mrs. Fenelby, forgetting all about the Dictator in the new interest, and brightening into herself again.

"Our house," said Kitty proudly. "Mine and Billy's."

"Our house," echoed Billy, blushing. "We can't stand a Dictator, and we are going to secede and--and have a United State of our own."

* * * * *

"Isn't it splendid about Kitty and Billy?" said Mrs. Fenelby that evening to Tom, as they bent over Bobberts' crib. "And if it hadn't been for our tariff driving them together I don't believe it would ever have happened."

"It's fine!" said Mr. Fenelby. "Fine! And that other set of Eugene Field will do for a wedding present!"

THE END

TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:

Minor changes have been made to correct typesetters' errors; otherwise, every effort has been made to remain true to the author's words and intent.

End of Project Gutenberg's The Cheerful Smugglers, by Ellis Parker Butler