Mr. Meech did not need tucking in; he needed letting out. He seemed to
have shrunk in the wash of life. In spite of the fact that he was
three sizes too small for his wife, to begin with, he emphasized it by
wearing trousers that cleared his shoe-tops and sleeves half-way to
his elbows. But this was only on week-days, for on Sunday Sandy would
see him emerge, expand, and flutter forth in an ample suit of shiny
broadcloth. For Mr. Meech was the pastor of the Hard-Shell Baptist
Church in Clayton, and if his domestic economy was a matter of open
gossip, there was no question concerning the fact of his learning. It
had been the boast of the congregation for years that Judge Hollis was
the only man in town who was smart enough to understand his sermons.
When Mr. Meech started out in the morning with a book under his arm
and one sticking out of each pocket, Sandy would pull up on his elbow
to watch proceedings. He loved to see fat Mrs. Meech pat the little
man lovingly on the head and kiss him good-by; he loved to see Martha
walk with him to the gate and throw kisses after him until he turned
the curve in the road.
Martha was a pale, thin girl with two long, straight plaits and a
long, straight dress. She went to school in the morning, and when she
came home at noon her mother always hurried to meet her and kissed her
on both cheeks.
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