“I know what you mean,” returned Mrs. Ross, “but I ain’t hankerin’ for Mr. Smythe’s love exactly. You believe he is a good man, don’t you?” she asked, fastening her black eyes on her daughter’s face.
“It don’t matter what I believe,” said Mary Ann.
“Well, Mr. Smythe has been a Christian for a long time. He ought to know swear-words from ordinary ones. He says, ‘Mrs. Ross, I would like to see the hypocrites in this world taken out of it. It would be a fine world then,’ says he.”
“He wouldn’t be here to see how fine, though,” smiled the girl.
“Then you don’t believe what he says?”
“I don’t believe what he says, and I don’t believe what that Watson man, who comes here with him, says. They’re both liars, and Mr. Simpson is as bad as they are.”
Widow Boss dropped a dish on the floor.
“Why, what are you talkin’ about?” she cried. “You must be crazy, Mary Ann. What if the teacher should hear you?”
“Well, it wouldn’t hurt him to hear it again. I’ve told it to him once already.”
Widow Boss stood speechless.