“No, they don’t,” Elsie agreed. “Not a thing! It just wears me out!”
“F’instance,” Daisy continued, “look at how they acted in that las’ place when I wanted to see some orstrich feathers. Just said ‘What!’ about seven hundred times! An’ then that ole pleeceman came in!”
For a moment Elsie dropped her rôle as a tired shopper, and giggled nervously. “I was scared!” she said.
But Daisy tossed her head. “It’s no use goin’ shopping in a store like that; they never have anything, and I’ll never waste my time on ’em again. Crazy things!”
“They did act crazy,” Elsie said thoughtfully, as they paused at her gate. “I guess we better not tell about it to our mothers, maybe.”
“No,” Daisy agreed; and then with an elaborate gesture of fatigue she said: “Well, my dear, I hope you’re not as worn out as I am! My nerves are jus’ comp’etely gone, my dear!”
“So’re mine!” said Elsie; and then, after a quick glance to the south, she giggled. “There’s that ole thing, still comin’ along;—no, he’s stopped, an’ lookin’ at us!” She went into the yard. “Well, my dear, I must go in an’ lay down an’ rest myself. We’ll go shopping again just as soon as my nerves get better, my dear!”
She skipped into the house, and Daisy, humming to herself, walked to her own gate, went in, and sat in a wicker rocking-chair under the walnut tree. She rocked herself and sang a wordless song, but becoming aware of a presence that lingered upon the sidewalk near the gate, she checked both her song and the motion of the chair and looked that way. Master Coy was staring over the gate at her; and she had never known that he had such large eyes.
He was full of formless questions, but he had no vocabulary; in truth, his whole being was one intensified interrogation.
“What you want?” Daisy called.