“Mis. Vernon,” said she, “that man wants to know if Mist. Vernon has any work for him to do.”
“That man” was out on the veranda clearing away the dessert dishes.
“I’ll see,” said Ethel. “How did he happen to come here?”
“Why, Mis. Vernon, that man is related with my folks. His aunt’s brother married my aunt’s niece. I don’ know what that makes him to me, but he remembers me when I was a little gal in New York, and he reckernized me as soon as he saw me. He says—”
The approach of James prevented her from saying anything further, but as soon as he had gone out for the coffee cups, she continued:
“He says that he’s on’y be’n workin’ with that policeman while he was manufacturin’ hay, an’ he’d like to do odd jobs.”
“I’m afraid they’ll have to be real odd ones,” said I when Ethel told me what had transpired. “But if it is going to make Minerva contented we will have him come and paint the porch green to-morrow, and red the day after.”
I sat and smoked peacefully for a few minutes. James had taken the last saucer out to the kitchen, and Ethel sat by my side, looking out into the waning light of day.
Suddenly there came the strains of “Roll Jordan, Roll,” in the form of a soprano and bass duet.
Minerva’s playing on the accordeon had not prepared me for the sweetness of her voice, which is perhaps not strange, and of course I knew nothing of James’s capabilities as a vocalist until I heard his rich, mellow baritone blend with her warm soprano.