“Why do you not go to one of the out-door hospitals for treatment?”
The young man's face flushed, and he remained silent.
“Pardon me,” said Quincy. “I understand. Come to Boston next week, to the State House, and I will see that you have the best of treatment.”
“Wall, Mr. Sawyer, it does one's eyes good to set 'em on you again. This is Olive Green,—you remember her sister Betsey worked for me when you was one of my boarders.” The woman's voice was loud and strident, and filled the room.
“Mrs. Hawkins, I shall never forget you and Miss Betsey Green, and how you both tried to make my stay with you a pleasant one.”
“You've put on consid'rable flesh since I saw yer last. Guess you've been taking your meals reg'lar, which you never did when you lived with me. But your market's made now, and that makes the difference. They say folks in love have poor appetites.” She laughed loudly, and stopped only when Olive put a restraining hand on her arm. “I hope Alice is a good cook, but she never had much chance to learn.”
Quincy thought it was time to change the subject. “How's Mr. Hawkins?”
“I tell him he's just as lazy as ever. He's kalkerlatin' on getting three good broods of chickens. He's gone on chickens. He wanted to come tonight, but we've lots of boarders, and they're allus wantin' ice water or somethin' else, and so I told him he'd got to stay to home. You'll have plenty of time to see him to-morrer.”
Many others greeted the Governor and his right hand felt the effect of so many hearty grips, some of them of the horny-handed variety.
The Cottonton Brass Band was now stationed in the hall, and a short concert closed the evening's entertainment, which was allowed, by all, to be the most high-toned affair ever given in the town.