“Why, sure we can,” retorted. Fred’s wife, in her soft Southern drawl. “We’ll be right glad to take her, I reckon.” And there the matter ended.
Jane Pendergast had been South two months, when one day Edgar received a letter from his brother Fred.
Jane’s going North [wrote Fred]. Sally says she can’t have her in the house another week. ’Course, we don’t want to tell Jane exactly that-- but we’ve fixed it so she’s going to leave.
I’m sorry if this move causes you folks any trouble, but there just wasn’t any other way out of it. You see, Sally is Southern and easy-going, and I suppose not over-particular in the eyes of you stiff Northerners. I don’t mind things, either, and I suppose I’m easy, too.
Well, great Scott!--Jane hadn’t been down here five minutes before she began to “slick up,” as she called it--and she’s been “slickin’ up” ever since. Sally always left things round handy, and so’ve the children; but since Jane came, we haven’t been able to find a thing when we wanted it. All our boots and shoes are put away, turned toes out, and all our hats and coats are snatched up and hung on pegs the minute we toss them off.
Maybe this don’t seem much to you, but it’s lots to us. Anyhow, Jane’s going North. She says she’s going to visit Edgar a little while, and I told her I’d write and tell you she’s coming. She’ll be there about the 20th. Will wire you what train.
Your affectionate brother
Fred
As gently as possible Edgar broke to his wife the news of the prospective guest. Julia Pendergast was a good woman. At least she often said that she was, adding, at the same time, that she never knowingly refused to do her duty. She said the same thing now to her husband, and she immediately made some very elaborate and very apparent changes in her home and in her plans, all with an eye to the expected guest. At four o’clock Wednesday afternoon Edgar met his sister at the station.