SUSAN SPEAKS HER MIND
"How's Keith?"
It was Monday morning, and as usual Mrs. McGuire, seeing Susan in the clothes-yard, had come out, ostensibly to hang out her own clothes, in reality to visit with Susan while she was hanging out hers.
"About as usual." Susan snapped out the words and a pillow-case with equal vehemence.
"Is he up an' dressed?"
"I don't know. I hain't seen him this mornin'—but it's safe to say he ain't."
"But I thought he was well enough to be up an' dressed right along now."
"He is WELL ENOUGH—or, rather he WAS." Susan snapped open another pillow-case and hung it on the line with spiteful jabs of two clothespins.
"Why, Susan, is he worse? You didn't say he was any worse. You said he was about as usual."
"Well, so he is. That's about as usual. Look a-here, Mis' McGuire," flared Susan, turning with fierce suddenness, "wouldn't YOU be worse if you wasn't allowed to do as much as lift your own hand to your own head?"