“Good day, ma’am!”
“I’d like two fresh eggs and a tin of milk and a quarter pound of Ceylon tea and a quarter pound of butter, please, Mr. Spier.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She stood there while Mr. Spier put the things into a bag. Then she had to tell him that she would pay next Saturday, and to listen to Mr. Spier saying that the bill was already so large, and had run on so long, and times were so hard, that he didn’t see how he could—well, just this once, then.
A small package to carry, a small thing to do; yet Mrs. Vincey would have preferred to shut herself into the house and die for lack of food, rather than ask a favor from Mr. Spier.
When she got home, she made a nice little omelet, a cup of tea, and two slices of buttered toast, and brought them up to Joey; and Joey felt better.
Later in the afternoon a neighbor brought them a basket of tomatoes and[Pg 531] beans, and Mrs. Vincey and Joey sat out in the back garden under a cedar tree, stringing the beans, and talking a little to each other—not talking much because of the things they must not say.
“James was quite himself this morning,” thought Mrs. Vincey. “If only the—the heat doesn’t trouble him, and he can attend to business, things ought to be better next week. Sunday dinner—who wants meat in this weather? If only James can—can keep well!”
For, with all her superb courage, there were things that Mrs. Vincey would not face.
“Aren’t the roses doing well?” said Joey.