“Oh, that’s all right. One good turn deserves another,” said Adler carelessly.
“Now, will you tell me the name of my good neighbor here, whom I have only known as my neighbor?” Harcourt asked.
“Annie Moss. I thought you knew. I thought everybody knew her. She is a widow, quite alone in the world, except for the boy brother of her late husband, who is out in Colorado somewhere, seeking his fortune, but not finding it, somehow. He never sends her anything,” Adler exclaimed.
“He can’t help it, poor fellow. His one dream is to strike ore some day and make a lady of his mammy, as he always calls me, though I am only his elder sister-in-law,” Annie added; and then she began to prepare chicken broth for the convalescent.
Harcourt made some faint effort to prevent her, and to wait on himself, but neither Annie nor Adler would permit him to stir from his chair. When his meal was ready they drew the little table up before him.
“But you? Have you dined?” anxiously inquired Harcourt, before tasting his soup.
“Oh, I am going right away now to get my dinner with the wife and babies. Only day in the week I can do it, you know. In better quarters now, right around the corner, over the baker’s shop. Will look in again to-night. Good-by. Annie’ll take care of you,” said Adler, and he left the room.
“And you?” said Harcourt, turning to his neighbor.
“I am going to keep you company in a bowl of this soup. That is all,” said Annie, and she took a bowl and spoon from the corner cupboard, helped herself from the pot on the stove, and sat down near him.
“I am afraid I have got very much in debt,” said Harcourt uneasily.