“Kittens’ eyes,” suggested Colonel Crutcher with a twinkle.
“Cat’s foot! Nothin’ of the kind! Anyhow, that kind of blue is mighty becomin’ to Miss Judith.”
They all agreed to this and when Judith appeared again with her arms laden with bundles to be stowed in the back of the car the old men called in chorus:
“Hiyer, Miss Judith?”
“Hiyer, yourselves?” she answered.
“Come over and tell us the news,” they begged, and she ran across the street and perched on the railing of the Rye House, while 105 she recounted what news she had picked up on her peddling trip of the day before.
“Uncle Peter Turner has gone over to cook and wash dishes for the ladies at Mr. Big Josh Bucknor’s. They haven’t had a servant for weeks. They thought Miss Ann Peyton was coming but she turned in at Buck Hill, I saw her. She has been visiting the Throckmortons and left there in a hurry. Old Aunt Minnie, over at Clayton, has just had her hundredth descendant. She had sixteen children of her own and all of them have had their share of children and grandchildren. I know it’s so because I just sold one of the great-granddaughters some hair straightener and a box of flea powder and she thought of getting some talcum powder for the new baby, but decided to use flea powder instead.”
The old men laughed delightedly. “Tell us some more,” they demanded.
“The widow Simco, at Nine Mile House, asked me what had become of Mr. Pete Barnes. I sold her some henna shampoo and a box of bronze hairpins.”
Pete grinned sheepishly, but straightened his cravat and pulled his whiskers in a way men have when complimented by the fair sex.