Soon as she got through lathering the dishes she tidied up and came out on the front porch.
It was a humid dusk, and the glowering sky sent a species of fly—bloody as a tick—buzzing about Jean Baptiste's porch. There he sat, rotund, and sleepy-eyed, rocking and languidly brushing the darting imps away.
"Wha' yo' gwine, Maffi?" asked Celestin Baptiste, fearing to wake the old man.
"Ovah to de Jahn Chinaman shop, mum," answered Maffi unheeding.
"Fi' what?"
"Fi' buy some wash blue, mum."
And she kept on down the road past the Hindu kiosk to the Negro mess house.
IV
"Oh, Philip," cried Maura, "I am so unhappy. Didn't he ask about me at all? Didn't he say he'd like to visit me—didn't he giv' yo' any message fo' me, Philip?"
The boy toyed with a blade of grass. His eyes were downcast. Sighing heavily he at last spoke. "No, Maura, he didn't ask about you."