"Coming? What?"
"He left Cincinnati last night and gets here this morning."
"This morning!"
"He comes on business, he says. And at five o'clock he stops in at the store and comes home to supper with papa."
"Supper—and a regular wash-day meal I got! Tongue sweet-sour, and red cabbage! Renie, get on your things and—"
"Honest, if it wasn't too late I would telegraph him I ain't home."
"Get on your things, Renie, and go right down to Rindley's for a roast.
If you telephone they don't give you weight. This afternoon I go myself
for the vegetables." Excitement purred in Mrs. Shongut's voice. "Hurry,
Renie!"
"I'll get Izzy to take me out to supper and to a show."
"Get on your things, I say, Renie. I'll call Lizzie up-stairs too; we don't need no wash-day, with company for supper. Honest, excited like a chicken I get. Hurry, Renie!"
Miss Shongut stood quiescent, however, gazing through the lace curtains at the sun-lashed terrace, still soft from the ravages of winter and only faintly green. A flush spread to the tips of her delicate ears.