"Not a word. Get-ap."
The grocer's wagon rattled off down the street, and Mrs. Stout went to the door and rang the bell. Mrs. Flint was disgusted, but succeeded in concealing her feelings, and greeted Mrs. Stout smilingly.
"You are punctual, Mrs. Stout," she said.
"Yes," puffed Mrs. Stout, "I always make it a point to be on time; it pays and don't cost anything."
"Yes, come right in, punctuality is indeed a virtue, but one that is unappreciated by those who do not possess it."
"I declare," said Mrs. Stout, as she plumped into a chair, "I do believe I'm gettin' wheezy in my old age, just that little walk from my house has tuckered me out. How's the club gettin' along?"
"Splendidly, over twenty ladies have signified their intention to be present this morning. The committee on rules has completed its work—oh, by the way, you were on that committee, Mrs. Stout. Did you get my postal in regard to the meeting?"
"Yes, but I couldn't come. I'll agree to what you and Miss Sawyer have done, though."
"Very good of you, I'm sure."
"But you can't make women live by rule, any more'n you can mix cats and dogs without there bein' some fightin'." This remark wounded Mrs. Flint's cultured feelings, but before there was time to think of a fitting reply, Mrs. Stout, who was looking out of a window, exclaimed: