"This has got the Middle West skinned forty ways from the Jack," she would exclaim, gayly, as they motored up the Avenue. "Me for the White Lights! It's a good thing you had a Pacemaker or you would now be wearing detachable Cuffs and putting Sugar on your Lettuce."
Two years had elapsed since the escape from being Buried Alive.
They were, to all outward appearances, City-broke.
One day Claudine allowed that she was tired of Bridge and the gay
Routine. She announced that she was slipping away to Virginia Hot
Springs to cool off and rest.
Elam said that while she was lying up, he would inspect certain Mining
Properties in Canada.
He drove Honey to the train, then he tore back to the palatial Home, chucked a few Props into a Suit Case and headed for the Grand Central. He never stopped going until he ducked in the Back Way, through the Grape Arbor, past the Woodshed, into the Kitchen of the old Homestead in which he first saw the Light of Day.
Gusta nearly keeled when she lamped the long-lost Boss.
"Get busy," he said. "One fried Steak, the size of a Lap-Robe, smothered with Onions, two dozen Biscuits without any Armor Plate, one bushel of home-made Pork and Beans, much Butter, and a Gallon of Coffee in a Tureen."
"You will have to wait a while," said the faithful Gusta. "There is a double order of Ham and Turnips ahead of you. While you are waiting you might go up and call on the Missus. She has put on her old Blue Wrapper and the Yarn Slippers and is now lying on a Feather Tick in the Spare Room."
MORAL: The only City People are those born so.