“Now, Mr. Richlin’?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I will shwear!” She dropped into a seat. “Right in de bekinning o’ summer time! Vell, vell, vell! And you told me Mrs. Richling is a sentsible voman! Vell, I don’t belief dat I efer see a young voman w’at aint de pickest kind o’ fool apowt her hussbandt. Vell, vell!—And she comin’ down heah ’n’ choost kittin’ all your money shpent, ’n’ den her mudter kittin’ vorse ’n’ she got ’o go pack akin!”
“Why, Mrs. Reisen,” exclaimed Richling, warmly. “you speak as if you didn’t want her to come.” He contrived to smile as he finished.
“Vell,—of—course! You don’t vant her to come, do you?”
Richling forced a laugh.
“Seems to me ’twould be natural if I did, Mrs. Reisen. Didn’t the preacher say, when we were married, ‘Let no man put asunder’?”
“Oh, now, Mr. Richlin’, dere aindt nopotty a-koin’ to put you under!—’less-n it’s your vife. Vot she want to come down for? Don’t I takin’ koot care you?” There was a tear in her eye as she went out.
An hour or so later the little rector dropped in.
“Richling, I came to see if I did any damage the last time I was here. My own words worried me.”