Harry Green, who, apparently, was a person of importance among them, seated himself in an easy chair on the veranda, and accepted the glass proffered by Jim.
“Did you find any eggs, Harry?” demanded one. The man first refreshed himself with a long drink; then looked around with a grin of amused appreciation: “I didn't get any eggs,” he said; “but I found the nest all right.”
A shout of laughter greeted the reply.
“What sort of nest, Harry? Duck? Turkey? Hen? Dove? Or rooster?” came from different members of the chorus.
Raising his glass as though offering a toast, he answered: “Love! my children; love!”
A yell of delight came from the company, accompanied by a volley of: “A love-nest! Well, what do you know about that! Good boy, Harry! Takes Harry to find a love-nest! He's the boy to send for eggs! I should say, yes! Martha will like that! Oh, won't she!”
This last remark turned their attention toward the woman in the hammock, and they called to her: “Martha! Oh, Martha! Come here! You better look after Harry! Harry has found a love-nest! Told you something would happen if you let him go away alone!”
Putting aside her book, the woman came to join the company on the veranda.
She was rather a handsome woman, but with a suggestion of coarseness in form and features, though her face, in spite of its too-evident signs of dissipation, was not a bad face.
Seating herself on the top step, with her back against the post in an attitude of careless abandonment, she looked up at the negro who stood grinning in the doorway. “Bring me a highball, Jim: you know my kind.” Then to the company: “Somebody give me a cigarette.”