“Meander!” she shouted, looking around for a weapon; “we don’t want any flour-sifters here!”
“You’re mistaken,” he replied, smiling blandly. “I called to—”
“Don’t want anything to keep moths away—fly!” exclaimed Sarah, getting red in the face.
“Is the lady in?” he inquired, trying to look over Sarah’s head.
“Yes, the lady is in, and I’m in, and you are out!” she snapped; “and now I don’t want to stand here talking to a fly-trap agent any longer! Come lift your boots!”
“I’m not an agent,” he said, trying to smile. “I’m the new—”
“Yes, I know you—you are the new man with the patent flat-iron, but we don’t want any, and you’d better go before I call the dog!”
“Will you give the lady my card, and say that I called?”
“No, I won’t; we are bored to death with cards and handbills and circulars. Come, I can’t stand here all day.”
“Didn’t know that I was a minister?” he asked, as he backed off.