"Well, Simmons, I just called to see what luck you'd had this morning. My time's up. I must be going."
Mr. Simmons followed him to the door and out to the gate. Before Mr. Gossett got in his buggy he turned and looked toward the house, remarking to Mr. Simmons in a confidential tone:—
"I say, Simmons! She's a scorcher, ain't she?"
"A right warm one, Colonel, if I do say it myself," replied Mr. Simmons, with a touch of pride. "But, Colonel, before you get clean away, let's have a kind of understanding about this matter."
"About what matter?" Mr. Gossett stood with one foot on his buggy step, ready to get in.
"About this talk of Jenny's," said Mr. Simmons, nodding his head toward the house. "I'll go this far—I'll say that I'm mighty sorry it wasn't somebody else that done the talkin', and in somebody else's house. But sence it was Jenny, it can't be holp. If what she said makes you feel tired—sort of weary like—when you begin to think about it, jest bear in mind, Colonel, that I hold myself both personally and individually responsible for everything Jenny has said to-day, and everything she may say hereafter."
Mr. Gossett lowered his eyebrows and looked through them at Mr. Simmons.
"Why, of course, Simmons," he said a little stiffly, "we all have to stand by the women folks. I understand that. But blamed if I'd like to be in your shoes."
"Well, Colonel, they fit me like a glove."