“All right, have it, then! Meantime, let's have dinner. It's pretty nigh half-past five, and the table ain't set. And,” with a sniff, “there's somethin' burnin' somewheres, I smell it.”
This statement had an effect. Azuba dropped the precious paper and sprang to open the oven door.
“Well!” she declared, “it's all right. 'Twas that cranberry pie, and 'twas only beginnin' to scorch. It's all right.”
“Glad to hear it. Now, say, Zuba, you take my advice; you're a practical, sensible woman, I always said so. Don't you get to be silly, at your age.”
It was an impolitic remark. Azuba bristled.
“At my age!” she repeated. “Humph! I ain't so much older than some folks in this kitchen, nor in the rest of the house, either. What do you mean by silly?”
“I mean—I mean—well, I mean don't you get to joinin' lodges and readin' papers and racin' out every night in the week to somethin' or other. It ain't worth while. It's silly—just silly.”
“Oh, is it! Well, other women do it. Your wife's been doin' it ever since we got here. And now Gertie's startin' in. You always made your brags that she was about as sensible, smart a girl as ever drawed breath. I ain't got money; nobody's left ME a cart load of dollars and a swell front house. But I've got rights and feelin's. I'm a woman, a free woman, and if it ain't silly for Mrs. Dott and Gertie to want to advance and—and so on, I cal'late 'tain't silly for me either. Perhaps you'd like to have me tell Serena that you said she was silly. Shall I?”
Daniel did not answer, but his look was answer sufficient. Azuba smiled triumphantly.
“Practical,” she sneered. “No, Cap'n Daniel, I ain't been practical so far, but I'm goin' to be. I'm a-goin' to be. You watch me.”