“So you're goin' to do your own cookin' for a spell, Cy?” observed Asaph, a half hour later, “Well, I guess that's a good idea, till you can find the right housekeeper. I ain't been able to think of one that would suit you yet.”
“Nor I, either. Neither's Bailey, I judge, though for a while he was as full of suggestions as a pine grove is of woodticks. He started to say somethin' about it to me last night, but Ketury hove in sight and yanked him off to prayer meetin'.”
“Yes, I know. She cal'lates to get him into heaven somehow.”
“I guess 'twouldn't BE heaven for her unless he was round to pick at. There he comes now. How'd he get out of wipin' dishes?”
Mr. Bangs strolled into the yard.
“Hello!” he hailed. “I was on my way to Simmons's on an errand and I thought I'd stop in a minute. Got somethin' to tell you, Whit.”
“All right. Overboard with it! It won't keep long this hot weather.”
Bailey smiled knowingly. “Didn't I hear the up train whistle as I was comin' along?” he asked. “Seems to me I did. Yes; well, if I ain't mistaken somebody's comin' on that train. Somebody for you, Cy Whittaker.”
“Somebody for ME?”
“Um—hum! I can gen'rally be depended on, I cal'late, and when you says to me: 'Bailey, you get me a housekeeper,' I didn't lose much time. I got her.”