The captain sniffed. "I guess if it's fittin' for you to be workin' out here I shouldn't complain at sittin' here," he observed. "Is that Joel's shirt? He's gettin' awfully high-toned—and high collared, seems to me."
Mrs. Macomber was slightly confused. "Why, no," she said, "this isn't Joe's shirt. It's Mr. Phillips's. Ain't it lovely linen? I don't know as I ever saw any finer."
Her brother leaned back in the broken chair. "Do you do his washin' for him, Sarah?" he demanded.
"Why—why, yes, Sears. You see, he's real particular about how it's done, and of course you can't blame him, he has such lovely things. He tried two of the regular washwomen, Elsie Doyle and Peleg Carpenter's wife, and they did 'em up just dreadful. So, just to help him out one time, I tried 'em myself. And they came out real nice, if I do say it, and he was so pleased. So ever since then I have been doin' 'em for him. It's hardly any trouble—any extra trouble. I have to do our own washin', you know."
Sears did know, also he knew the size of that washing.
"Does he pay you for it?" he asked, sharply. "Pay you enough, I mean?"
"Why—why, yes. Of course he doesn't pay a whole lot. Not as much maybe as if he was a stranger, somebody who didn't pay me regular board, you know."
"Humph! Do you get your money?"
"Why, yes. Of course I do."
"He doesn't owe you anything, then, for board or lodgin' or anything?"