“Really!” exclaimed Mrs. Samson, “how interesting. If we had only known. No doubt Mr. Knowles would have liked to enter. I'm so sorry.”
I hastened to protest. “My tennis is decidedly rusty,” I said. “I shouldn't think of displaying it in public. In fact, I don't play at all now.”
On the way home Frances was rather quiet. The next morning she announced that she intended going to Wrayton that afternoon. “Johnson will drive me over,” she said. “I shall be glad if Auntie will go with me.”
Wrayton was the county-seat, a good-sized town five miles from Mayberry. Hephzy declined the invitation. She had promised to “tea” with Mrs. Griggson that afternoon.
“Then I must go alone,” said Frances. “That is unless—er—Uncle Hosea cares to go.”
“Uncle Hosea” declined. The name of itself was sufficient to make him decline; besides Worcester and I were scheduled for golf.
“I shall go alone then,” said “my niece,” with decision. “Johnson will look after me.”
But after luncheon, when I visited the stable to order Johnson to harness “Pet,” I met with an unexpected difficulty. Johnson, it appeared, was ill, had been indisposed the day before and was now at home in bed. I hesitated. If this were Bayport I should have bade the gardener harness “Pet” or have harnessed him myself. But this was Mayberry, not Bayport.
The gardener, deprived of his assistant's help—Johnson worked about the garden when not driving—was not in good humor. I decided not to ask him to harness, but to risk a fall in the estimation of the servants by doing it myself.
The gardener watched me for a moment in shocked disapproval. Then he interfered.