“Mercy sakes!” she exclaimed. “Is that all? I thought the house was afire. I don't know where his flannels are. Why should I? Where'd Melindy put 'em when she brought 'em here?”
Imogene chuckled. “I don't think she brought 'em at all,” she replied. “She wa'n't here yesterday. She—why, yes, seems to me Kenelm said he heard she was sick abed with a cold.”
Thankful nodded. “So she is,” she said. “Probably the poor thing ain't had time to finish mendin' 'em. It's a good deal of a job, I guess. She told me once that that Hammond man wore his inside clothes till they wa'n't anything BUT mendin', just hung together with patches, as you might say. His suits and overcoats are all right enough 'most always, but he can't seem to bear to spend money for anything underneath. Perhaps he figgers that patches are good as anything else, long's they don't show. Imogene, go tell him Melindy didn't fetch 'em.”
Imogene went and returned with her grin broader than ever.
“He says she did bring 'em,” she announced. “Says she always brings him his things on the ninth. He's pretty peppery this mornin', seems to me. Says he don't cal'late to stand there and freeze much longer.”
“Freeze! Why, it's the warmest day we've had for a fortni't. The sun's come out and it's cleared up fine, like Indian summer. Oh, DO be still!” as another shout for “Mrs. Barnes” came from above. “Here, never mind, Imogene; I'll tell him.”
She went into the front hall and called up the stairs.
“Your things ain't here, Mr. Hammond,” she said. “Melindy didn't bring 'em. She's laid up with a cold and probably couldn't get 'em ready.”
“Course she's got 'em ready! She always has 'em ready. She knows I want 'em.”
“Maybe so, but she ain't always sick, 'tain't likely. They ain't here, anyway. You won't need 'em today.”