“There's nothin' better,” she said.
“You bet there ain't!” this from the lightkeeper. “A body can't get within forty fathoms of a cold with a swallow of that amidships. It's hotter than—”
“Joshua!”
“The Fourth of July,” concluded her husband, triumphantly.
“And now, Mrs. Paine,” went on the lady of the house, “your room's all ready. I've laid out some dry things for you on the bed and some of Joshua's, too. You and your husband—”
I thought it high time to explain.
“The lady is not my wife,” I said, quickly.
“She ain't! Why, I thought Joshua said—”
“He—er—made a mistake. She is Miss Colton, a summer resident and neighbor of mine in Denboro.”
“Sho! you don't say! That's just like you, Joshua!”