“Morning,” he grunted, and took another dish, this one containing a section of dry and ancient cake, Seth's manufacture, from the pantry.
“What you doin'? Gettin' breakfast this time of day?” asked the housekeeper, entering the kitchen. She had a small bowl in her hand.
“No,” replied Brown.
“Dinner, then? Pretty early for that, ain't it?”
“I am not getting either breakfast or dinner—or supper, madam,” replied the helper, with emphasis. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
“Well, I don't know but there is. I come over hopin' you might. How's the stings?”
“The what?”
“The wasp bites.”
“They're all, right, thank you.”
“You're welcome, I'm sure. Did you put the cold mud on 'em, same as I told you to?”