Brown nodded solemnly. “I guess so,” he said. “They seem to be.”
“Oh, I'm so glad!” cried the dark haired girl. “I'm—we—are so much obliged to you.”
“If there's any critters on earth,” declared the stout woman, “that I can't stand, it's wasps and hornets and such. Mice, I don't mind—”
“I do,” interrupted her companion with emphasis.
“But when I walked into that room and seen that nest in the corner I was pretty nigh knocked over—and,” she added, “it takes consider'ble to do that to ME.”
The assistant looked at her. “Yes,” he said, absently, “I should think it might. That is, I mean—I—I beg your pardon.”
He paused and wiped his forehead with the towel. The young lady burst into a peal of laughter, in which the stout woman joined. The laugh was so infectious that even Brown was obliged to smile.
“I apologize,” he stammered. “I didn't mean that exactly as it sounded. I'm not responsible mentally—yet—I guess.”
“I don't wonder.” It was the stout woman who answered. The girl had turned away and was looking out the window; her shoulders shook. “I shouldn't think you would be. Hauled in bodily, as you might say, and shut up in a room to fight wasps! And by folks you never saw afore and don't know from Adam! You needn't apologize. I'd forgive you if you said somethin' a good deal worse'n that. I'm long past the age where I'm sensitive about my weight, thank goodness.”
“And we ARE so much obliged to you.” The girl was facing him once more, and she was serious, though the corners of her mouth still twitched. “The whole affair is perfectly ridiculous,” she said, “but Mrs. Bascom was frightened and so was I—when I had time to realize it. Thank you again.”