"Is Mrs. Kennett nice and kind?"
"O-h, yes; she's orful busy, yer know, 'n won't stand no foolin'."
"Is there a Mr. Kennett?"
"Sometimes there is, 'n most allers there ain't."
My face by this time was an animated interrogation point. My need of explanation must have been hopelessly evident, for he hastened to add footnotes to the original text.
"He's allers out o' work, yer know, 'n he don't sleep ter home, 'n if yer want him yer have to hunt him up. He's real busy now, though,—doin' fine."
"That's good. What does he do?"
"He marches with the workingmen's percessions 'n holds banners."
"I see." The Labor Problem and the Chinese Question were the great topics of interest in all grades of California society just then. My mission in life was to keep the children of these marching and banner-holding laborers from going to destruction.
"And you haven't any father, poor little man?"