The door opened slowly; a puffing man, carrying a small trunk, entered, and dropped it heavily on the floor. It was the Vegetable Man.
“Why—what—” began Barbara.
The Vegetable Man smiled at her serenely. “She’s comin’,” he said, and disappeared, leaving Barbara and Gassy staring at each other in astonishment.
Suddenly the door reopened, and there appeared the Vegetable Man’s daughter, as untidy and breezy as ever.
“I’ve come back,” she said. “I heerd you was wantin’ help, so I come over. Guess I’ll stay, this time. Shall I hang my hat here?”
“But—your husband—” began Barbara.
“Him? Why, don’t you know?” returned the Vegetable Man’s daughter, serenely. “I didn’t like ’im after we was married. He drank. So I come home.”
“Drank!” cried Gassy, in horror.
The Vegetable Man’s daughter nodded. “Like a fish!” she added. “’Twan’t a day before he began. Stood it two months, I did, an’ then I lit out. Come home, an’ it wasn’t excitin’ enough for me, so when I heerd you was still without, I come over ag’in. Miss Barbara, if you don’t tell me what to git for dinner, there won’t be no time for gittin’.”