“Land sakes! Here we be parading round the prairie, and I never found out how that man cooked his coffee.”
“What difference does it make, if we can drink it?”
“The ways of men cooks is a sealed book to you, I reckon, or you wouldn’t be so unconcerned—’specially in the matter of coffee. All men has got the notion that coffee must be b’iled in a bag, and if they ’ain’t got a regular bag real handy, they take what they can get. Oh, I’ve caught ’em,” went on the fat lady, darkly, “b’iling coffee in improvisations that’d turn your stomach.”
“Yes, yes,” Mary hastily agreed, hoping against hope that she wasn’t going to be more explicit.
“And they are so cute about it, too; it’s next to impossible to catch ’em. You ask a man if he b’iles his coffee loose or tight, and he’ll declare he b’iles it loose, knowing well how suspicious and prone to investigate is the female mind. But you watch your chance and take a look in the coffee-pot, and maybe you’ll find—”
“Yes, yes, I’ve heard—”
“I’ve seen—”
“Let’s hurry,” implored Mary.
“Have you made your coffee yet?” inquired the fat lady.
“Yes, marm,” promptly responded Johnnie.