“Must take a lot of victuals to feed them two boarders o’ yourn,” hazarded Mr. Daggett, still cordially, and with a dash of confidential sympathy in his voice.
Mr. Daggett had, by virtue of long association with his wife, acquired something of her spontaneous warm-heartedness. He had found it useful in his business.
“Oh, they ain’t neither of ’em so hearty,” said Mrs. Black, searching in her pocket-book with the air of one who is in haste.
“We was just speakin’ about the young woman that’s stopping at your house,” murmured Mr. Daggett. “Let me see; I disremember which kind of bakin’-powder you use, Mis’ Black.”
“The Golden Rule brand, if you please, Mr. Daggett.”
“H’m; let me see if I’ve got one of them Golden Rules left,” mused Mr. Daggett.... “I told the boys I guessed she was some relation of th’ Grenoble Orrs, an’ mebbe—”
“Well; she ain’t,” denied Mrs. Black crisply.
“M-m-m?” interrogated Mr. Daggett, intent upon a careful search among the various canned products on his shelf. “How’d she happen to come to Brookville?”
Mrs. Black tossed her head.
“Of course it ain’t for me to say,” she returned, with a dignity which made her appear taller than she really was. “But folks has heard of the table I set, ’way to Boston.”