“Oh, missus!”—she stopped kneading—“if he white I be rich woman. He a cultivator. Very good man.”
But Frances the laundry woman was franker still. She brought with her her son “Hedgar,” aged eight, and she explained—
“Hedgar's fader very proud of him, tink most of Hedgar, more'n all his sons. He want me to leave him an' he keep him, but I say 'no.' Hedgar de on'y chile I get, mus' keep him, an' I get no work in dat country,”
That far country was about twelve miles off.
But the other sons were a little mystifying; however, she kindly explained, being a talkative soul.
“He get four sons by four women, all about de same age, but he tink most of Hedgar.”
I really felt a little delicacy about pursuing enquiries any further, but Frances felt none. It was commonplace to her.
“He get married,” she chortled, “an' his wife give him no chilluns!”
Frances let me in for sanctioning immorality with a vengeance. She had a room in which she and Edgar slept, and she kept herself while I paid her the magnificent sum of 7s. a week. Too little, I admit. But what was I to do? It was higher than the wages around, and she certainly wasn't worth what she got. Still she apparently felt no lack, for when I saw a strange girl about the place, I was informed it was Frances' cousin come to stay with her in the country for a change! And when the cousin was gone, seeing I said nothing, she came to me and told me that the man she was going to marry wanted to come and see her.
“An' he say, missus, he want to come like a man an' not hidin'. Say, ask missus, let him come.”