“I wasn’t referring to the fauna, flora and reptilia of the place. I was speaking of human beings.”
“Oh! I suppose Uncle Rodney will come. Aunt Julia doesn’t drag him away for a while. Aunt Julia may come, though it isn’t likely. Driving over dusty Hoosier roads doesn’t exactly suit her.”
“I wasn’t speaking of relatives, either,” said Olive, lifting her eyes to the blasted sycamore, where the woodpecker was at his carpentry.
“Mr. J. Arthur Balcomb? You’d better get rid of J. Arthur before that little army man catches him in your society. Some very tragic thing will happen if you are not careful.”
“I should hate to have Mr. Balcomb killed. I love to hear him talk.”
“You’d still hear him if he were dead,—death could never stop a flow like his,” observed Zelda.
“I didn’t have him in mind; but I suppose he’s likely to appear. You’ll suffer him to sit on the veranda occasionally, I hope. I shouldn’t dare ask him into the house.”
“Our country silver is only plated,” said Zelda. “I’m not afraid.”
“That’s unkind of you. I fancy Mr. Leighton never stole any spoons in his life.”
“I suppose I ought to blush and seem embarrassed; but I shall disappoint you,” said Zelda, turning away, however, and looking at the blue sky beyond the tree-tops. “I’m not at all sure that Mr. Leighton will favor us. I don’t remember that I asked him to come. He’s always very busy; industry’s one of his chief merits.”