"Oh!" burst from us in chorus as we came through the hospitably open door. "Isn't it lovely?"
Just then there emerged from the kitchen a woman with a pail in one hand and broom in the other. Her long, pale face with the sandy hair drawn tightly back into a Mrs. Wiggs knot had no trace of welcome, but rather one of irritation.
"Well, land's sakes! You is greedy fer yo' rights. The fust of July don't mean the fust thing in the morning. The last tenants ain't been gone mor'n a hour an' here you come a-turn-in' up before I kin mor'n turn 'round."
"Well, everything looks lovely," said the tactful Dee.
"Y' aint seen it yet. It's right enough in this here room where I've done put in some licks, but that there kitchen is a mask of grease. These June tenants was jist a passel of boys and I can tell you they pretty near ripped things wide open. They had a triflin', no-'count black man fer cook and if ther' is one thing I hate more'n a nigger woman, it's a nigger man. Sometimes I think I will jist natchally refuse to rent my house to anybody that hires niggers."
"Your house!" escaped from Dum before she could stop herself.
"Yes, Miss, my house! Did you think I'd be cleaning up after a nigger in anybody's house but my own?"
"Then you are Mrs. Rand?" inquired Dee.
"The same! Did you think I might be Capt. Rand?"
"No'm; I—I——"