"My dear, don't be callous, and it's the pneumonic kind; I believe those Germans are still spreading microbes."
"Oh, nonsense!" said Joan irritably.
Mrs. Ogden went over to her bureau and began rummaging in a drawer; at last she found what she was looking for. "These worsted vests must go to the Robinsons to-day," she declared. "That eldest girl of theirs must put one on at once; with her tendency to bronchitis, she's an absolute candidate for influenza."
Joan made a sound of impatience. "But, Mother, you know the girl hates having wool next her skin; she says it makes her itch; she'll never wear them."
"Oh, but she must; you'll have to see her mother and tell her I sent you; it's nonsense about wool making the skin irritate."
"I don't agree with you; lots of people can't wear it. I can't myself, and, besides, the Robinsons don't want our charity."
"The poor always need charity, my dear."
"But they're not poor; they're probably better off than we are, or they ought to be, considering what that family earned during the war."
"I can't help what they earned in war-time, Joan; they're poor enough now; everyone is, with all the unemployment."
"I daresay, only they don't happen to be unemployed."