Jake and Abbie had come over by train. Jake was surly in his tone to Davidge. His first question was, “Where do we live?”
Marie Louise answered, “In one of those quaint little cottages.”
Jake frowned before he looked. He was one of those who hate before they see, feel nausea before they taste, condemn the unknown, the unheard, the unoffending.
By the time Jake’s eyes had found the row of shanties his frown was a splendid thing.
“Quaint little hog-pens!” he growled. “Is this company the same as all the rest––treatin’ its slaves like swine?”
Davidge knew the type. For the sake of Marie Louise he restrained his first impulses and spoke with amiable acidity:
“There are better houses in town, some of them very handsome.”
“Yah––but what rent?”
“Rather expensive. Rather distant, too, but you can make it easily in an automobile.”