"I guess maybe she hasn't money enough to buy more tubs," Peace hazarded. "All her milk customers are quitting her."
"I can't say that I blame them," Keturah Wood shrugged her shapely shoulders.
"Did you quit her?"
"No, I never took milk from there."
"Ain't it good milk?"
"It ought to be. Their cow is a Holstein and gives lots of milk. But someway I can't stomach the children."
"Can't stomach the children?" echoed Peace wonderingly.
"They are so dirty," Mrs. Wood explained in apologetic tones. "Mrs. McGee used to keep them as neat as pins when I first came here to live, and her kitchen was simply spotless. But she has too much to attend to now, and the children run wild."
"Would you get your milk there if they were clean?"
"Possibly. My milkman isn't real dependable. Sometimes there will be three or four days in a month when I can't get all I need, and if I ever want any extra, I always have to tell him two or three days before. The McGees seem to be able to supply a body at any time with any amount. But no one enjoys having such inexcusably dirty children bring their milk even if they know the milk itself is absolutely clean. Somehow it takes away one's appetite."