"You mean they're having a lot of company in?" says she.
I nods.
"Then that settles it!" says she. "We don't go a step nearer to-night. But where we will stay, goodness only knows!"
She was pikin' off, her chin in the air, when it struck me that if these really was jay relations of the Twombley-Cranes, maybe I ought to lend 'em a helpin' hand. So I trails along until she brings up beside another party who seems to be waitin' patient just under the front windows.
He's a tall, stoop-shouldered gent, with a grayish mustache and a good deal of gold watch chain looped across his vest. In each hand he's holdin' a package careful by the strings, and between his feet is one of these extension canvas grips that you still see in use out in the kerosene circuit.
"Excuse me, Ma'am," says I, "but I'm more or less a friend of the fam'ly, and if you've come on special to visit 'em, maybe you'd better wait while I let 'em know you're here. My name's McCabe, and if you'll give me yours, why——"
"I'm Mrs. Sallie Leavitt, of Clarks Mills," says the old girl.
"Oh, yes," says I, "Clarks Mills. Up Skowhegan way, ain't it?"
"Vermont," says she. "This is Mr. Leavitt. I'm much obliged to you, Mr. McCabe, but you needn't bother about tellin' anyone anything. If they've got company, that's enough. I wish I'd never left Clarks Mills, that's what I wish!"
"Now, Sallie!" protests the other half of the sketch, speakin' mild and gentle.