When Moss got home again that night, Estelle was sitting on the stoop alone, old Benjy having gone to bed with the chickens, as usual. His eyes brightened, for very often she was summoned to the laundry at night to take care of "immediate" work from the hotels, she being an expert at ironing women's fine fabrics. He sat down beside her on one of the benches which flanked the stoop, and she rested her head on his arm, as if weary.
"You done paid Fitzpatrick the rent to-day?" he finally asked.
"Yass."
"You show him that hole in the flo'?"
"Yass." She dropped her long dark lashes for an instant, and then added: "I tole him about it. He di'n' come here. I took the money to his saloom. You know, he sayed if he haved to come here again fo' that money, he th'ow us out in the alley."
"He ain' neveh tried to th'ow me yet," observed Moss quietly. "We'll th'ow ourseffs out befo' long. We ain' gwine to live in this hawg-pen all the time." He paused, and added more gently: "I don' want you to go to his saloom no mo', 'Stelle."
"I went in the side do'," she explained. "Nobody di'n' see me. An' I di'n' go no furder than the do'. But I won' go no mo' ef you don' want me to."
"I don' want you to," he repeated definitely. "I don' want him to insult you like he did me when I axed him to fix that hole what you could th'ow a bull thoo."
"Why, Mossie, you neveh tole me about that! What he say?" There was an indescribable undertone—possibly of amusement—in her velvety voice.
"He sayed he'd hoss-whip me ef I eveh come to his saloom again beggin' for repai's."