Mrs. Welcome smiled and extended her hand. “I’m very glad to know you, Mr. Grogan. You mustn’t mind Harvey’s impetuous ways. He’s all right here.” She placed her hand on her heart.
“I’ll go bail he is that if you say so, Mrs. Welcome,” replied Grogan gallantly, “anyhow I’ll take him on your word.”
“Just ready to go, Mr. Grogan, when you called,” put in Harvey. Then he caught Mrs. Welcome by the arm and bustled her into the house, saying: “And I’ll see that you get all of those things, Mrs. Welcome, flour, corn meal, tomatoes, beans, lard—” and in spite of her protestations he closed the door on her with a parting: “Everything on the first delivery tomorrow morning sure.” Then he added to Grogan, who stood smiling with a look of comprehension on his face, “All right. Ready to go.”
“It’s about time,” commented Grogan as they went toward the wagon. “Don’t think I’m too inquisitive if I ask who are these Welcomes anyhow?”
“People who are having a tough time,” replied Harvey, unhitching his colt. “Tom Welcome used to be quite a man. He had that invention I was telling you about, an electric lamp. He was done out of it and went to the booze for consolation.”
“So,” murmured Grogan, half to himself, “Two girls in the family, eh?”
“Yes, that was one of them you met just before we came here.”
“The pretty one?”
“Yes, and they’re the best ever,” added Harvey, antagonized by something he sensed in his companion’s manner.
Grogan turned to him smiling. “There,” he said, “don’t get hot about it. Nobody doubts that, meself least of all. Ain’t I Irish? It’s the first article of every Irishman’s creed to believe that all women, old or young, pretty or otherwise, all of them are just—good.”