III
EVENING VISITORS
Rodney had said enough to Millie to make it plain that his mother was accustomed to go out to work and that she earned barely enough for them to live on. He may have been thinking of that, now, as he stared at his house.
“It’s a big avenue,” he said, “but mother’s got to sell one of our lots to pay off the taxes and assessments for having it done. I don’t care if the city does pay for What land they take. It’s hard on mother.—She’ll be awful tired, but supper’s ready. Good one, too. Don’t I Wish I could find something to do, now I’m out of school? I’ve tried in dozens of places. Guess there are too many boys.—Hullo!”
“Me b’ye,” came at that moment in a deep, good-humored voice, behind him, “what ye want is a dure, where the small windy is. I can put wan in, chape.”
“That’s what we want, Pat,” said Rodney.
“It’s a dure was in a building we tore down,” said Pat, “and it’s a good big wan. All it wants is puttin’ in, and a dure step to the walk, wid a good rail, and ye’ll be as well aff as iver ye was, wid a foine front on the aveny.”
“I’ll tell mother,” said Rodney, with a keen and hopeful survey of the place where the door was to be.
“’Twon’t cost her much,” added Pat, “and the likes of her don’t want to be climbin’ in and out o’ windies.”