“You mean the family that’s just went out of here?” she asked. “Well, they’ve moved to Washington, D.C.”
“What’s that?” cried the Inger, suddenly.
“If you mean the family that’s just went out of here—” the woman was beginning.
The Inger struck his hand sharply on the post.
“We mean Mr. and Mrs. Hiram Folts,” he shouted. “And if you’re trying to be insulting—”
The woman looked at him, open-mouthed.
“Why, my land,” she said, “I never heard their names in my life. I just happened to know the family moved to Washington. You better ask next door—mebbe they knew ’em.”
Lory interposed, thanked her, got back to the street.
“S’posin’ she was puttin’ on,” she urged. “It don’t hurt us any.”
“Puttin’ on,” raged the Inger. “Well, I should say. Pretendin’ not to know the name of whoever moved out of the same house she’s movin’ into!”