“Just since to-day,” the girl said. “I just come—from California.”
“Oh!” the woman comprehended. “Come in again—soon.” And something else she added that sounded like “To-morrow—maybe?”
Lory nodded and they went out.
“The whole place seems to be waitin’ for somethin’,” the Inger was saying. “Why don’t they jump in—why don’t they jump in?”
The girl was not listening. She was looking at the groups of women in the doorways.
The two walked back to the chubby house. It was frowning, for there were no lights in its windows, save a glimmer from the kitchen where the gas jet always burned.
“Not out there,” said the Inger, as they went in the dark passage. “Don’t let’s go where the old man is.”
“I can hear talking,” Lory said only, and threw open the kitchen door.
The supper table was still covered, with its litter of dishes. On the settle the old man was lying, with his head lifted, watching. Beside the stove sat the Inger’s father and Bunchy Haight. No one else was in the room.