"No," said Aunt Mary sadly, "an' that's one more of my awful troubles. You
see I'm jus' achin' to smell smoke, an' Joshua promised his mother the
night before he was twenty-one. You don't know nothin' about how terrible
I feel. I'm empty somewhere jus' all the time. Don't you believe't you
could get some cigarettes an' smoke 'em right close to me, an' let me lay
here, an' be so happy while I smell. I'll have a good doctor for you, if
you're sick from it."
The maid reflected; then she nodded.
"I'll write to town," she cried, in her high, clear tones. "What brand do
you like best?"
"Mitchell's," said Aunt Mary. "But you can't get those because he made 'em
himself an' sealed 'em with a lick. Oh!" she sighed, with the accent of a
starving Sybarite, "I do wish I could see him do it again! Do you know,"
she added suddenly, "he wrote me a letter and he's goin' to come here."
"When?" asked Janice.
"After a while. But you must take off your things. That's your room in
there," pointing toward a half-open door at the side. "I wanted you as
close as I could get you. My, but I've wanted you! I can't tell you how
much. But a good deal--a lot--awfully."
Janice went into the room that was to be hers, and hung up her hat and
cloak.
When she returned Aunt Mary was looking a hundred per cent, improved
already.
"Can you hum 'Hiawatha'?" she asked immediately. "Granite, I must have
suthin' to amuse me an' make me feel good. Can you hum 'Hiawatha' an' can
you do that kind of 'sh--sh--sh--'that everybody does all together at the
end, you know?"
Janice smiled pleasantly, and placing herself in the closest possible
proximity with the ear trumpet, at once rendered the desired _morceau_ in
a style which would have done credit to a soloist in a _cafe chantant_.
Pages:
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223