What is your trouble?"
"My lungs are affected. I have lost my voice and cannot sing. I had
counted on becoming an opera singer."
"Why do you not go to one of the out-door hospitals for treatment?"
The young man's face flushed, and he remained silent.
"Pardon me," said Quincy. "I understand. Come to Boston next week, to
the State House, and I will see that you have the best of treatment."
"Wall, Mr. Sawyer, it does one's eyes good to set 'em on you again.
This is Olive Green,--you remember her sister Betsey worked for me
when you was one of my boarders." The woman's voice was loud and
strident, and filled the room.
"Mrs. Hawkins, I shall never forget you and Miss Betsey Green, and
how you both tried to make my stay with you a pleasant one."
"You've put on consid'rable flesh since I saw yer last. Guess you've
been taking your meals reg'lar, which you never did when you lived
with me. But your market's made now, and that makes the difference.
They say folks in love have poor appetites." She laughed loudly, and
stopped only when Olive put a restraining hand on her arm. "I hope
Alice is a good cook, but she never had much chance to learn."
Quincy thought it was time to change the subject. "How's Mr.
Hawkins?"
"I tell him he's just as lazy as ever. He's kalkerlatin' on getting
three good broods of chickens. He's gone on chickens.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25