"Hello, Isabel," I said to her when I got near enough.
She was settin' on the lowest step, leanin' forward with her arms crossed on her knees, and each hand hold of an elbow.
She wasn't a very handsome girl—awful drab-colored and spiritless-lookin'. And she always wore drab-colored calico wrappers that didn't help to brighten her up much. She hadn't any what you call "figure" either—awful skinny girl.
"Hello," she replied, not stirrin'.
"How's Gramp and Gram?" I asked, bright's I could.
"Same as usual," said Isabel.
"Abed?" I inquired, lookin' round at the silent house.
Isabel nodded. "Yes. I get 'em to bed early nights now."
Isabel's voice didn't have any pretty ups and downs to it. She talked all on one note—a kind of dull, mouse-colored note to match the rest of her.
"Well," I went on, still cheerful, "Nellie and me are off on the road again to-morrow mornin', and I said to her this afternoon, I said, 'Well, Nellie, we'll have to pay the Janses a call to-night, if we don't pass by 'em entirely this trip.'"
