relationship that neither had ever addressed the other by her Christian name.
I was thinkin' you were a little early.
No, jes' the same as usual. Mrs. Bierbauer, with some effort, bent forward and stooped to pluck a withered leaf from a pathetic umbrella-plant which was not trying very hard to grow in a pink and blue jardiniere which stood on the edge of her porch.
That Barnes man jes' went by, she continued, to a considerable extent deprived of breath after her exertion.
Have you heard about his daughter? Lemme see, Bertha, is it?
Her name's Clara, Clara Barnes.
Mrs. Bierbauer fanned herself with a palm-leaf fan. The snoring and snorting and wheezing of Mrs. Fox's fat and asthmatic pug-dog, Free Silver, prone and panting at his mistress's feet, was extremely audible.
That's so, Mrs. Bierbauer, her name is Clara, now that I think on it. Anyhow you know she's been singin' at church sociables and such, and now they've decided to send her to Chicago to study.
There won't nothin' come of it; Mrs. Bierbauer's voice assumed a darkly prophetic tone.
What's that? Mrs. Fox had understood the original pronouncement, but it was the kind of remark she enjoyed hearing repeated.
I say there won't nothin' come of it.
