EACH June Mrs. Green sent Mr. Driggs one Kil larney rose, or he sent one to her. These were not tender tokens, but flaunting boasts, the one whose bush bloomed first putting on airs of insufferable superiority. This morning Kate went to the door with a dustcloth in her hand, for Effa was busy baking, to find Mrs. Driggs, mauve with heat, holding the rose.
"Mr. Driggs made me promise to bring it right over, for fear the sun would open yours. Whew! Hot enough for you?"
"Oh, so he's beaten me! And I was just ready to burst! Come in. It's cooler inside."
"Hoagland says Joe's bringing Hope home this afternoon. Whew!"
"Here's a fan. Yes, isn't it an awful day for them to be traveling?"
Mrs. Driggs flapped the palm-leaf fan slowly, and panted.
"I guess it's because it's the first real hot spell we feel it so. You wait; there'll be a storm before night. What smells so good?"
"The honeysuckle on the side porch. The bees are just thick around it."
"No, I mean something baking."
