"It's a bill for that
double-j'inted, patent, electrical fishin' rod that I sent East for,
clean to New York City, for a weddin' present for Celia."
Mrs. Thomas gave a faint, scornful laugh at the thought of this most
incongruous gift for Mrs. Nitschkan's pretty, feminine daughter. "A
fishin' rod for Celia!" she exclaimed, "when all she ever thinks about
is cookin' an' sweepin' an' sewin' all day."
"That's it," Mrs. Nitschkan radiated self-approbation and satisfaction.
"It made a nice show at the weddin', didn't it? And it has sure been
useful to me since."
But Mrs. Thomas had again absorbed herself in her correspondence, and it
is doubtful if she heard these last words. "Say, Sadie," she cried
presently, a ripple of joyous excitement in her voice, "listen here to
what Willie Barker says, 'If you don't come back soon, I'm a-going to
lay right down an' die, or maybe take my own life.'"
"Then you'll stay right on here," said Mrs. Nitschkan shortly but
emphatically. "Such a chanst as that's not to be missed."
Mrs. Thomas pouted, "But, honest, can't we pretty soon leave these old
prospects that you're a-nursin' along to salt an' get ready to palm off
on some poor Easterner?"
The gypsy took a long draught of coffee, wiping her mouth on the back
of her hand. "Your ungratefulness'll strike in and probably kill you,
Marthy Thomas. Here I burdened myself with you to save your life
insurance and the nice little property Seth left you from a pack of
wolves in the camp that's after them, an' not you, an' what thanks do I
get? All these months I been workin' like the devil to convert you an'
Jose, an' as far as either of you's concerned, I might a darned sight
better have put in my time tryin' to save the soul of a flea.
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