Not homesick, exactly; but--well, I guess I'm not the only woman
with a walnut streak in her modern make-up. Here's the woman--she came
to the door with her hat on, and yet--"
Truth--blinding, white-hot truth--burst in upon him. "Mother," he
said--and he stood up, suddenly robust, virile, alert--"mother, let's go
home."
Mechanically she began to unpin the looped-back skirt.
"When?"
"Now."
"But, Hosey! Pinky--this flat--until June--"
"Now! Unless you want to stay. Unless you like it here in this--this
make-believe, double-barreled, duplex do-funny of a studio thing. Let's
go home, mother. Let's go home--and breathe."
In Wisconsin you are likely to find snow in April--snow or slush. The
Brewsters found both. Yet on their way up from the station in 'Gene
Buck's flivver taxi, they beamed out at it as if it were a carpet of
daisies.
At the corner of Elm and Jackson Streets Hosey Brewster stuck his head
out of the window. "Stop here a minute, will you, 'Gene?"
They stopped in front of Hengel's meat market, and Hosey went in. Mrs.
Brewster leaned back without comment.
Inside the shop. "Well, I see you're back from the East," said Aug
Hengel.
"Yep."
"We thought you'd given us the go-by, you stayed away so long."
"No, sir-ree! Say, Aug, give me that piece of bacon--the big piece. And
send me up some corned beef to-morrow, for corned beef and cabbage. I'll
take a steak along for to-night. Oh, about four pounds. That's right.
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