The smell of
past cooking was in the air, the black and evil glitter of cockroaches
twinkled on the walls on either hand. This was the horrible part of
subbing, thought Christian, and told herself that nothing but the
thought of seeing the _debut_ of Dido, the puppy that she had
walked, would compensate her for facing the cockroaches.
As she opened the kitchen door she was surprised to find a lighted
lamp on the table. In the same glance she caught a glimpse of a
figure, retreating hastily, with slippered shuffle, followed by the
trailing tappings of braces off duty. On one end of the long kitchen
table was seated a cat, in motionless meditation, like a profile in an
Egyptian hieroglyphic; at the other end was a steaming cup of cocoa
and plateful of bread and butter.
"Long life to Evans!" thought Christian, seating herself, like the
cat, on the edge of the table, and entering upon the cocoa.
"Miss Christian!" a raven-croak came through a slit of the
pantry-door; "keep off the Carmodys' land! Mind now what I'm tellin'
you!" The slit ceased.
"Thank you for the cocoa, Evans, but why must I?" called Christian,
in a breath.
A lower croak, that seemed to end with the words "black papishes,"
came through the closed door.
"Old lunatic!" thought Christian; she drank the cocoa, and putting out
the lamp, groped her way to the back-door.
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