"Ain't it the limit?" again demanded his employer. "Gosh all--excuse me,
but they got me into such a state. Here I am panting like a tuckered
hound. And now I got to make the tea myself. He won't dare come back
before suppertime."
It seemed to be not yet an occasion for words from me. I tried for a
look of intelligent sympathy. In the kitchen I heard her noisily fill a
teakettle with water. She was not herself yet. She still muttered hotly.
I moved to the magazine--littered table and affected to be taken with
the portrait of a smug--looking prize Holstein on the first page of the
_Stock Breeder's Gazette_.
The volcano presently seethed through the room and entered its own
apartment.
Ten minutes later my hostess emerged with recovered aplomb. She had
donned a skirt and a flowered blouse, and dusted powder upon and about
her sunburned and rather blobby nose. Her crinkly gray hair had been
drawn to a knot at the back of her grenadier's head. Her widely set eyes
gleamed with the smile of her broad and competent mouth.
"Tea in one minute," she promised more than audibly as she bustled into
the kitchen.
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