Mrs. McKee.”
“Well?”
He made a conciliatory effort.
“I was thinking, as I came along,” he said, “that you and the neighbors had better get after these here caterpillars. Look at them maples, now.”
“If you want to see Tillie, she's busy.”
“I only want to say how-d 'ye-do. I'm just on my way through town.”
“I'll say it for you.”
A certain doggedness took the place of his tentative smile.
“I'll say it to myself, I guess. I don't want any unpleasantness, but I've come a good ways to see her and I'll hang around until I do.”
Mrs. McKee knew herself routed, and retreated to the kitchen.
“You're wanted out front,” she said.
“Who is it?”
“Never mind. Only, my advice to you is, don't be a fool.”
Tillie went suddenly pale. The hands with which she tied a white apron over her gingham one were shaking.
Her visitor had accepted the open door as permission to enter and was standing in the hall.
He went rather white himself when he saw Tillie coming toward him down the hall. He knew that for Tillie this visit would mean that he was free—and he was not free. Sheer terror of his errand filled him.
“Well, here I am, Tillie.”
“All dressed up and highly perfumed!” said poor Tillie, with the question in her eyes. “You're quite a stranger, Mr. Schwitter.”
“I was passing through, and I just thought I'd call around and tell you—My God, Tillie, I'm glad to see you!”
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