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"Now she'll say: 'Well, we've been very comfortable here. They always do. Don't look too eager." "No fear," put in Hosey Brewster. "It's really lovely. And a real fireplace. Everything new and good. She's asking two hundred and twenty-five. Offer her one seventy-five. She'll take two hundred" "You bet she will," growled Hosea.
"Throw me the loan of a trusty Bartly, for a cushion," said he. A frieze coat was thrown up over the horses' heads Paddy caught it. "Where are you, Hosey?" cried he. "Sure I'm only rowling a wisp of straw on my leg," replied Hosey. "Throw me up," added this paragon of postilions, turning to one of the crowd of idle bystanders. "Arrah, push me up, can't ye?"
I must allegore and meditate on 'em jest as they come, and truly a-thinkin' on these picters, I feel as Hosey Bigelow ust to say: "I can't tell what's comin' gall or honey." But some of them picters and statutes made perfect dents in my memory, and can't be smoothed out agin nohow. There wuz one little figger jest at the entrance where we went in, "The Young Acrobat," that impressed me dretfully.
What do you think of that? The wind died down, his engine got stalled, and he and Hosey Talbot had to row home from the Bell Reef Shoals. Haw, haw! Maybe I didn't roar when I saw them come pulling in against the tide, mad as two man-eating sharks. Fit to harpoon the first person they met, they were.
He took off his hat and threw it high in the air and opened his arms wide and emitted a whoop of sheer joy and relief. "Welcome home! Home!" She clung to him. "Oh, Hosey, isn't it wonderful? How big it looks! Huge!" "Land, yes." He strode from hall to dining room, from kitchen to library. "I know how a jack-in-the-box feels when the lid's opened. No wonder it grins and throws out its arms."
I mean to take a little apartment, a furnished apartment at first to see how you like it two rooms and kitchenette, like a play-house." Hosey Brewster looked down at his own big bulk. Then around the great furnace room. "Oh, but listen " "No, I want you to listen first. Mother's worn out, I tell you. It isn't as if she were the old-fashioned kind; she isn't.
"Chops taste good, Hosey?" "Grand. But you oughtn't to be cooking around like this. We'll eat out to-morrow night somewhere, and go to a show." "You're enjoying it, aren't you, Hosey, h'm?" "It's the life, mother! It's the life!" His ruddy colour began to fade. He took to haunting department-store kitchenware sections.
All her married life she had kept house in a big, bounteous way: apples in barrels; butter in firkins; flour in sacks; eggs in boxes; sugar in bins; cream in crocks. Sometimes she told herself, bitterly, that it was easier to keep twelve rooms tidy and habitable than one combination kitchen-dining-and-living room. "Chops taste good, Hosey?" "Grand. But you oughtn't to be cooking around like this.
We'll eat out to-morrow night somewhere, and go to a show." "You're enjoying it, aren't you, Hosey, h'm?" "It's the life, mother! It's the life!" His ruddy colour began to fade. He took to haunting department store kitchenware sections. He would come home with a new kind of cream whipper, or a patent device for the bathroom. He would tinker happily with this, driving a nail, adjusting a screw.
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?"
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