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Updated: May 14, 2025
We had been awaiting this question. "A year and nine munse, sir." "Ought to have spoken before that, oughtn't he?" "Never even cried, sir," said the woman. She regarded the child with a look into which I read something of apprehension. If it were apprehension it was a feeling that we all shared.
She smiled as she began her speech, but not enough to spoil what she honestly believed to be a very business-like air and manner. John had quietly dropped out of the negotiations, and she felt herself put upon her mettle as his agent. "And my husband tells me the price of this front room is ten dollars a month." "Munse?"
The respondent was a very white, corpulent woman, who constantly panted for breath, and was everywhere sinking down into chairs, with her limp, unfortified skirt dropping between her knees, and her hands pressed on them exhaustedly. "Munse?" She turned from husband to wife, and back again, a glance of alarmed inquiry. Mary tried her hand at French. "Yes; oui, madame. Ten dollah the month le mois."
Intelligence suddenly returned. Madame made a beautiful, silent O with her mouth and two others with her eyes. "Ah non! By munse? No, madame. Ah-h! impossybl'! By wick, yes; ten dollah de wick! Ah!" She touched her bosom with the wide-spread fingers of one hand and threw them toward her hearers.
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