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Updated: June 6, 2025
Bean, herself chewing calculatingly, handed Mrs. Tinneray a bit of sugared calamus-root. "Is your cousin Hen dark-complexioned like your folks?" she asked scientifically. Mrs. Tinneray, narrowing both eyes, considered. "More auburn-inclined, I should say he ain't rill smart, Hen ain't, he gets took with spells now and then, but I never held that against him." "Uh-huh!" agreed Mrs.
A large woman in a tan-colored linen duster came slowly down the deck, a camp-stool in either hand. Her portly advance was intercepted by Mrs. Tuttle. "Mis' Tinneray! Same as ever!" Mrs. Tinneray dropped the camp-stools and adjusted her smoked glasses; she gave a start and the two ladies embraced. Mrs. Tuttle said that "it beat all," and Mrs. Tinneray said "she never!" Mrs.
Then alluding to the scene they had just left: "Ain't it comical how she idolizes that there bird?" Mrs. Tinneray sniffed. "And what she spends on him! 'Nitials on his seed-cup and some says the cage itself is true gold." Mrs. Bean, preparing to wash her hands, removed her black skirt and pinned a towel around her waist.
Re-adjusting the gold cage more comfortably on its camp-stool and murmuring a blessing on the hooked-beak occupant, the azure lady tripped off in the wake of her flat-heeled friend. Meanwhile Mr. Tinneray, standing well aft, was calling cheerfully down to the little figure on the wharf. "Next Summer you must git your nerve up and come along. Excursions is all the rage nowadays.
At the moment, Mrs. Tinneray's mind, dwelling upon the golden cage and its over-estimated occupant, became a mere boiling of savage desires. Suddenly the line of grim resolution hardened on her face. This look, one that the Tinneray children invariably connected with the switch hanging behind the kitchen door, Mr. Tinneray also knew well. Seeing it now, he hastened to his wife.
Then she calls up to Mabel Tuttle, 'I should think you'd be afraid of meddlin' with them ottermobiles, your time of life." Mr. Tinneray choked over his own rendition of this audacity, but his wife sniffed hopelessly. "They ain't got no gramophone her, with that face and hat? Cronney don't make nothing; they two could live on what that Blue Silk Quilt feeds that stinkin' parrot." But Mr.
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