Chapter 10

Philippina was on her knees by the hearth, cleaning out the ashes; Eleanore was sitting by the kitchen table, adding up the week’s expenses in a narrow note-book.

“You ought-a git married, Eleanore,” said Philippina, as she blew on a hot coal, “’deed you ought; it’s the right time for you.”

“Ah, leave me alone,” said Eleanore angrily.

Philippina crouched still lower on the hearth: “I mean well by you, I do,” she said. “You’re simply killing yourself here. With your white skin and sugary eyes—uhm, uhm! You bet if I had ’em like yours I’d git one. Men are all as dumb as shoats outside of a sty.”

“Keep quiet,” said Eleanore, and went on counting: “Seven from fifteen leaves eight....”

“An angel has made your bed,” interrupted Philippina with a giggle. “I know a fellow,” she went on, her face becoming rather sour, “he’s just the right one. Money? whew! He’s stuck on you too, believe me! If I wuz to go to him and say, Eleanore Jordan is willing, I believe the old codger would give me a bag of gold. Cross my heart, Eleanore, and he’s a fine man too. He can play the piano just as good as Daniel, if not better. When he plays you can see the sparks fly.”

Eleanore got up, and closed the book. “Do you want me to give you a present for finding me a man, Philippina?” she asked, with a sympathetic smile. “And you are trying to sound me? Go on, you fool.”

“Come wind and blow my fire hot, so that my soup be not forgot,” whispered Philippina with a gloomy face.

Eleanore left the kitchen and went upstairs. Her heart was full of longing; it was in truth almost bursting with longing.