"
About two o'clock, just as Lillian was re-draping the tidies on the
stiff, common plush chairs in the parlor, some one pulled the bell
violently. The visitor, a rather good-looking young fellow, with a
worried expression smiled somewhat sarcastically as he heard a sound of
scuffling and running within the house.
* * * * *
Presently Mrs. Hart opened the door wiping her hand, red and smoking
with dish-water, upon her apron. The worried expression deepened on the
visitor's face as he addressed the woman with visible embarrassment.
"Er--I--I--suppose you are Mrs. Hart?" he inquired awkwardly.
"That's my name, sir," replied she with pretentious dignity.
"Er--your-er--may I come in madam?
"Certainly," and she opened the door to admit him, and offered a chair.
"Your husband is an employee in the Fisher Oil Mills, is he not?"
Mrs. Hart straightened herself with pride as she replied in the
affirmative. She had always been proud of Mr. Hart's position as foreman
of the big oil mills, and was never so happy as when he was expounding
to some one in her presence, the difficulties and intricacies of
machine-work.
"Well you see my dear Mrs. Hart," continued the visitor.
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