Snawdor. "It'll be just my luck to have to polish 'em. You needn't tell
me if there's all that finery in heaven, they won't keep special angels
to do the dirty work!"
She and Mrs. Smelts were scrubbing down the stairs of Number One, not as
a matter of cleanliness, but for the social benefit to be derived
therefrom. It was a Sunday morning institution with them, and served
quite the same purpose that church-going does for certain ladies in a
more exalted sphere.
"I hope the Bible's true," said Mrs. Smelts, with a sigh. "Where it says
there ain't no marryin' nor givin' in marriage."
"Oh, husbands ain't so worse if you pick 'em right," Mrs. Snawdor said
with the conviction of experience. "As fer me, I ain't hesitatin' to say
I like the second-handed ones best."
"I suppose they are better broke in. But no other woman but me would 'a'
looked at Mr. Smelts."
"You can't tell," said Mrs. Snawdor. "Think of me takin' Snawdor after
bein' used to Yager an' Molloy! Why, if you'll believe me, Mr. Burks,
lyin' there in bed fer four months now, takes more of a hand in helpin'
with the childern than Snawdor, who's up an' around."
"Kin he handle hisself any better? Mr. Burks, I mean."
"Improvin' right along. Nance has got him to workin' on a patent now.
It's got somethin' to do with a engine switch. Wisht you could see the
railroad yards she's rigged up on his bed. The childern are plumb crazy
'bout it."
"Nance is gittin' awful pretty," Mrs.
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