it.

ELLA: My, Mr. Gibson, we pretty near thought you wasn't never coming
back. Those June roses in that bed round yonder lasted pretty near up
into August this year, Mr. Gibson. For that matter it's such mild
weather even yet some say we won't have any fall till Thanksgiving.

GIBSON: Yes, it's extraordinary.

ELLA: Shall I leave the tray?

GIBSON: No; you can take it. [_She moves to do so._] Wait a minute.
Here's a letter from John Riley, up at the factory. Don't I remember his
son Tom coming here to see you quite a good deal?

ELLA: Yes, sir; Tom's one of the factory truckmen like his father. He
still comes to see me quite a good deal, sir. There isn't anything about
that in the letter, is there, sir? [_She knows there isn't._]

GIBSON [_absently_]: No, no! [_With faint irony._] He only wants to know
about where to get a stock of truck parts that had been ordered before I
broke connections with the factory. He thinks four months is a long time
for them to be on the way and doesn't know where to write.

ELLA: He's a terrible active man, Mr. Riley. Always pushing.

GIBSON: So Tom comes round more than ever, does he?

ELLA [_coyly_]: He does, sir!