Then: "Oh, that's all right, Mary Cutting. I owe you a great big debt
of gratitude, bless your pink cheeks and white hair! And, Mary," she
lowered her voice and glanced in the direction of the room next door,
"I don't know how a hard, dry sob would go through the 'phone, so I
won't try to get it over. But, Mary, it's been 'sugar, butter, and
molasses' for me for the last ten minutes, and I'm dead scared to stop
for fear I'll forget it. I guess it's 'sugar, butter, and molasses'
for me for the rest of the night, Mary Cutting; just as hard and fast
as I can say it, 'sugar, butter, molasses.'"




IV

HIS MOTHER'S SON


"Full?" repeated Emma McChesney (and if it weren't for the compositor
there'd be an exclamation point after that question mark).

"Sorry, Mrs. McChesney," said the clerk, and he actually looked it,
"but there's absolutely nothing stirring. We're full up. The
Benevolent Brotherhood of Bisons is holding its regular annual state
convention here. We're putting up cots in the hall."

Emma McChesney's keen blue eyes glanced up from their inspection of
the little bunch of mail which had just been handed her. "Well, pick
out a hall with a southern exposure and set up a cot or so for me,"
she said, agreeably; "because I've come to stay. After selling