VII
Treats of Witches, Mixed Drinks, and the Weather
Meanwhile, I used to see Kennaston nearly every day. . . . Looking back, I recollect one afternoon when the Kennastons were calling on us. It was the usual sort of late-afternoon call customarily exchanged by country neighbors. . . .
"We have been intending to come over for ever so long," Mrs. Kennaston explained. "But we have been in such a rush, getting ready for the summer—"
"We only got the carpets up yesterday," my wife assented. "Riggs just kept promising and promising, but he did finally get a man out—"
"Well, the roads are in pretty bad shape," I suggested, "and those vans are fearfully heavy—"
"Still, if they would just be honest about it," Mrs. Kennaston bewailed—"and not keep put-
