63
"Then we lost." Willie looked listlessly out at the dripping trees. "It's over."
"It isn't over," he said softly. "We got a daughter."
"You wanted a son."
"No, I got what I wanted--two Willies instead of one--that's better than a cow, even," he grinned. "What can I do to deserve all I got, Willie?" He bent over and kissed her forehead.
"What can I?" she asked slowly. "And what can I do to help you more?"
"How about your going to the grocery, Willie?"
Miss Willerton shoved Lot away from her. "W-what did you say, Lucia?" she stuttered.
"I said how about your going to the grocery this time? I've been every morning this week and I'm busy now."
Miss Willerton pushed back from the typewriter. "Very well," she said sharply. "What do you want there?"
"A dozen eggs and two pounds of tomatoes--ripe tomatoes--and you'd better start doctoring that cold right now. Your eyes are already watering and you're hoarse. There's empirin in the bathroom. Write a check on the house for the groceries. And wear your coat. It's cold."
Miss Willerton rolled her eyes upward. "I am forty-four years old," she announced, "and able to take care of myself."
"And get ripe tomatoes,” Miss Lucia returned.
