"Good morning, Emmeline," said Annie; she annexed some irrelevancies about
the weather, which Mrs. Munger swept away with business-like robustness.
"We were driving down to your house to find you. I want to see the
principal ladies of your church, and talk with them about our Social Union.
You've heard about it?"
"Well, nothing very particular," said Mrs. Gerrish; she had probably heard
nothing at all. After a moment she asked, "Have you seen Mrs. Wilmington
yet?"
"No, I haven't," cried Mrs. Munger. "The fact is, I wanted to talk it over
with you and Mr. Gerrish first."
"Oh!" said Mrs. Gerrish, brightening. "Well, I was just going right there.
I guess he's in."
"Well, we shall meet there, then. Sorry I can't offer you a _seat_.
But there's nothing but the rumble, and that wouldn't hold you _all_."
Mrs. Munger called this back after starting her pony. Mrs. Gerrish did not
understand, and screamed, "_What_?"
Mrs. Munger repeated her joke at the top of her voice.
"Oh, I can walk!" Mrs. Gerrish yelled at the top of hers. Both the ladies
laughed at their repartee.
"She's as jealous of Mrs. Wilmington as a cat," Mrs. Munger confided to
Annie as they drove away; "and she's just as pleased as Punch that I've
spoken to her first. Mrs. Wilmington won't mind. She's so delightfully
indifferent, it really renders her almost superior; you might forget that
she was a village person. But this has been an immense stroke. I don't
know," she mused, "whether I'd better let her get there first and prepare
her husband, or do it myself. No; I'll let _her_. I'll stop here at
Gates's."
She stopped at the pavement in front of a provision store, and a pale,
stout man, in the long over-shirt of his business, came out to receive her
orders. He stood, passing his hand through the top of a barrel of beans,
and listened to Mrs. Munger with a humorous, patient smile.
"Mr. Gates, I want you to send me up a leg of lamb for dinner--a large
one."
"Last year's, then," suggested Gates.
"No; _this_ year's," insisted Mrs. Munger; and Gates gave way with the
air of pacifying a wilful child, which would get, after all, only what he
chose to allow it.
"All right, ma'am; a large leg of this year's lamb--grown to order. Any
peas, spinnage, cucumbers, sparrowgrass?"
"Southern, I suppose?" said Mrs. Munger.