bards, James Weldon Johnson had beautifully called them. . . . .
On her return to the apartment she discovered Olive on her knees in the kitchen mopping up a lake of cream.
Why is it, Olive demanded with a groan, that one can never open an ice-box door without something popping out?
Can I help you, Ollie?
Well, Mary, I wish you'd look at my holy bran muffins in the oven and see if they are done.
After complying with Olive's request, Mary went to her room, removed her wet clothes, washed and towelled herself thoroughly, drew on a dressing-gown and was ready for dinner.
Immediately they sat down to table, Olive began to chatter.
I stopped in at George Lister's this afternoon to make an appointment. Believe me, that sheik is popular. I don't know whether it's because he's such a good dentist or whether it's just his looks. The waiting-room was crowded. It was like a Sunday morning service at Abyssinian Baptist.
How's Lenore?
Oh, George says she's doing all right and of course he assured me the baby is sweet.
We ought to go to see Lenore.
Um. Olive's mouth was full of fried chicken. After a little she went on, Howard's got a case.
No! I'm so glad, Ollie!
