Page:Weird Tales Volume 4 Number 3 (1924-11).djvu/65

64 This was something like what he had expected. George's chest swelled higher, with pride. But there was something else on Martha's mind. Her eyes were as big as saucers. She was looking at his manly shoulders, and the devil-may-care toss of his head.

"Jawge Washin'ton!" she scolded him. "Whah yo' ben all day? An' whah yo' rheumatiz done gone? Haow come yo' frows yo' shouldahs back lak dat, wen yo' hain't nevah ben good fo' nuffin' wid de rheumatiz?"

George was stunned.

"W-wy, Martha," he stammered. "Ah guess ah done fergot about de misery in mah back. Leastwise hit ain't botherin' me none now. But Martha, ain't you kinda glad to see me back again? Ain't you proud of me, Martha?"

"Well," said Martha, relenting, "mebbe ah is. Mebbe ah is proud ob yo'. But yo' hurry up naow"—her voice rose querulously—"an' get dem close offn de line, 'coz ah got a big ironin' an' ah got to git it done. Git a move on, niggah; yo' heahs me?"

George Washington obediently shouldered the basket and went out into the back yard. Martha Washington's high-pitched voice followed him. But there was a happy gleam in his dark eyes as he took down the clothes and threw them into the basket. For at last, after all these years, Martha Washington was proud of him.