ge and it upset her so but whether from joy or rage, I don't know
which, that there was nothing to eat in the kitchen but a little liquor
she had left at seven-thirty, when we went in to see what was the cause
of delay, and me with Maison Rosabelle and a friend to dinner. So Ma
woke her up out of her emotions which she claimed had overcome her, and
give her a honorable discharge of her own and then turned up the ends of
her sleeves, and only a little hampered by the narrow skirt to the green
satin evening gown she had on her, give us a meal as per above
described. And no one would of cared how long it was before the
intelligence office--I mean domestic, not U.S. Army--sent us a cook but
that in trying to save her dress Ma got hot grease on her right hand and
that changed the situation because we had to call up next day and take
anything they had--and they sent us up a German woman.

Well, believe you me, that was a shock because I had an idea that all
the Germans in the country was either interned or incognito, but this
one wasn't even disguised, which isn't so remarkable on account of her
being pretty near as big as Ma and a voice on her like a fog-horn with
a strong accent on the fog. I never in my life see so many bags and
bundles and ecteras as that female had with her, for she was undoubtedly
one, although she had a sort of moustache beside the voice. But what she
had in voice she certainly lacked in words. When Ma set out to ask her
the usual questions which everybody does, although their heart is
trembling with fear, she won't take the job, this lady Hun didn't
divulge no more information about herself than we asked. She was as
stingy with her language as if it had been hard liquor. Ma asked her to
come in, and she did, and sat without being asked upon one of the gold
chairs in the parlor which I certainly never expected it would survive
the test, they being made for parlor rather than sitting room.

Well anyways, it's a fact she certainly was a mountain and if she were a
fair specimen, all this about the Germans starving to death is the bunk.
Only her being over here may of made a difference. Well, after she had
set down a bundle done up in black oil-cloth, a cute little hand-bag
about a yard long made out of somebody's old stair-carpet, a shoe-box
with a heel of bread sticking out at one end, an umbrella which looked
like a sea-side one, a pot of white hyacinths in full bloom and a
net-bag full of little odds a