ple with the idea that I wished I hadn't come.

"He says," exclaimed the woman, as if some other huckster were crying
fish on the other side of the street--"he says he lives in a wash-toob."

"He's crazy!" ejaculated Mrs. Blaine, with an air that indicated
"policeman" as plainly as if she had put her thought into words.

A low murmur ran through the crowd of women, while the thin clerk edged
toward the door.

I saw there was no time to lose. I stepped back a little from the tall
savage, who was breathing like a hot-air engine in front of me, and made
my explanations to the company. I told the tale of "Rudder Grange," and
showed them how it was like to a stationary wash-tub--at certain stages
of the tide.

I was listened to with great attention. When I had finished, the tall
woman turned around and faced the assemblage.

"An' he wants a cook to make soup! In a canal-boat!" said she, and off
she marched into the back-room, followed closely by all the other women.

"I don't think we have any one here who would suit you," said Mrs.
Blaine.

I didn't think so either. What on earth would Euphemia have done with
that volcanic Irishwoman in her little kitchen! I took up my hat and
bade Mrs. Blaine good morning.

"Good morning," said she, with a distressing smile.

She had one of those mouths that look exactly like a gash in the face.

I went home without a girl. In a day or two Euphemia came to town and
got one. Apparently she got her without any trouble, but I am not sure.

She went to a "Home"--Saint Somebody's Home--a place where they keep
orphans to let, so to speak. Here Euphemia selected a light-haired,
medium-sized orphan, and brought her home.

The girl's name was Pomona. Whether or not her parents gave her this
name is doubtful. At any rate, she did not seem quite decided in her
mind about it herself, for she had not been with us more than two weeks
before she expressed a desire to be called Clare. This longing of her
heart, however, was denied her. So Euphemia, who was always correct,
called her Pomona. I did the same whenever I could think not to say
Bologna--which seemed to come very pat for some reason or other.

As for the boarder, he generally called her Altoona, connecting her in
some way with the process of stopping for refreshments, in which she was
an adept.

She was an earnest, hearty girl. She was always in a good humor, and
when I asked her to do anything, she assented in a bright, cheerfu