The farmer was a widow who was slightly famous around town for his prize cows and slightly more famous for his good looks. Eight per cent. “You are a dear,” she exclaimed affectionately. She was a small blonde, not handsome, but with a flair for fashion demonstrated by her elegant chemise gown in the very latest Canterbury muslin, with its low décolletage barely concealed under a fine lawn handkerchief set about her shoulders, and decorated with a mauve satin sash at the waist. ” “John, maybe I don’t want to try out for orchestra right now because my heart isn’t in it. " "Ja—ja," returned the Hollander.
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