glowered. "List to her," he began, and shot out a hand, immediately to
replace it where it was most needed, under his elbow. "But list, ye
Heavens and protect the lamb from this ravening wolf. She chargeth--oh
high Heavens above!--she expecteth me to pay"--he gulped sobs--"the
extortioner, the she-wolf--expecteth me to pay her--_fo_' dollars 'n
sev'nty _fo_' cents!"

Aunt Basha, entranced with this drama, quaked silently like a large
coffee jelly, and with that there happened a high, rich, protracted
sound which was laughter, but laughter not to be imitated of any vocal
chords of a white race. The delicious note soared higher, higher it
seemed than the scale of humanity, and was riotous velvet and cream,
with no effort or uncertainty. Lance dropped his Mephistopheles pose and
grinned.

"It's Q sharp!" he commented. "However does she do it!"

"Naw, sir, young marse," Aunt Basha began, descending to speech. "De
she-wolf, she don' expecteth you to pay no fo' dollars 'n sev'nty fo'
cents, sir. Dat's thes what I _charges_. Dat ain' what you _pay_. You
thes pay me sev'nty fo' cents sir. Dat's all."

"Oh!" Lance let it out like a ten-year-old. It was hard to say which
enjoyed this weekly interview more, the boy or the old woman. The boy
was lonely and the humanity unashamed of her race and personality made
an atmosphere which delighted him. "Oh!" gasped Lance. "That's a relief.
I thought it was goodbye to my Sunday trousers."

Aunt Basha, comfortable and efficient, was unpacking the basket and
putting away the wash in the few bureau drawers which easily held the