But Primmie saved him the trouble of seeking her. Miss Phipps and her maid left him alone in the sitting room as soon as supper was over and neither came back. He could hear the murmur of voices in the kitchen, but, although he sat up until ten o'clock, neither Primmie nor her mistress joined him. So he reluctantly went up to his room, but had scarcely reached it when a knock sounded on the door. He opened it, lamp in hand. “Why, Primmie!” he exclaimed. Primmie waved both hands in frantic expostulation. “Sshh! shh! shh!” she breathed. “Don't say nothin'. I don't want her to hear you. PLEASE don't let her hear you, Mr. Bangs. And PLEASE come right downstairs again. I want to talk to you. I've GOT to talk with you.” More bewildered than he had before been, even on that bewildering day, Galusha followed Miss Cash down the stairs, through sitting room and dining room to the kitchen. Then Primmie put down the lamp, which she had taken from his hand, carefully closed the door behind them, turned to her companion and burst out crying. “Why--why, Primmie!” exclaimed Galusha. “Oh, dear me! What is it?” Primmie did not answer. She merely waved her hands up and down and stood there, dripping like a wet umbrella. “But--my soul, Primmie!” cried Mr. Bangs. “Don't! You--you mustn't, you know.” But Primmie did, nevertheless. Galusha in desperation turned toward the door. “I'm going to call Miss Phipps,” he declared. Primmie, the tears still pouring down her cheeks, seized him by the arm. “Don't you do it!” she commanded. “Don't you dast to do it! I'll--I'll stop cryin'. I--I'm goin' to if you'll only wait and give me a chance. There! There! See, I'm--I'm stoppin' now.” And, with one tremendous sniff and a violent rub of her hand across her nose, stop she did. But she was still the complete picture of misery. “Why, what IS the matter?” demanded Galusha. Primmie sniffed once more, gulped, and then blurted forth the explanation. “She--she's canned me,” she said. Galusha looked at her uncomprehendingly. Primmie's equipment of Cape Cod slang and idiom, rather full and complete of itself, had of late been amplified and complicated by a growing acquaintance with the new driver of the grocery cart, a young man of the world who had spent two hectic years in Brockton, where, for a portion of the time, he worked in a shoe factory. But Galusha Bangs, not being a man of the world, was not up in slang; he did not understand. “What?” he asked. “I say she's canned me. Miss Martha has, I mean. Oh, ain't it awful!” “Canned you? Really, I--” “Yes, yes, yes! Canned me, fired me. Oh, DON'T stand there owlin' at me like that! Can't you see, I--Oh, please, Mr. Bangs, excuse me for talkin' so. I--I didn't mean to be sassy. I'm just kind of loony, I guess. Please excuse me, Mr. Bangs.” “Yes, yes, Primmie, of course--of course. Don't cry, that's all. But what is this? Do I understand you to say that Miss Phipps has--ah--DISCHARGED you?”