“I must rest a little, for I have something to tell you, and I will tell you now what it is before I begin. Old Perkins has no more love for style than I have for his _dratted poor kin_. But as I was going to tell you, Perkins received a letter from Indiana, stating this Cousin Sally wished to make us a visit. She's a plain, poor girl, that knows no more of style than Perkins does of a woman's comforts. I'll tell you what it is, Mrs. Daymon, if she does come, if I don't make it hot for old Perkins, it'll be because I can't talk. A woman has nothing but her tongue, and while I live I will use mine.” Then pointing her index finger at Roxie, continued: “I will tell you what it is Mrs. Daymon, take two white beans out of one hull, and place them on the top of the garden fence, and then look at 'em across the garden, and if you can tell which one is the largest, you can seen what difference there is in the way old Perkins hates style and I hate his _dratted poor kin_. What wealthy families are to do in this city, God only knows. I think sometimes old Perkins is a _wooden man_, for, with all my style, I can make no more impression on h-i-m, than I can upon an oak stump, Mrs. Daymon. What if he did make a thousand dollars last week, when he wants to stick his _poor kin_ 'round me, like stumps in a flower garden.” At this point Roxie ventured to say a word. “Aunt Patsy, I thought Jim was kinsfolk on your side of the house.” “Yes, but honey, I am good to Jim, poor soul, he knows it,” said Aunt Patsy gravely, and then she paused. Jim was a poor boy, eighteen years old, and the son of Aunt Patsy's dear brother, long since laid under the dark green sod of Indiana. The poor boy, hearing of the wealth of his Aunt Patsy, had come to Chicago and was working on the streets, poorly clad. Aunt Patsy would sometimes give him a few dollars, as you would throw a bone to a dog, requesting him at the same time to always come to the back door, and never be about the house when she had company. Aunt Patsy said emphatically, as she left the Daymon palace, “I'll tell you what it is, Mrs. Daymon, I'm goin' home to study human nature, and if I don't find some avenue to reach old Perkim, I shall take the liberty to insult the first one of his _dratted poor kin_ that sets foot in my house.” After Aunt Patsy left, Roxie thought no more of her letter of inquiry, and company engaged her attention for some days until the subject passed entirely out of her mind. Soon after these events Roxie died with the cholera--leaving an only daughter--and was buried as ignorant of the fate of her sister as the stone that now stands upon her grave.