came up and whispered, patting Mimi’s arm quickly. “I told Horace he oughtn’t expect me to entertain this Chinaman—Chinks always give me the creeps—but he would have me do it. Said it’d mean money to him—it’s about some big deal he’s trying to put over. I did the best I could—even went down to an employment agency on Madison Avenue and hired special Japanese waiters to serve the dinner—wanted to make him feel right at home. But I’ve had all sorts of trouble today trying to keep Maggie from hitting one of the Japs with a skillet. …”
Mimi smiled sympathetically at the fat, nervous old woman. She smiled briefly and pityingly when Mrs. Crosby had ambled off to greet some incoming guests. Japanese waiters to make a Chinese feel at home, she amusedly thought. Poor old dear, she does mean well. The phrase brought back to her mind the washerwoman they had had years ago in Atlanta, whose most damning verdict ran: “He means well but he do so po’.” That was Mrs. Crosby, the Holy Behemoth, all over.