He tried to paint them out, but every time he tried it the man seemed to come back with a sheriff, and savagely warned him to let it stay till the year was up.

In some mysterious way the agent seemed to know every time he brought out the paint-pot, and he was no longer the pleasant-voiced individual who drove the calico ponies.
As he stepped out into the yard next morning, that abominable, sickening, scrawling advertisement was the first thing that claimed his glance--it blotted out the beauty of the morning.
Mrs.Ripley came to the window, buttoning her dress at the throat, a whisp of her hair sticking assertively from the little knob at the back of her head.
"Lovely, ain't it! An' _I_'ve got to see it all day long.

I can't look out the winder but that thing's right in my face." It seemed to make her savage.

She hadn't been in such a temper since her visit to New York.

"I hope you feel satisfied with it." Ripley walked off to the barn.