“Well, here comes Sam, and—and—yes, it’s Virginia Thorpe!” exclaimed Mr. Harris exultantly turning to Mrs. Harris.
“Did I not say it was possible he had met with a friend? Look how proud and joyous he seems walking by her side. No kink in his knee now. Sound as a bell.”
“James, I beg again to correct you. Sam is not lame. His malady has something to do with the charming lady by his side,” remarked Mrs. Harris.
“Oh, I see. She has a pull on him, eh?”
“Yes, a most strenuous one, I may add, as you mere merchants speak of it.”
When Sam entered the room, he was greeted by Mr. and Mrs. Harris with much fervor.
Sam had removed his hat in the vestibule and unconsciously displayed the evidence of his night’s encounter with the automobile. The sight of the plastered wound on his head caused Mrs. Harris to exclaim:
“Oh, my boy, my boy!” and she put her motherly arms about his neck.
“All right, aunty!” said Sam, as he lightly kissed her on the forehead. “Never felt better. Just a scratch. Might have been worse. Eh? I guess so!” and he held her at arms’ length and grinned at her affectionately.
“Where is Virginia? I am sure we saw her with you, Sam!” questioned Mr. Harris.