The idea appeared so grotesque to Sam that he gave a slight inclination of his head, a habit he had somehow acquired in the “Desert,” and exclaimed in startled emphasis: “Ea-Ah! How?”
“By addressing me as you would her.”
With a smile broadening his face and a roguish twinkle of the eye, he exclaimed: “Can’t be done, Auntie! You ain’t the real thing. Can’t work up any excitement over a counterfeit.”
“Sam! It grieves me to say that I fear for your success. Her rejection of your suit would mean humiliation for us. Therefore I insist that you remember what I have told you and address Virginia as I shall instruct you.”
Sam was too shrewd to oppose his aunt’s determination—a previous experience having taught him the desirability of quietly agreeing with her notions, so with a smile of acquiescence he answered:
“All right, Auntie! Fire away.”
Drawing herself up in a stately pose, she passed to the end of the room, turned, and again faced him. “Now, Sam, I request you to impress upon your memory every word I utter, so that you may salute your lady-love in a similar manner. Do you comprehend?”
“I think so, Auntie,” and thereupon thrust his hands in his trouser pockets.
“Sam, remove your hands from your pockets. It is neither good form nor in accordance with polite usage, for a gentleman to bury his hands in his trouser pockets, when in the presence of a lady.”
“All right, Auntie!” and he grinned broadly as he removed the offending hands.