“Sure, the ould divil himself cudn’t make me tell it to yees aunt.” As he was leaving, Smith said in a whisper, “We’ll wait for yees.”
“I’ll be along soon,” replied Sam, and he muttered thoughtfully, “May be something in it.”
CHAPTER XI.
Suddenly Sam became all attention, for he heard the voice of Mrs. Harris, who then reappeared with an open book in her hand.
“The work is entitled ‘Chesterfieldian Deportment,’ by Garrilus Gibbs, Ph.D. D. D., Now, Sam, I desire your strict attention to this paragraph,” and she read from the book.
“‘Nothing so militates against the first impression of a gentleman as ingratitude for a special service rendered; for example’”—and she looked at Sam very significantly, as she lowered the book, “His Grace was so solicitous about your hurt that, regardless of convenience and also of prior appointments, he hastened to make a personal call, rather than use the ’phone.”
“Particularly so,” Sam added, provoked to grin, “when a right pretty and wealthy maid is in the corral. Eh, aunty?”
“That is my lord’s prerogative, but I shall permit of no digression,” she severely remarked. “To continue—‘nothing to mind so convincingly proclaims the ignorance of an ill-bred commoner than vulgar liberty in the presence of a peer of England’s realm!’ You follow me?”
“I guess I do, aunty,” Sam replied, with his characteristic side movement of the head, and then, as he stood in an expectant attitude, carelessly fingered, with both hands, his watch chain.
“Sam, stop fidgeting with your watch chain. It is characteristic of a nervous gawk. The very reverse of good form and quite unbecoming a well-bred, polite gentleman.”