"I wonder why it makes you so mad to have me call him Weedie."
She answered rather hotly, for her.
"You wouldn't do it, any of you, if you weren't disparaging him."
"Oh, we might. Out of affection. Weedie! good old Weedie! can't you hear us saying that?"
"No, I can't. You wouldn't say it that way. Don't chaff me, Jeff. What do they say now—'jolly' me? Don't do that."
Again Jeffrey gave her a light touch of affectionate intimacy.
"What is it?" said he. "What do you want me to do?"
"I want you to let Weedon Moore talk to people who are more ignorant than the rest of us, and tell them things they ought to know. About the country, about everything."
"You don't want me to spoil Weedie's game."
"It isn't a game, Jeff. That young man is giving up his time, and with the purest motives, to fitting our foreign population for the duties of citizenship. He doesn't disturb the public peace. He takes the men away after their day's work—"