“Come in,” cried the maid.
It was Jack with a regular fagot of American Beauties.
“Well, Aunt Mary,” he cried with his customary hearty greeting. “How!”
“How what?” asked Aunt Mary, whose knowledge of Sioux social customs had been limited by the border line of New England.
Jack laughed. “How are you?” he asked in correction of his imperfect phrasing. And then he handed over the rose wood.
“I’m pretty well,” said his aunt; “but, my goodness you mustn’t bring me so many presents—you—”
Jack stopped her words with a kiss. “Now, Aunt Mary, don’t you scold, because you’re my company and I won’t have it. This is my treat, and just don’t you fret. What do you say to your roses?”
Aunt Mary looked a bit uneasy.
“They’re pretty big,” she hesitated.
“That’s the fashion,” said Jack; “the longer you can buy ’em the better the girls like it. I tried to get you some eight feet long but they only had two of that number and I wanted the whole bunch to match—”