“Well,” said the aunt, “if you can’t hear, you’d better take my ear-trumpet and I’ll say it over again.”
“What kind of cotton?” Arethusa yelled.
“Not stockin’s!” said Aunt Mary; “Cotton! Cotton! C-O-T-T-O-N! It beats the Dutch how deaf everyone is gettin’, an’ if I had your ears in particular, Arethusa, I’d certainly hire a carpenter to get at ’em with a bit-stalk. Jus’s if you didn’t know as well as I do how many stockin’s I’ve got already! I should think you’d quit bein’ so heedless, an’ use your commonsense, anyhow. I’ve found commonsense a very handy thing in talkin’ always. Always.”
Arethusa launched herself full tilt into the ear-trumpet.
“What—kind—of—cotton?” she asked in that key of voice which makes the crowd pause in a panic.
Aunt Mary looked disgusted.
“The Boston kind,” she said, nipping her lips.
Arethusa took a double hitch on her larynx, and tried again.
“Do you mean thread?”
Aunt Mary’s disgust deepened visibly.