“No,” snorted Tommy, in high dudgeon.
“You won’t break bread with the likes of me?”
“I’m going to the play, and to supper afterwards.”
“With whom?”
“Eunice Beauchamp.”
“Dear me, what a pretty name!” said George. “Short for ‘Betsy Jones,’ I suppose?”
“Go to the devil,” said Tommy. “You ain’t going to accuse her of prigging, are you?”
“She kidnaps little boys,” said George, who felt himself entitled to some revenge, “and keeps them till they’re nearly grown up.”
“I don’t believe you ever saw her in your life.”