“What!”
“He did, too,” George informed her, nodding, his large eyes as honest as they were earnest. “She said she was goin’ to see my grampaw and she left me at home, but my papa catched her at the Pitcher Show with Mr. Grumbaugh.”
“Who?”
“Mr. Grumbaugh,” George repeated, with the air of explaining everything. “So my papa made her come home and he hit her, and she hit him, too!”
“Before you!” Bella exclaimed, horrified.
“Sure!” George said, and looked upon her with some superiority. “They do it all before me. Last week they had a big fight——”
He would have continued willingly, but at this point he was interrupted. Across the street a door opened, and out of it came Mrs. Sullender, leading a five-year-old girl by the hand. She called loudly, though in a carefully sweet and musical tone:
“George? Jaw—aurge? Oh, Jaw-aur-gie?”
“Yes’m?” he shouted.
Mrs. Sullender nodded smilingly to Bella, and called across: “Georgie, you dear little naughty thing! Didn’t I tell you half an hour ago to come indoors and play with poor dear little Natalie? She’s been waiting and waiting so patiently!”