He answered with a look of innocence:
“Why, I don’t know ma’am.”
“Go out and wash them hands!”
Hands, like murder, will out. Concealment was no longer possible, since it was a well-known fact that Lannigan had hands, so he held them in front of him and regarded them in well-feigned surprise.
“I declare I never noticed!”
It was difficult to imagine how such hands could have escaped observation, even by their owner, as they looked as though he had used them for scoops to remove soot from a choked chimney. Also the demarcation lines of various high tides were plainly visible on his wrists and well up his arms. He arose with a wistful look at the platter of ham which had started on its first and perhaps only lap around the table.
Uncle Bill glanced up and commented affably:
“You got ran out, I see. I thought she’d flag them hands when I saw you goin’ in with ’em.”
Lannigan grunted as he splashed at the wash basin in the corner.