“No, sir, for better or for worse,” returned Betsy doggedly.
“Get out. They’re dead, Mr. and Mrs. Bruce, both dead; and the widder Bruce nothin’ at all to you.”
“Stepmother to Mr. Irving,” declared Betsy.
“Well, he’s used to it by this time. Had twelve years of it. Holy mackerel, that kid twenty-four! I can’t realize it. His mother—”
“No, no,” said Betsy quickly.
“Well, she anyway, Mrs. Bruce, went over to Europe to meet him last year, didn’t she, when she took you?”
“Of course she did. He went abroad when he left college, and do you suppose she could stand it not to be in part of his trip and tell him what to do?”
“There now! It’s plain how you feel toward that member o’ the family.”
“But I told you, didn’t I? Can’t you understand English? I told you ‘for better or for worse.’”
“Go ’long, Betsy, go ’long! That husky football hero don’t need you to fight his battles. If she presses him too hard, he’ll get married himself. I guess he’s got a pretty solid place in the bank. When did you get back?”