It was easy to find Mr. Macmillan. Everybody seemed to know him. His office was up over the bank. When we got there he was in, but at first he didn’t recognize us.
“D-don’t you remember the boys you m-met while you was f-f-fishin’ a week ago?”
“Of course,” says he. “Of course I do. Sit right down and tell me what I can do for you.”
“This is Mister Hieronymous Alphabet Bell,” says Mark. “He’s B-Binney Jenks’s uncle.”
“Glad to know you, Mr. Bell,” says Mr. Macmillan. “I hope you’re well.”
Uncle answered him in poetry:
“I got my health; I got my breath,
But I’m clost to bein’ s’prised to death.”
Mr. Macmillan’s face twitched like he wanted to laugh, but he didn’t. He was as polite as could be.
“What’s the cause of the surprise, Mr. Bell?”