“I’m nearly eight.” Cecil always preferred this form to the more direct declaration that he was seven years old.
“And do you know your catechism?”
“Some of it.”
“Very good. I shall examine you one of these days.”
Cecil looked rather alarmed. Miss Wade had taught him the meaning of “examination.”
“No, not now. We are going to have supper now.”
“Do you still have supper in the old basement, Uncle A.?”
“No, Rose,” said Uncle Alfred with dignity. “My servant inhabits the basement, and meals are served to me and my assistants in the dining-room.”
“Assistants?”
“I have two assistants—Artie Millar, who has served me very well indeed, and is now my salesman, and a young lad, who does the work that Artie used to do when he first came here.”