"Peleg, you're a sight for tired optics," said Tom, giving the man's hand a squeeze that made him wince. "How's your grandmother?"
"Why, Master Tom, I ain't——"
"And your great-granduncle? Is he over the shingles yet?"
"Why, Master Tom, I ain't got no——"
"And your second cousin by your first wife's sister? Did she get over the heart failure she had when the canary took a fit?"
"Now, see here, Master Tom, don't you go for to joking an old man——"
"Joking, Peleg?" returned Tom, solemnly. "Why, you know I never joke." And he took on an injured look.
"Don't joke, eh? Well, if you ain't the greatest joker Putnam Hall ever see then I'll eat my hat," declared Peleg. "Jump in an' don't ask me about no grandfathers, or wife's sisters, nor nuthing. Ain't you hungry?"
"Hungry? I could eat a brickbat fried in lemon oil."
"Then, unless you hurry, you won't get no supper."