"Hullo, Aleck!" cried Tom rushing up and grabbing the colored man by the hand. "How are you—pretty well? I'm first-rate, never was better in my life!" And he gave the hand a hard squeeze.
"Stop, wot yo' up to, Massah Rober!" roared the waiter, leaping off his feet. "Wot yo' got in yo' hand?"
"Why, nothing, Aleck, my boy. Yes, I'm feeling fine. I've gained fifteen pounds, and—"
"Yo' lemme go, sah-yo' is stickin' pins in my hand!" howled Pop. "Oh, deah, now de term's dun begun we'll all be dead wid dat boy's tricks!" he moaned, as Tom ran off, throwing away several tiny tacks as he did so.
"So you've come back, have you?" observed Mrs. Green, as Tom stopped at the kitchen door. "Well, just you mind your P's and Q's, or there will be trouble, I can tell you that, Tom Rover."
"Why, we never had any trouble, Mrs. Green," he said soberly.
"Did we?"
"Oh, of course not! But who stole that can of peaches right after the Christmas holidays, and who locked one of the cows in the back hall and nearly scared the washwoman to death? Oh, dear, you never did anything, never!" And Mrs. Green shook her head warningly.
"Do you mean to say I would take a can of peaches, Mrs. Green?" asked Tom, and then his face fell. "Oh, dear, you always did put me down as the worst boy in the school, when—I—I—do—my—very best," and, almost sobbing, Tom put his face up against his coat sleeve. Mrs. Green was very tender-hearted in spite of her somewhat free tongue, and she was all sympathy immediately.
"There, there, Tom, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings," she said soothingly. "I—I was only fooling. Will you have a piece of hot mince pie? It's just out of the oven."
"I—I don't know!" sobbed Tom. "You treat me so awful meanly!"