Bobby roused himself. He suddenly remembered Joe Bagley and the kitten.
“What man?” he asked.
“Dr. Spencer.”
“Dr. Spencer!” gasped Bobby. “Why, Dr. Spencer wouldn’t hurt a fly. He’s just bully!”
Margaret stirred restlessly. She turned a grave face on her companion.
“Bobby,” she reproved gently, “I don’t think I’d oughter hear them words if I ain’t ‘lowed to use ’em myself.”
Bobby uptilted his chin.
“I’ve heard your ma say ‘ain’t’ wa’n’t proper,” he observed virtuously. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it, only—well, seein’ as how you’re gettin’ so awful particular——!” For the more telling effect he left the sentence unfinished.
Again Margaret did not seem to hear. Again her eyes had sought the patch of blue showing through the green leaves.
“Dr. Spencer may be nice now, but he ain’t a husband yet,” she said, thoughtfully. “There was Tim Sullivan and Patty’s father and Mike Whalen,” she enumerated aloud. “And they was all—— Bobby, was your father a good husband?” she demanded with a sudden turn that brought her eyes squarely round to his.