"No, I don't want a paper, boy!" he exclaimed.
With a wave of his gold-headed cane in my direction, he would have passed on his way, but at his first step, happily for me, his toe struck against a loosened brick, and the pain of the shock caused him to bend over and begin rubbing his gouty foot, with an exclamation that sounded suspiciously like an oath. Where was the roguish humour now in the small watery grey eyes? The gout, not "the sex," had him ignominiously by the heel.
"If you please, General, do you remember me?" I enquired timidly.
Still clasping his foot, he turned a crimson glare upon me. "Damnation!—I mean Good Lord, have mercy on my toe, why should I remember you?"
"It was on Church Hill almost four years ago, you promised," I suggested as a gentle spur to his memory.
"And you expect me to remember what I promised four years ago?" he rejoined with a sly twinkle. "Why, bless my soul, you're worse than a woman."
"You asked me, sir, if I wanted to grow up and be President," I returned, not without resentment.
Releasing his ankle abruptly, he stood up and slapped his thigh.
"Great Jehosaphat! If you ain't the little chap who was content to be nothing less than God Almighty!" he exclaimed. "I've told that story a hundred times if I've told it once."
"Then perhaps you'll help me a little, sir," I suggested.