"He knows on which side his bread is buttered," Uncle Bobo's Susan said, as she had watched Miss Pinckney walking up the row with her tall, ungainly suitor.
For Uncle Bobo was right. Mr. Skinner had every intention of coming to the point; though, I need not say, it was not his custom to go straight to the point.
Mr. Skinner always preferred a circuitous route.
When they were seated at supper Mr. Skinner said—
"You have had no tidings of your runaway, I presume, Mrs. Harrison?"
This question was asked as Mr. Skinner looked at Jack's mother with that oblique glance Jack had boldly called a "squint."
Patience shook her head. She could not bring herself to talk of her boy to Mr. Skinner.
"Ah," he said, "what a home he has left, and what a friend! When I think of Miss Pinckney's generosity and nobility of temper, I grieve that they were expended on so unworthy an object."
The colour rose to Mrs. Harrison's cheeks.
"You will be so kind, Mr. Skinner," she said, "not to talk about my boy. It is not a matter I care to speak of to any one."