“Patterson, where were you?”
“Eating my tea.”
“You’re always ‘eating your tea.’ I wonder how you manage the feat. It’s one beyond my wit.”
“Yes, ma’am. I dare say it is.”
“Patterson, you are impertinent.”
“Not meanin’ it, ma’am, I’m sure.”
“No. You never do mean anything. That’s the worst of you. If I hadn’t grown so accustomed to you—You know what would happen, I reckon.”
“Yes, ma’am. You’ve often told me,” answered the maid, still undisturbed.
“Well, I generally do mean something. Just now, it’s something which, probably, will astonish even you—if that is possible.”
“Yes, ma’am. I think I could be astonished if I tried.”