“Ahem!” coughed Mr. Sage, discreetly.
“Well, if you will excuse me,” began Mrs. Gooch, withdrawing her gaze from the lady’s boots, “I guess I’ll run upstairs and see my sister-in-law.”
“Ain’t Serepty up there?” asked Mr. Link quickly.
“Yep,” replied Mr. Sikes. “You needn’t worry, Silas,” he added significantly.
“You stay right here, Ida,” ordered Mr. Gooch. “I’m not going to have you insulted by this woman they’re talking so much about. You’d think she was Queen Victoria or somebody like that.”
“Ahem!” coughed Mr. Sage, this time in a suave, conciliatory manner—if it is possible to cough suavely. “It is my practice, no matter what the weather may be, to call at the earliest opportunity upon any stranger who may arrive in our little community. Your nephew is the latest stranger in town, I should say—eh, Mrs. Goops?”
“My—my what?”
“Gooch is my name,” broke in her husband tartly. “G, double o, c, h.”
“I do wish, Herbert dear,” said Mrs. Sage languidly, “you would try to remember Gooch.”
“I beg pardon. A slip of the tongue. I was about to inquire about your dear brother, Mrs. Gooch. How is he?”