"Don't cuss, Jason—an' you a perfessin' member," urged his wife.
"How you goin' to speak of sech a reptile like him without cussin', I wanter know?" grumbled Uncle Jason.
"Well, he's got his," said Marty briskly. "He had all that money hid away in banks, and was just goin' to lay low till things blew over and then he'd set up housekeepin' in that red vest of his somewhere else, an' live easy. But that vest o' his has sort o' faded, ain't it?"
"Hopewell Drugg's got in some real pretty knitted ones," murmured Aunt 'Mira, picking up a dropped stitch.
"Real pretty what?" demanded her husband sharply.
"Vests. D'ye want one for your Christmas, Jason?"
"Oh, cricky!" ejaculated Marty. "I seen 'em hanging there in his window when I went over this afternoon before supper. Dad, they are fully as gay as Tom Hotchkiss' was."
"I bet you was over there to see Lottie Drugg," said his mother quickly.
"What if I was?" demanded the bold, yet blushing Marty. "I dunno nobody in Polktown I was gladder to see than Lottie, 'nless 'twas you, Ma."