"You mustn't think anything of his stuffin' hisself like this, ma'am,—I mean, aunt Dorcas," Joe said, apologetically. "Plums always was the biggest eater in New York, an' I guess he always will be."
"What did you call him?" aunt Dorcas asked.
"Plums was what I said. That ain't exactly his name, but it comes mighty near to it. George H. Plummer is what he calls hisself when he wants to be swell."
"I think 'George' sounds much better than 'Plums,'" aunt Dorcas said, thoughtfully.
"Perhaps it does; but it don't fit him half so well."
Meanwhile, the subject of this conversation was industriously engaged devouring the cookies, and one would have said that he had no interest in anything else.
Aunt Dorcas stood looking questioningly at Joe, and, thinking he understood that which was in her mind, he said:
"My name is Joe Potter. I used to keep a fruit-stand down on West Street, in New York, till I busted up, an' then I found the princess, but—"
Joe checked himself in time to preserve his secret. An instant later he wished he had explained to aunt Dorcas why he was there, because of the sympathy he read in her face.
The little woman waited a few seconds for him to continue, but, since he remained silent, she asked, with mild curiosity: