“Dear, I said! And—and—you’ve got to make up for all the rest—one multiplied by five, you know—that dear.”
She suddenly sobbed.
“Eh?” said John. Then—“Oh!”
He sobbed, too.
“And, as for that limp—I will cure that, or my name is not Betsy.”
And more sobs.
But for all her trying, he limped the more.
So that long afterward she said:
“John—I haven’t done it, and my name’s still Betsy.”
But there was no more sobbing about it.