“Why, I mean folks ought to be careful what they say about—about things. Now you and me hadn't no notion Mr. Bangs was goin' to lose his hat when we was talkin' about it this mornin', had we?”
Miss Phipps was much embarrassed.
“Have a—a—Oh, do have a little potato or cranberry sauce or somethin', Mr. Bangs,” she stammered. “A—a spoonful, that's all. Primmie, be STILL.”
“Yes'm. But you know you and me WAS talkin' about that hat when Mr. Bangs started out walkin'. Don't you know we was, Miss Martha?”
This was the final straw. Martha, looking about in desperation, trying to look anywhere but into her guest's face, caught one transitory glimpse of that face. There was a twinkle in Galusha's eye.
“I never liked that hat myself,” he observed, dryly.
Again their glances met and this time he smiled. Martha gave it up.
“Oh, dear!” she exclaimed, with a laugh. “You know what they say about children and—other folks, Mr. Bangs. Primmie, if you say another word while we're at this table I'll—I don't know what I'll do to you. STOP! You've said plenty and plenty more, as father used to say. Truly, Mr. Bangs, it wasn't as bad as it sounds. I honestly DIDN'T think the hat was becomin', that's all.”
“Neither did I, Miss Phipps. I didn't think so when I bought it.”
“You didn't? Then for mercy sakes why did you buy it?”