“I come for my shirt,” he declared.
“Your shirt?”
“Yes, my other shirt. I left it in the kitchen this mornin', and that—that helper of mine says you was in the chair along with it.”
“Humph! Did he have the impudence to say I took it?”
“No—o. No, course he didn't. But it's gone and—and—”
“What would I want of your shirt? Didn't think I was cal'latin' to wear it, did you?”
“No, but—”
“I should hope not. I ain't a Doctor Mary Walker, or whatever her name is.”
“But you did take it, just the same. I'm sartin you did. You must have.”
The lady's mouth relaxed, and there was a twinkle in her eye.