“Silence!” hissed Ford, with a menacing look. “You must not contradict me.”
“I s'pose I ought to invite you to stay here,” said Mrs. Barton, awkwardly; “but he's so shif'less, and such a poor provider, that I ain't got anything in the house fit for dinner.”
“Thank you,” returned Ford, with an inward shudder. “I shall dine at the hotel; but I have a little business matter to speak of, Mrs. Barton, and I would wish to speak in private. I will come into the house, with your permission, and we will leave the two boys together.”
“Come right in,” said Mrs. Barton, whose curiosity was aroused. “Here, you Abner, just take care of the little boy.”
Abner proceeded to do this, first thinking it necessary to ask a few questions.
“Where do you live when you're at home, Sam?” he asked.
“In New York; but my name isn't Sam,” replied Herbert.
“What is it, then?”
“Herbert.”
“What makes him call you Sam, then?” asked Abner, with a jerk of the finger toward the house.