"Remember, John," she warned him finally, "shout—no soup! No shout—soup!"
"I understand, Miss Barbara," he answered, solemnly.
"You see, sir," he said, apologetically, turning to Norman, "I get along all right till she begins ter speak, and when I hears her soft, sweet voice it seems ter run all down my back in little ticklin' waves clean down ter my toes, an' I holler 'Glory' before I can stop it!"
Norman laughed.
"I understand, old man."
"You feel that way yerself, don't ye, now, when she looks down into yer soul with them big, soft eyes o' hern, an' her voice comes a-stealin' inter yer heart like the music of the angels——"
Barbara's face lighted, and a slight blush suffused her cheeks as she caught the look of admiring assent in Norman's expression.
"That will do, John," she said, firmly. "Mr. Wolf was very angry with you yesterday."
"I'll remember, Miss Barbara," he repeated. "And God bless your dear heart fer comin' by ter tell me."
"I suppose he has no people living who are interested in him?" Norman asked, as they turned toward the Socialist hall.