"De Lord save us!" he gasped. He was trying desperately in his new suit to play the gentleman under difficulties.
Minerva was in ecstasy over his gallantry:
"Yer sho wuz terrified less I git hurt, Mr. Andy," she laughed. "I thought dat bar had me sho."
Andy mopped his brow again and glanced longingly at the door:
"Yassam, I sho wuz terrified—I'm sorry m'am, you'll hatter 'scuse me. Mister Tom's out dar waitin' fer me, an' I hatter go——"
Minerva smilingly but firmly pulled him down on the seat beside her:
"Set right down, Mr. Andy, an' make yoself at home. We got er whole half hour yet 'fore de odder folks come down stairs. Man, don't be so 'barrassed! I knows 'zactly how yer feels. I understand what's de matter wid yer"—she paused, glanced at him out of the corners of her eye, touched him slyly with her elbow, and whispered:
"Why don't yer say what's on yer mind?"
Andy cleared his throat and began to stammer. He had the habit of stammering under excitement, and Tom's plan of escape had just popped into his benumbed brain. He saw the way out:
"Y-y-yas'm—cose, m'am. I got sumfin ter tell ye, Miss M-m-Minerva."