"You impudent scoundrel, how dare you speak to me like this?" Cleo hissed.
A triumphant chuckle was his answer. He flicked a piece of imaginary dust from the rim of his hat, his eyes rolled to the ceiling and he slowly said with a smile:
"Well, yer see, m'am, circumstances alters cases an' dat always makes de altercations! I git holt er a little secret o' yourn dat gimme courage——"
"A secret of mine?" Cleo interrupted with the first flash of surprise.
"Yassam!" was the unctuous answer, as Andy looked over his shoulder and bent to survey the hall below for any one who might possibly be passing.
"Yassam," he went on smoothly, "down ter Norfork las' week, m'am——"
"Wait a minute!" Cleo interrupted. "Some one might be below. Come to my room."
"Yassam, ob course, I wuz gwine ter say dat in de fust place, but ye didn't gimme time"—he bowed—"cose, m'am, de pleasure's all mine, as de sayin' is."
He placed his silk hat jauntily on his head as they reached the door, and gallantly took hold of Cleo's arm to assist her down the steps.
She stopped abruptly: