Jack shuddered.
"But that little girl there," pointing toward the next room, where the talking seemed to be going on busily, "insisted that I was buried in the smash-up, so they tell me, and she made them come and look for me. None too soon, I take it, by all accounts." The old gentleman placidly tore off two or three grapes from the bunch in the basketful, put at his elbow, and ate them leisurely.
"Phronsie is a good child," said Jack Loughead, with feeling, "and an observing one, too."
"Phronsie? Who's talking of Phronsie?" cried his uncle, pushing back the fruit-basket. "It was the other one—Polly; she wouldn't let them give over till they pulled me out. So the two young men tell me; very well-meaning chaps, too, they are, Jack."
"You said it was a little girl," Jack managed to remark.
"Well, and so she is," said old Mr. Loughead obstinately, "and a nice little thing, too, I should say."
"Miss Pepper is twenty years old," said his nephew suddenly. Then he was sorry he had spoken.
"Nonsense! not a day over fifteen," contradicted the old gentleman flatly. "And I must say, Jack, you've been pretty expert, considering the time spent in this house, in taking the census."
"Oh! I knew her before," said Jack, angry to find himself stammering over what ought to be a simple account enough.
"Hem—hem!" exclaimed the old gentleman, bestowing a keen scrutiny on his nephew. "Well, never mind," he said at last; "now, let's to business."