“Ain’t he handsome!” Johnny said proudly; he was proud of anything connected with Annie.
“He’s real rich, Annie, ain’t he? Ridin’ in hacks?” Mrs. Pugsley demanded.
“He’s a blamed dude; that’s what he is,” Dave said fiercely.
“I thought he was your feller, Annie,” Mrs. Pugsley declared, panting and fanning herself.
“Well, now, he’s none too good to be,” Johnny announced, chuckling.
“Father, dear, wouldn’t it be nicer to sit out on the steps, where it’s cooler? I’ll put the tea things away, and then I’ll come, too. Please—go!” she ended. Johnny looked at her in surprise, sensitive to every change in her voice.
“Why, now—Annie?” he faltered.
“I’ll be through with the dishes in a few minutes, father, dear,” she said; and so Johnny led the way to the front door and placed a chair on the hard, black earth at the foot of the steps for Mrs. Pugsley, and told Dave to take off his coat again.
“It’s that hot,” Johnny said, “there’s no good wearin’ coats.”
“Now that dude’s gone, I suppose there’s no harm being comfortable,” Dave agreed angrily.