“A lady! Well, I guess so,” replied Mrs. Tingsby, indignantly, “as much as you be. She were a school-teacher—out of New York. I know her maiden name. Her husband’s name weren’t nothin’ remarkable. I don’t mind sayin’ it. It were Smith.”
“Ask her what the husband’s character was,” said the Judge.
“H-h-husband,” continued Titus, “was he good?”
“He were an imp,” said Mrs. Tingsby, shortly.
“An imp,” murmured the Judge. “Go on, Titus, extract some more information. You can guess pretty well what I want to know.”
“W-w-what do you mean by an imp?” stuttered the boy, speaking very slowly, and shaping his words well with his mouth.
“Well, young sir,” said Mrs. Tingsby, ironically, “when you grows up and marries a wife, and goes off an’ leaves her in a poor boardin’ place like this, an’ only comes home once in a while, an’ takes her an’ the child to a swell restaurant for lunch, an’ then goes off an’ leaves her to bread and molasses again, I’ll say you are an imp.”
“I-I-I don’t care much for this woman,” said the abashed Titus under his breath to his grandfather.
“Never mind, boy—she means well. Ask some more questions. What was the husband’s business?”
Titus grinned in an embarrassed way. “W-w-what was the imp’s business?” he inquired.