NO APOLOGY
My uncle knocked on my door at the hotel and, without waiting to be bidden, thrust in his great, red, bristling, monstrously scarred head. ’Twas an intrusion most diffident and fearful: he was like a mischievous boy come for chastisement.
“You here, Dannie?” he gently inquired.
“Come in, sir,” says I.
’Twas awkwardly––with a bashful grin and halting, doubtful step––that he stumped in.
“Comfortable?” he asked, looking about. “No complaint t’ make ag’in this here hotel?”
I had no complaint.
“Not troubled, is you?”
I was not troubled.
“Isn’t bothered, is you?” he pursued, with an inviting wink. “Not bothered about nothin’, lad, is you?”