“Not a bit. I’ll go in and order tea.”
Kay disappeared into the house; and Sam, looking at Mr. Braddock, observed with some surprise that his face had turned a vivid red and that his eyes were fastened upon him in a reproachful stare.
“What’s up?” he asked, concerned.
Willoughby Braddock cleared his throat.
“You know, Sam——”
“But I don’t,” said Sam, as he paused.
“——you know, Sam, I’m not a—nobody would call me a—— Dash it, now I’ve forgotten the word!”
“Beauty?” hazarded Sam.
“It’s on the tip of my tongue—Puritan. That’s the word I want. I’m not a Puritan. Not strait-laced, you know. But, really, honestly, Sam, old man—I mean, dash it all!”
Sam stroked his chin thoughtfully.