The maid smiled an undisturbed smile.
“Bucket? What bucket, eh? What bucket are ye talkin' aboot?” she enquired.
“Say, you're smart, ain't yeh! But I got a young feller that's broke his leg and—”
“His leg?” said the maid indifferently. “Well, he's got another?”
“Yes, you bet he has, but one leg ain't much good without the other. How would you like to hop around on one leg? And he's hurt inside, too, his lights, I guess, and other things.” Sam's anatomical knowledge was somewhat vague. “And besides, his girl's takin' on awful.”
“Oh, is she indeed?” replied the maid, this item apparently being to her of the very slightest importance.
“Say, if you only saw her,” said Sam.
“Pretty, I suppose,” said the maid with a touch of scorn.
“Pretty? No, ugly as a hedge fence. But say, I wish she was here right now. She'd bring you to your—to time, you bet.”
“Would she, now? I'd sort her.” And the little maid's black eyes snapped.