Master Anthony Thom—“Yes; goloshes and all.”
Mrs. Margerum—“Ah, goloshes are capital things. They keep the feet, warm, and prevent your footsteps from being heard. And has my Anthony Thom got the letter I wrote to him at the Sun in the Sands?”
Master Anthony Thom—“No, never heard nothin’ of it.”
Mrs. Margerum—“No! Why what can ha’ got it?”
Master Anthony Thom—“Don’t know.—Makes no odds.—I got the things all the same.”
Mrs. Margerum—“O, but my own dear Anthony Thom, but it does. Mr. Gerge Gallon says it’s very foolish for people to write anything if they can ‘elp it—they should always send messages by word of mouth. Mr. Gallon is a man of great intellect, and I’m sure what he says is right, and I wish I had it back.”
Master Anthony Thom—“O, it’ll cast up some day, I’ll be bound.—It’s of no use to nobody else.”
Mrs. Margerum—“I hope so, my dear. But it is not pleasant to think other folks may read what was only meant for my own Anthony Thom. However, it’s no use crying over spilt milk, and we must manish better another time. So now look out, my beloved, and I’ll lower what I have.”
So saying, a grating of cord against the window-sill announced a descent, and Master Anthony Thom, grasping the load, presently cried, “All right!”
Mrs. Margerum,—“It’s not too heavy for you, is it, dear?” Master Anthony Thom (hugging the package)—“O, no; I can manish it. When shall I come again, then, mother?” asked he, preparing to be off.