“I don’t know,” she said, perturbed. “Does it show?”
“Huh?” grunted Tim. “Does what show?”
“What you said,” said Carolyn May accusingly. “I don’t believe it does.”
“Hey!” chuckled the hack driver suddenly. “I meant, do you ’low Mrs. Kennedy knows you’re playing in her front yard?”
“Aunty Rose? Why, of course!” Carolyn May declared. “Don’t you know I live here?”
“Live here? Get out!” exclaimed the surprised hackman.
“Yes, sir. And Prince, too. With my Uncle Joe and Aunty Rose.”
“Pitcher of George Washington!” ejaculated Tim. “You don’t mean Joe Stagg’s taken a young-’un to board?”
“He’s my guardian,” said the little girl primly.
“‘Guardian’?” repeated the hackman, puzzled. “You don’t mean you’re one o’ them fresh-airs, be ye?”