"Well, I didn't, that's all," says Mortimer; "so what's the use?"
"I shall worry about you all the time," insists Mother. "And you are so careless about writing! How am I to know that you are not ill, or in trouble? Now promise me, if you should break down under the strain, that you will cable me at once."
"Oh, sure!" says Mortimer. "But time's up, Mother. I must be getting back. Good-by."
I had to turn my shoulder on the final break-away, and I thought the whole push had cleared out, when I hears a rustle at the gate, and here's Mother once more, with her eyes fixed investigatin' on me.
"Boy," says she, "are you employed here regularly?"
"I'm one of the fixtures, Ma'am," says I.
"Very well," says she. "I am glad to hear it. And you have rather an intelligent appearance."
"Mostly bluff, though," says I. "You mustn't bank too much on looks."
"Ah, but I can tell!" says she, noddin' her head and squintin' shrewd. "You have a kind face too."
"Ye-e-es?" says I. "But what's this cue for?"