"Lost their way goin' to the matinée, eh?" says I.
Jarvis, he gets pink clear down to his collarbone. "I beg pardon, professor," says he. "It's only mother and the girls. I'll send them off."
"That's right; shoo 'em," says I.
But mother wouldn't shoo any more'n a trolley-car. "Now, don't be silly about it, Jarvis, dear," says she. "You know how Lady Evelyn dotes on athletics, and how your sister and I do, too. So we're just going to stay and watch you."
"Oh, come, mother," says Jarvis; "it isn't just the thing, you know."
"Ask Lady Evelyn," says mother. "Why, she's one of the patronesses of the Oldwich Cricket Club, and pours tea for the young men at their games. Now, go ahead, Jarvis; there's a dear."
He looks at me for a tip, and that gives him a hunch. "But the professor—" says he.
"Oh, Professor McCabe doesn't mind us a bit; do you now, professor?" says sister, buttin' in, real coy and giddy.
"I can stand it if you can," says I, and she tips me a goo-goo smile that was all to the candied violets.