“Now, John Quincy, you want to look as smart as you can!”
The next moment the door opened, and a big fat woman and a small thin boy came into the room. She gave her dress a shake, snatched the boy’s hat off, and then, looking at me, she inquired—
“Is the head-writer in?”
“He is, madam,” I replied.
“Be you him?” she asked.
I nodded.
“Oh, dear!” she exclaimed, as she sat down on a chair and fanned herself with her handkerchief; “I like to have never got upstairs.”
I smiled and nodded.
“You see that boy thar?” she inquired after a while.
“Your son, I suppose?” I answered; “nice-looking lad.”