“Had another fellow with me,” replied the boy.
“Oh!”—arresting a doubled piece of bread and butter on its way from the plate—“and didn’t you want him to see me?”
“Don’t be silly, father!” interposed the mother. “Henry, my child, ask if you want a second piece.”
“It wasn’t exactly that,” said the boy.
“Then, perhaps, you’ll kindly tell me what was the reason. Come on, now; out with it! I want an answer.”
“Thought perhaps you might kiss me, father. And Watherston standing by.”
“Very natural on the boy’s part,” declared the mother. “You forget that Henry’s growing up. He doesn’t mind it in private, but there comes a time when a boy doesn’t want all this fuss in public.”
“If that was the only reason—” said the father.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full!” ordered his wife. “You never see Henry do it. And one arm off the table, if you please.” Her husband obeyed, taking up an attitude of greater precision and obvious discomfort. “That sounds like Gleeson & Co. going out; I shall have to see about my pail and flannel, and get up there and do their floor.”
“I thought—” began the boy sharply.