Abruptly his mother's drudgery ceased. She stared. His father rose stiffly.
"You've got yourself in trouble," he said.
George had not fancied the revolution had unfurled banners so easily discernible. He became self-conscious. His parents' apprehension made matters more difficult for him. They, at least, were too old to revolt.
"I suppose I have," he acknowledged shortly.
His father used the tone of one announcing an unspeakable catastrophe.
"You mean you've had trouble with Miss Sylvia."
"George!" his mother cried, aghast. "You've never been impertinent with Miss Sylvia!"
"She thinks I have," George said, "so it amounts to the same thing."
His father's face twitched.
"And you know Old Planter can put us out of here without a minute's notice, and where do you think we'd go? How do you think we'd get bread and butter? You talk up, young man. You tell us what happened."