“If it’s for you, I reckon you can reckon on it,” he said.
“I donno who it’s for,” she told him. “But will you be just as nice to my uncle as you are to me?”
He stared at her.
“Be kind of polite to him,” she said. “Don’t pull your revolver on him,” she explained.
“I hardly ever pull my revolver,” he defended himself indignantly.
“Well, don’t shake him or—or lift him up by the collar for anything,” she suggested.
“Oh,” he comprehended. “You want me to trot out my Chicago manners—is that it? He laughed. “All right,” he said. “I’m on.”
“Uncle Hiram is good,” she cried earnestly. “He come to see us, once—he’s good! You treat him right—please.”
The Inger sunk his chin on his chest and walked, mulling this. So she hadn’t liked his way with folks! He felt vaguely uneasy, and as if he had stumbled on some unsuspected standard of hers.