"Is he there?",
That dinner was going like an airship on a high wind, when something happened to tangle its tail feathers, and I can hardly write it for trembling yet. It was a simple little telegram, but it might have been nitro-glycerine on a tear for the way it acted. It was for me, but the nephew handed it to Tom, and he opened it and, looking at me, he solemnly read it out loud. It said—,
"Wait a minute, please, Molly," said the doctor in a voice he always uses when he's punishing Billy and me. "Bill came to apologise to you for being rude to your—your guest. He told me all about it, and I think he's sorry. Tell Mrs. Carter you are sorry, son." When that man speaks to me as if I were just any old body else, I hate him so it is a wonder I don't show it more than I do. But there was nothing to say, and I looked at Billy, and Billy looked at me..
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