He presented a blank surface.
"No'm," he said meekly.
"Everything was just a little pleasanter because you'd been
friendly, wasn't it?"
"Yes'm."
"Has Georgie gone home?"
"Yes'm."
"I hear you made enough noise in the cellar--Did Georgie have a
good time?"
"Ma'am?"
"Did Georgie Bassett have a good time?"
"Well"--Sam now had the air of a person trying to remember
details with absolute accuracy--"well, he didn't say he did, and
he didn't say he didn't."
"Didn't he thank the boys?"
"No'm."
"Didn't he even thank you?"
"No'm."
"Why, that's queer," she said. "He's always so polite. He SEEMED
to be having a good time, didn't he, Sam?"
"Ma'am?"
"Didn't Georgie seem to be enjoying himself?"
This question, apparently so simple, was not answered with
promptness. Sam looked at his mother in a puzzled way, and then
he found it necessary to rub each of his shins in turn with the
palm of his right hand.
"I stumbled," he said apologetically. "I stumbled on the cellar
steps."
"Did you hurt yourself?" she asked quickly.
"No'm; but I guess maybe I better rub some arnica--"
"I'll get it," she said.
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