His manner indicated that he wished to produce the impression
that he had been sitting there, in this somewhat unusual place
and occupation, for a considerable time, but without overhearing
anything that went on in the library so close by.
"Sam," she cried, "what have you DONE?"
"Well--I guess my legs are all right," he said gently. "I got the
arnica on, so probably they won't hurt any m--"
"Stand up!" she said.
"Ma'am?"
"March into the library!"
Sam marched--slow-time. In fact, no funeral march has been
composed in a time so slow as to suit this march of Sam's. One
might have suspected that he was in a state of apprehension.
Mr. Williams entered at one door as his son crossed the threshold
of the other, and this encounter was a piteous sight. After one
glance at his father's face, Sam turned desperately, as if to
flee outright. But Mrs. Williams stood in the doorway behind him.
"You come here!" And the father's voice was as terrible as his
face. "WHAT DID YOU DO TO GEORGIE BASSETT?"
"Nothin'," Sam gulped; "nothin' at all."
"What!"
"We just--we just 'nishiated him.
Pages:
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105