“Tom!”
No answer.
“Tom!”
No answer.
“What’s gone with that boy, I wonder? You
Tom!”
No answer.
The old lady pulled her spectacles down and
looked over them about the room, then she
put them up and looked out under them.
She seldom or never looked through them
for so small thing as a boy; they were her
state pair, the pride of her heart, and were
built for “style”, not service-she could have
seen through a pair of stove-lids just as well.
She looked perplexed for a moment, and
then said, not fiercely, but still loud enough
for the furniture to hear:
“Well, I lay if I get hold of you I’ll-“
She did not finish, for by this time she was
bending down and punching under the bed
with the broom, and so she needed breath to
punctuate the punches with.
She resurrected but the cat.
“I never did see the beat of that boy!”
