"Now, I wasn't aiming to harm anybody, what with with my game laig and
shet up here like I am--"
"Well, my Lord! Can't you play a sensible tune then?"
Jimmie Time hereupon behaved craftily. He lifted his head, showing the
face of a boy who had somehow got to be seventy years old without ever
getting to be more than a boy, and began to whistle softly and
innocently--an air of which hardly anything could be definitely said
except that it was not "The Rosary." It was very flagrantly not "The
Rosary." His craft availed him not.
"Yes, and you, too!" thundered the lady. "You was the worst--you was
singing. Didn't I hear you? How many times I got to tell you? First
thing you know, you little reprobate--"
Jimmie Time cowered again. Visibly he took on unbelievable years.
"Yes, ma'am," he whispered.
"Yes, ma'am," meekly echoed the tottering instrumentalist.
"Yes, ma'am," muttered Buck Devine, "not knowing you was anywheres
near--"
"Makes no difference where I be--you hear me!"
Although her back was toward me I felt her glare. The wretches winced.
She came a dozen steps toward me, then turned swiftly to glare again.
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