"Yes, sir?"

Uncle Frank merely gestured, significantly.

Little Jim subsided, frowning, and making a face at Dorothy, who was
smiling at him. It seemed mighty queer that, when _he_ "horned in," his
Aunt Jane or his uncle always said "Jimmy!" in that particular tone. But
when any of the grown-ups interrupted, no one said a word. However,
Bartley was not blind to Little Jim's attitude of forced silence, and
presently Bartley mentioned the subject of guns, much to Little Jim's
joy. Little Jim worked round to the subject of twenty-two rifles,
intimating that his own single-shot rifle was about worn out.

Uncle Frank heard and promptly changed the subject. Little Jim was
disgusted. A boy just wouldn't talk when other folks were talking, and
he couldn't talk when they were not. What was the use of living, anyhow,
if you had to go around without talking at all, except when somebody
asked you if you had forgotten to close the lane gate and had let the
stock get into the alfalfa--and you had to say that you had?

However, Little Jim had his revenge. When Aunt Jane proffered apple pie,
later in the evening, Jimmy prefixed his demand for a second piece with
the statement that he knew there was another uncut pie in the kitchen,
because Aunt Jane had said maybe his dad would eat half a one, and then
ask for more.

This gentle insinuation brought forth a sharp reprimand from Uncle
Frank. But Jimmy had looked before he leaped.