of pleasant eyes, and calm, comf'table ways. But there was so much of
'em! Honest, when they both leans toward him at once I held my breath,
expectin' to see him squeezed out like a piece of lead pipe run through
a rollin' machine.

Nothin' tragic like that happens, though. They don't even crowd him
into the soup. But it's an odd sort of a meal, with J. Meredith and
the Hibbs sisters doin' a draggy three-handed dialogue, while me and
Aunty holds down the side lines. And nothin' that's said or done gets
away from them narrow-set eyes, believe me!

Looked like something wa'n't goin' just like she'd planned; for the
glances she shoots across the table get sharper and sourer, and
finally, when the roast is brought in, she whispers to the butler, and
the next thing J. Meredith knows, as he glances up from his carvin', he
sees James uncorkin' a bottle of fizz. Merry almost drops his fork and
gawps at Aunty sort of dazed.

"Meredith," says she, snappy, "go on with your carving! Young man, I
suppose you don't take wine?"

"N-n-no, Ma'am," says I, watchin' her turn my glass down. I might have
chanced a sip or two, at that; but Aunty has different ideas.

I notice that J. Meredith seems to shy at the bubbly stuff, as if he
was lettin' on he hated it. He makes a bluff or two; but all he does
is wet his lips. At that Aunty gives a snort.

"Meredith," says she, hoistin' her hollow-stemmed glass sporty, "to our
guests!"