Dr. Lavendar, unable to make himself heard, shook his head.

"If you don't stop," said Mr. Wright, "I'll wring your neck!" and as
the bird continued, he opened the door. "Simmons! You freckled nigger!
Bring me the apron." Then he stamped, and cursed the slowness of
niggers. Simmons, however, came as fast as his old legs could carry
him, bearing a blue gingham apron. This, thrown over the cage,
produced silence.

"There! Now, perhaps, you'll hold your tongue? ... Lavendar, I prefer
not to say what is wrong. Merely tell Sam's--_mother_, that he
had better go. If she is too mean to provide the money, I will."

"Sam's father is not too mean to do anything for Sam's welfare; but of
course, a general accusation is not convincing; should not be
convincing--Why!" said Dr. Lavendar, interrupting himself, "bless my
heart! I believe you mean that the boy is making sheep's-eyes at your
neighbor here on the hill? Is that it? Why, Benjamin, the best way to
cure that is to pay no attention to it."

"Sir," said Mr. Wright, sinking into his chair breathlessly, and
tapping the table with one veined old finger; "when I was a young man,
it was not thought proper to introduce the name of a female into a
discussion between gentlemen."

"Well," Dr. Lavendar admitted, "maybe not--when you were young. But
all of us young folks in Old Chester know perfectly well that Sam is
smitten, and we are ignoring it."