"Well, I've heard 'em several places. I guess Uncle George Amberson
was the first I ever heard say 'em. Uncle George Amberson said 'em to
papa once. Papa didn't like it, but Uncle George was just laughin' at
papa, an' then he said 'em while he was laughin'."

"That was wrong of him," she said, but almost instinctively he
detected the lack of conviction in her tone. It was Isabel's great
failing that whatever an Amberson did seemed right to her, especially
if the Amberson was either her brother George, or her son George. She
knew that she should be more severe with the latter now, but severity
with him was beyond her power; and the Reverend Malloch Smith had
succeeded only in rousing her resentment against himself. Georgie's
symmetrical face--altogether an Amberson face--had looked never more
beautiful to her. It always looked unusually beautiful when she tried
to be severe with him. "You must promise me," she said feebly, "never
to use those bad words again."

"I promise not to," he said promptly--and he whispered an immediate
codicil under his breath: "Unless I get mad at somebody!" This
satisfied a code according to which, in his own sincere belief, he
never told lies.

"That's a good boy," she said, and he ran out to the yard, his
punishment over. Some admiring friends were gathered there; they had
heard of his adventure, knew of the note, and were waiting to see what
was going to "happen" to him. They hoped for an account of things,
and also that he would allow them to "take turns" riding his pony to
the end of the alley and back.

They were really his henchmen: Georgie was a lord among boys. In