To do David justice,
he squirmed.
"Have you got him a job as a general in the army yet, ma'am?" inquired
the Little Red Doctor suavely.
It was quite lost upon Mrs. Berthelin. She informed us that a commission
as Captain in the Quartermaster's Department was arranged for, and she
expected to have the young officer assigned to New York so that he could
live at home in the comfort and luxury suitable to his wealth and
condition. And what she wanted us to understand clearly was that no
designing little gutter-snipe was to be allowed to compromise David's
future. She concluded with an imaginative and most unflattering estimate
of Mayme McCartney's character, manners, and morals, in the midst of
which I heard a gasp.
It came from Mayme, standing, wide-eyed and white, in the doorway. The
front door had been left ajar, and, seeing the Berthelins' monogrammed
car outside, she had come in. The oratress turned and stared.
"That's a lie," said Mayme McCartney steadily. "I'm as straight a girl
as your own daughter. Ask him."
She pointed to the stricken David. Pointing may not be ladylike, but it
can be extremely effective. David's head dropped into his hands.
"Oh, Ma!" he groaned.
"Don't call me 'Ma,'" snapped the goaded Mrs. Berthelin. "And this is
the girl?" She looked Mayme up and down. Mayme did the same by her and
did it better.
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