Martha could see her now, as she stood then, announcing to the assembled multitude in a high, unmodulated treble: 

"It was the t-time when l-lilies bub-blow"

“an’ her stockin’ fixin’ to come down any min’ute!”

“Ah, Martha, good-morning!”

At the first sound of his voice Mrs. Slawson recovered her poise.  That wouldn’t-call-the-queen-your-cousin feeling came over her again, and she was ready to face the music, whatever tune it might play.  So susceptible is the foolish spirit of mortal to those subtle, impalpable influences of atmosphere that we try to describe, in terms of inexact science, as personality, vibration, aura, magnetism.

“I asked to see you, Martha, because Radcliffe tells me—­”

Martha’s heart sank within her.  So it was Radcliffe and the grand bounce after all, and not—­Well, it was a pity!  After all her thinkin’ it out, an’ connivin’, an’ contrivin’, to have nothin’ come of it!  To be sent off before she had time to see the thing through!

“Radcliffe tells me,” continued the clear, mellow voice, penetrating the mist of her meditations, “that you own a very rare, a very unusual breed of dog.  I couldn’t make out much from Radcliffe’s description, but apparently the dog is a pedigree animal.”

Mrs. Slawson’s shoulders, in her sudden revulsion of feeling, shook with soundless mirth.

“Pedigree animal!” she repeated.  “Certaintly!  Shoor, he’s a pedigree animal.  He’s had auntsisters as far back as any other dog, an’ that’s a fack.  What’s the way they put it?  ‘Out of’ the gutter, ‘sired by’ Kicks.  You never see a little yeller, mongol, cur-dog, sir, that’s yellerer or cur-er than him.  I’d bet my life his line ain’t never been crossed by anythin’ different, since the first pup o’ them all set out to run his legs off tryin’ to get rid o’ the tin-can tied to his tail.  But Flicker’s a winner, for all that, an’ he’s goin’ to keep my boy Sammy in order, better’n I could ever do it.  You see, I just has to hint to Sammy that if he ain’t proper-behaved I won’t let Flicker ’sociate with’m, an’ he’s as good as pie.  I wouldn’t be without that dog, sir, now I got intimately acquainted with him, for—­”

“That touches the question I was intending to raise,” interposed Mr. Ronald.  “You managed to get Radcliffe’s imagination considerably stirred about Flicker, and the result is, he has asked me to see if I can’t come to an understanding with you.  He wants me to buy Flicker.”

Martha’s genial smile faded.  “Why, goodness gracious, Lor—­I should say, Mr. Ronald, the poor little rascal, dog rather, ain’t worth two cents.  He’s just a young flagrant pup, you wouldn’t be bothered to notice, ‘less you had the particular likin’ for such things we got.”

“Radcliffe wants Flicker.  I’ll give you ten dollars for him.”

“I—­I couldn’t take it, Mr. Ronald, sir.  It wouldn’t be fair to you!”