“Yes,” he said, with a solemn bend of the head, as if in answer to a question, “I squshed.  I says to her, ’All right.  Don’t make no disturbance more’n you c’n help, an’ jest put your hank’chif up to your nose ‘s if you had the nosebleed,’ an’ we squeezed out of the seats, an’ sneaked up the aisle, an’ by the time we got out into the entry I guess my face was as red as Polly’s.  It couldn’t ‘a’ ben no redder,” he added.

“You got a putty fair color as a gen’ral thing,” remarked Mrs. Bixbee dryly.

“Yes, ma’am; yes, ma’am, I expect that’s so,” he assented, “but I got an extry coat o’ tan follerin’ you out o’ that theater.  When we got out into the entry one o’ them fellers that stands ‘round steps up to me an’ says, ‘Ain’t your ma feelin’ well?’ he says.  ’Her feelin’s has ben a trifle rumpled up,’ I says, ‘an’ that gen’ally brings on the nosebleed,’ an’ then,” said David, looking over Mrs. Bixbee’s head, “the feller went an’ leaned up agin the wall.”

“David Harum!” exclaimed Mrs. Bixbee, “that’s a downright lie.  You never spoke to a soul, an’—­an’—­ev’rybody knows ’t I ain’t more ’n four years older ’n you be.”

“Wa’al, you see, Polly,” her brother replied in a smooth tone of measureless aggravation, “the feller wa’n’t acquainted with us, an’ he only went by appearances.”

Aunt Polly appealed to John:  “Ain’t he enough to—­to—­I d’ know what?”

“I really don’t see how you live with him,” said John, laughing.

Mrs. Cullom’s face wore a faint smile, as if she were conscious that something amusing was going on, but was not quite sure what.  The widow took things seriously for the most part, poor soul.

“I reckon you haven’t followed theater-goin’ much after that,” she said to her hostess.

“No, ma’am,” Mrs. Bixbee replied with emphasis, “you better believe I hain’t.  I hain’t never thought of it sence without tinglin’ all over.  I believe,” she asserted, “that David ’d ‘a’ stayed the thing out if it hadn’t ben fer me; but as true ’s you live, Cynthy Cullom, I was so ’shamed at the little ’t I did see that when I come to go to bed I took my clo’es off in the dark.”

David threw back his head and roared with laughter.  Mrs. Bixbee looked at him with unmixed scorn.  “If I couldn’t help makin’ a——­” she began, “I’d——­”

“Oh, Lord!  Polly,” David broke in, “be sure ’n wrap up when you go out.  If you sh’d ketch cold an’ your sense o’ the ridic’lous sh’d strike in you’d be a dead-’n’-goner sure.”  This was treated with the silent contempt which it deserved, and David fell upon his dinner with the remark that “he guessed he’d better make up fer lost time,” though as a matter of fact while he had done most of the talking he had by no means suspended another function of his mouth while so engaged.

For a time nothing more was said which did not relate to the replenishment of plates, glasses, and cups.  Finally David cleaned up his plate with his knife blade and a piece of bread, and pushed it away with a sigh of fullness, mentally echoed by John.