“Say, I wish I could remember what I said to that guy about—about your father. Lord, he had me talking a blue streak. Darn my fool eyes! You’d think I’d have sense enough to—Oh, well, go ahead and kick me, Ollie. Right here. Just as hard as you like.” “Come on. They’re waiting for us. You needn’t worry about the books, old boy. You’ll never get them. I say, have you ever seen anything as gorgeous as Mrs. Sage is to-night?” “Knocked me cold when she came down the parsonage steps,” said Sammy. “The Queen of Sheba never had anything on her, Ollie. I was standing at the bottom of the steps with Jane. Mr. Sage was out on the sidewalk chinning with Muriel. Jane and I joshed along for ten or twelve minutes, waiting for Mrs. Sage—I mean, Miss Judge. Suddenly the servant popped out and held the screen door open. She was carrying that blue opera wrap you saw on Mrs. Sage just now. Half a minute later, out strolled Mrs. Sage, walking as slowly as if she were following a coffin filled with royalty. I lost consciousness—honest to God I did. Wait till you see her! She’s dressed in pure silver from head to foot. When I came to she was standing right under the porch light, holding out her arms for the girl to slip on the opera coat, and she was bowing to Jane and me all over the place besides. ‘Good evening, Samuel,’ she said in a voice such as I’ve never heard before—it was so deep and musical. And say, boy! She’s got a figure! I don’t know how old she is, but all the same she’s got Venus backed off the boards. I’ll bet my last dollar if you was to put a dress on Venus she’d look like a cripple alongside of Mrs. S. Wait a second. There’s no rush, and I want to prepare you. Well, sir, she starts down the steps—me standing there with my mouth open and batting my eyes. She reaches down and lifts her skirt up to her knees and wraps it around them, and, by gosh, Ollie, she’s got on silver slippers and light blue stockings with diamond garters—” “Sammy!” piped a shrill, commanding voice from the doorway above. “Hustle along! Don’t be all night. You can talk politics with Oliver after dinner.” “Politics!” muttered Sammy, rolling his eyes. “And to see her in her street clothes you’d swear she hadn’t as much shape or style as—all right, Muriel! Coming!” CHAPTER XXI LOVE WITHOUT JEALOUSY