Amzi rubbed the outraged nose with the back of his hand, wheezed hoarsely (the effect of the rain upon his asthma), and cleared his throat. "You'll come down from your high horse in a minute. I've got something to tell you that will sober you up a bit." Phil raised her hands and with brown nimble fingers found and readjusted the pin that affixed a shabby felt hat to her hair. Then she folded her arms and looked at the tips of her shoes. "The suspense is killing me. I who am about to die salute you!" Amzi frowned at her levity. His frown caused a disturbance throughout his vast tracts of baldness. "You'll change your tune in a minute, my young commodore. Have you seen your aunts?" "No; but it's not their fault! Aunt Josie called; the others telephoned for dates. I saw Aunt Josie first, which explains why we didn't meet. I knew something was up." "Something is up. They got me over to Josie's last night to ask me to help. It's a big programme. And I wanted to warn you in advance. You've got to stop all your capers; no more camps on Sugar Creek, no more tomboy foolishness; no more general nonsense. You've got to be a civilized woman, and conduct yourself according to the rules in such cases made and provided." "Oh, is that it? And they got you to tell me, did they? How sweet of them!" observed Phil. "I might have guessed it from the look of Aunt Josie's back as she went out the gate." "Her back? Thunder! How did you see her back?" "From the roof, Amy, if you must know. If you had three aunts who had turned up every few minutes all your natural life to tell you what not to do, you'd run for the roof, too, every time you heard the gate click. And that last cook they put in the house was just a spy for them. But she didn't spy long! I've bounced her!" Amzi blinked and coughed, and feigned even greater ferocity. "That's it! That's the kind of thing you've got to stop doing! You're always bouncing the hired girls your aunts put in the house to take care of you and you've got to quit; you've got to learn how to manage a servant; you've got"--and he drew himself up to charge his words with all possible dignity--"you've got to be a lady." "You insinuate, Amy, that I'm not one, just natural born?" "I don't mean any such thing," he blurted. "You know mighty well what I mean--this skylarking, this galloping around town on your pony. You've got to behave yourself; you've got to pay attention to what your aunts tell you. You've got to listen to me!" "Look me in the eye, you old fraud! I'll bet every one of 'em has called you up to tell you to see me and give me a lecturing. They're a jolly lot of cowards, that's all. And I came over here thinking you wanted to be nice and cheerful like you always used to be. All by your dear old lonesome you'd never think of talking to me like this; I've a good notion to muss you up!"