Mabel ceased to swing her foot, and both, encarnadined, looked up and down and everywhere for the invisible but well-known owner of that voice.

It came again, in taunting mockery: "Sammy's mad, and I am glad, And I know what will please him: A bottle o' wine to make him shine, And Mabel Rorebeck to squeeze him!" "Fresh ole thing!" said Miss Rorebeck, becoming articulate.

And unreasonably including Sam in her indignation, she tossed her head at him with an unmistakable effect of scorn.

She began to walk away.
"Well, Mabel," Sam said plaintively, following, "it ain't MY fault.

_I_ didn't do anything.