When Polly Bixbee," said David impressively, "puts that foot o' her'n _down_ somethin's got to sqush, an' don't you fergit it." Mrs.Bixbee made no acknowledgment of this tribute to her strength of character.

John looked at David.
"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.