Well,
let him; who cares? _I_ think _he_ is a regular old poke, though he is
better than I thought at first; but you'll hear all about it. Of course
Hilliard was polite, and all that, when he came to our house, but I
didn't always see him; in fact, I used to keep out of the way on
purpose, many a time: so I didn't really know what sort of a boy he
was until I went to stay at the beach.
Well, as soon as Mrs. Erveng was comfortably settled, Hilliard came
over to me with a big soft cushion in his hand. "May I put this at your
back?" he asked. "It's a tiresome journey to Boston, and we've got
quite a ride after that to reach Endicott Beach; so let me make you
as comfortable as possible."
Now if he had come up and simply put the cushion on the back of my
chair, the way Phil, or Felix, or Jack would have done, I wouldn't have
minded at all,--I like cushions; but to stand there holding it, waiting
for me to give him permission, struck me as being very silly. I knew he
expected me to say yes, and instead of that I found myself saying, "No,
I thank you,"--I could hear that my tone was snippy,--"I can get on
very comfortably without a cushion.
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