But he tried to disarm the pending accusation with his usual brazen impertinence.
"Nice time ter send fer me, this is, Joe," he grumbled.

"It's gittin' so a feller can't even paint his foot in peace an' quiet." "Peggy," said Joe, "when I went away, three years ago, I gave you a letter for Miss Ethel.

What did you do with it ?" Peggy's bulging eyes stared at his blue foot, which he turned first one side and then the other to examine the red stripes.
"It's this way, Joe," he replied; "there wa'n't no postige stamp on the letter, an' Sam Cotting said it couldn't be posted no way 'thout a stamp." "It wasn't to be sent through the post-office," said the boy.

"I gave you a quarter to deliver it in person to Miss Ethel." "Did ye, Joe?
did ye ?" "Of course I did." "Cur'ous," said McNutt, leaning over to touch the foot cautiously with one finger, to see if the paint was dry.
"Well, sir!" "Well, Joe, there's no use gittin' mad 'bout it.

Thet blamed quarter ye giv me rolled down a crack in the stoop, an' got lost.Sure.Got lost as easy as anything." "Well, what was that to me ?" "Oh, I ain't blamin' you," said Peggy; "but 'twere a good deal to me, I kin tell ye.