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 you? What does he do?" cried Hilary Vance in a terrible voice.

"Please, sir, he's a little boy who lives in the house we used to live in with Aunt Hannah. And when he sees me go out with the Lump he follows us and shouts Ginger at me because my hair is red."

"Monstrous! Monstrous!" cried Hilary Vance. "Why don't you smack him—hard?"

"I used to, sir," said Pollyooly in a tone of mournful regret. "But I can't do it any longer, now that I'm Mr. Ruffin's housekeeper."

"And why not?" cried Mr. Hilary Vance. "Who prevents you?"

"It's a position of dignity, sir. Mr. Ruffin said it was," said Pollyooly in an explanatory tone. "And it wouldn't do for me to smack Henry Wiggins now. Housekeepers aren't supposed to. I'm sure they're not." Hilary Vance looked at her sadly and shook his head gloomily, "I'm afraid that association with that young aristocrat is corrupting you, Pollyooly."

"I'm sure it isn't!" said Pollyooly, in her indignant heat forgetting to be polite and say "sir."