"We don't want to make no artist of Alfred. Into an office
he's got to go as soon as he's passed his proper standard, and that's
what I told his schoolmaster. Calling Alf a genius, indeed!"
"Is this all that's troubling you?" Burton inquired calmly.
"All?" Ellen cried. "Bless my soul, as though it wasn't enough! A nice
harmless boy as ever was until that day that you came down. You don't
seem to understand. He's like a little old man. Chooses his words,
corrects my grammar, keeps himself so clean you can almost smell the
soap. What I say is that it isn't natural in a child of his age."
Burton smiled.
"Well, really," he said, "I don't see anything to worry about in what
you have told me."
"Don't you!" Ellen replied. "Well, just you listen to me and answer my
question. I left Alf alone with you while I changed my--while I looked
after the washing the day you came, and what I want to know is, did you
give him one of those things that you talked to me about?"
"I certainly did not," Burton answered.
Then a light broke in upon him. Ellen saw the change in his face.
"Well, what is it?" she asked sharply. "I can see you know all about
it."
"There were the two beans you threw out of the window," he said.
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