THE GOOD SAMARITAN
457
proven. But I don't need proof. I got my eyes!" she pointed to
them. "And my ears!" she pointed to them too.
"Did he speak with an accent-?"
I
ventured, feeling a tan–
talizing curiosity creep over me, soft, looming like the smell of
geraniums just outside the window.
"No indeedy," she drew her mouth down tightly, "of course
not." She shook the little red pin cushion at me. "You can't tell
about their accents. They hide them. They're clever."
She went to the window, peeped gently out and came back
agam.
"We had better watch out," she said softly; then suddenly
full of enormous energy she shouted full into my ear, "We'd–
better-watch-out/"
At the sound of her voice the cat gave a startled meow and
leaped out from behind the footstool and disappeared straight into ·
the fireplacP-. When it came out its long fluffy hair was dripping
with soot.
"Oh," said Miss Hotch, "Tommy, you march right out in the
kitchen and stay until the lady leaves. Now why did he do that, do
you think?"
"Nice cat," I said.
"Oh yes," she answered.
"Persian?" I asked.
"One hundred per-cent," she said.
"What about the-you know what?" I said, unresisting, "Did
he confess his birth?"
"He didn't have to. I could tell by the look in his eye."
"Oh, can you tell that way?" I asked. I tried to remember if
I could tell that way. All of the faces I had known passed in single
formation before me. Deeply I observed their unfriendly eyes.
They moved forward, over me, passing on. I tried to stop them.
Something was moving behind their eyes. . I couldn't imagine what
it was. Miss Hotch would know. I looked at her with new respect.
"Well," I said.
"You had a funny look just then," she said.
I started to tell her what I had been thinking but she inter–
rupted me. "Are you a Fifth Columnist?" she said.
"Oh no, no indeedy," I said. "Perish the thought."
