Mr. Chase was delivering an important argument, but it had no weight
with her.
She bowed and courtesied to the President.
"Excuse me, Governor," he said with a smile. "Good morning, Phoebe."
"Good mornin', sah."
She extended the note with a second dip of her ponderous form:
"Yassah, Miss Ma'y send dis here excommunication ter you, sah!"
"You don't say so?" the President cried, breaking into a laugh.
"Yassah."
"Then I'm excommunicated, Governor!" he nodded to Chase. "I must read
the edict." He adjusted his glasses and glanced at the note:
"Your mistress is lying down?"
"Yassah, she's sufferin' fum a little spell er nervous prosperity,
sah--dat's all--sah----"
"Oh, that's all?"
"Yassah."
The President roared with laughter, in which Phoebe joined.
"Thank you, Phoebe, tell her I'll be there in a minute----"
"Yassah."
"And Phoebe----"
The maid turned as she neared the door:
"Yassah?"
"I hope you'll always bring my messages from your mistress----"
"Yassah."
"I like you, Phoebe. You're cheerful!"
"I tries ter be, sah!" she laughed, swinging herself through the door.
The President threw his big hands behind his head, leaned back, and
laughed until his giant frame shook.
The dignified and solemn Secretary of the Treasury scowled, rose, and
stalked from the room.
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