XXXV
Mr. Hoopdriver helped the eggs and then, instead of beginning, sat with his cheek on his hand, watching Jessie pour out the coffee. His ears were a bright red, and his eyes bright. He took his coffee cup clumsily, cleared his throat, suddenly leant back in his chair, and thrust his hands deep into his pockets. "I'll do it," he said aloud.
"Do what?" said Jessie, looking up in surprise over the coffee pot. She was just beginning her scrambled egg.
"Own up."
"Own what?"
"Miss Milton—I'm a liar."
He put his head on one side and regarded her with a frown of tremendous resolution. Then in measured accents, and moving his head slowly from side to side, he announced, "Ay'm a deraper."
"You're a draper? I thought—"
"You thought wrong. But it's bound to come up. Pins, attitude, habits—It's plain enough.
"I'm a draper's assistant let out for a ten-days
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