noon
Sick , maybe . '' `` Humph ! '' says Mr. Robert , rubbin ' his chin thoughtful . `` If that is the case -- '' Then he stops and stares puzzled into the front of the roll-top , where the noon mail is sorted and stacked in the wire baskets . I do n't hear anything more from him for two or three minutes , when he signals me over and pulls up a chair . `` Ah -- er -- about Ham Adams , now , '' he begins . `` Say , Mr. Robert , '' says I , `` you ai n't never goin ' to wish him onto me , are you ?