She crushed down her
resentment at her visitor's tone, and tried to concentrate her
mind on the fact that this was a business matter and that what
she wanted was results rather than fair words. She found it
easier to do this when looking at the other's face. It was a
capable face. Not beautiful, perhaps, but full of promise of
action. Miss Trimble having ceased temporarily to speak, her
mouth was in repose, and when her mouth was in repose it looked
more efficient than anything else of its size in existence.
"I want you," said Mrs. Pett, "to come here and watch some men--"
"Men! Thought so! Wh' there's trouble, always men't bottom'f it!"
"You do not like men?"
"Hate 'em! Suff-gist!" She looked penetratingly at Mrs. Pett.
Her left eye seemed to pounce out from under its tangled brow.
"You S'porter of th' Cause?"
Mrs. Pett was an anti-Suffragist, but, though she held strong
opinions, nothing would have induced her to air them at that
moment. Her whole being quailed at the prospect of arguing with
this woman. She returned hurriedly to the main theme.
"A young man arrived here this morning, pretending to be my
nephew, James Crocker. He is an impostor. I want you to watch him
very carefully."
"Whassiz game?"
"I do not know. Personally I think he is here to kidnap my son
Ogden."
"I'll fix'm," said the fair Trimble confidently. "Say, that
butler 'f yours. He's a crook!"
Mrs.
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