"See here, now! I did my best to straighten Mr. Ranny out. He's making the fight of his life to keep straight. It's up to you to stand by us. You don't want to pitch the fat back in the fire, do you?"
They had reached the big house on Third Avenue, and the carriage was slowing up at the curbing. Quin, receiving no answer to his question, carefully helped Madam up the steps and into the house, where black Hannah was waiting to receive her.
"You can't come in," said Madam gruffly. "I am tired. I will see you some other time."
"All right," said Quin. "What time shall I come Saturday afternoon?"
"Saturday afternoon? Why then?"
"To go out to Mr. Ranny's farm."
For an instant they measured glances; then Quin began to laugh—a confident, boyish laugh full of teasing affection.
"Come on," he coaxed, "be a good scout. Let's give 'em the surprise of their lives."
"You rascal, you!" she said, hitting at him with her cane. "I believe you are at the bottom of all this. Mind, I promise you nothing."
"You don't have to," he called back. "I can trust you. I'll be here at three!"