“You mean—you will tell me more about——” Camilla paused and dropped her voice.
“Whatever you may ask. It's the kind called payable on demand.”
It has ever been noticed, at some point, sooner or later, probably in the springtime, the conversations in Arcadia become singularly light, and small tinklings of wit are thought poetical.
Opposite the P. and N. station were the gangs of Hennion's workmen. The paving job was nearly finished. But something was wrong. The men stood idle. Hennion had his back against a telegraph pole, and talked to Kennedy, as Aidee and Camilla came up behind him.
“Rip it out again, Kennedy,” he said. “Can't help it.”
“'Twill cost the best part of a day,” said the big foreman ruefully.
“Can't help it.”
Kennedy swore stealthily but solidly, and Hennion laughed.
“I'll pay the damages if you'll do the growling. That's all right.”
He turned and met Camilla and Aidee, and the three walked toward the Champney house. Camilla asked imperative questions.