He said it was; and the some one said: “This is Joan.”
Wint said: “Oh!” He was uncomfortable, wondering what she wanted, why she had called.
“I’ve just heard what you’ve done,” she said.
“What’s that?” Wint asked. “Done what?”
“About how you’re going to—to clean up Hardiston.”
“Oh, that,” said Wint. “Yes.”
“Central told me I could probably get you at the Hoover office.”
“Yes. Yes, I’m here.”
“I thought you might like to know that I’m glad you’re going to do this.”
“That’s all right,” he said awkwardly. The old, stubborn resentment at any praise was awake in him; but there was a curious tincture of happiness, too.