“I’m not going to stand and wait.”
“Please. You’ll see.”
She stamped her foot fiercely. “I tell you, no. I was the goat, yesterday. They made a fool of me. But I’m grown up over night, Wint. This is my day. I’m going to tear things open—wide.”
For all the harshness of her speech, there was a strange new gentleness about Hetty; and there was a new strength in her. Wint had never liked her more, respected her more. He said steadily: “You’re wrong, I think. You’re excited, to-day. I tell you, things will turn out better than you think.”
The telephone tinkled in the hall; and Wint said: “Wait a minute, will you?” And he went to answer it.
Sam O’Brien, the fat restaurant man, was on the other end of the wire. He asked: “This Chase’s house?”
Wint said: “Yes, this is Wint Chase. That you, Sam?”
O’Brien exclaimed: “Yes, it’s me! Say, Wint—you’re there, boy. You’re a man.”
“Pshaw!”
“Say, Wint,” O’Brien cut in. “Is Hetty up there? They say at her room she started for there.”