“Ah, Miss Bessie, good evenin’,” he said cordially. “Won’t y’ take a cheer?” And he waved his hand toward a little low rocker that stood in one corner. “I hope y’ don’t object t’ terbaccer,” he added, as she brought the chair forward and sat down.
“Do you suppose I should have come here to disturb you if I did?” she retorted laughingly. “I want you to keep on smoking. I know a man is always more inclined to grant a favor when he’s smoking.”
He glanced at her quickly, with just a trace of suspicion in his eyes, and moved uneasily in his chair.
“What’s th’ favor?” he asked.
“You remember I was telling you the other day about Tommy Remington,” she began, “and you said something must be done for the boy, and that you wished to help.”
“’Twasn’t exactly thet,” he corrected, smiling in spite of himself, “but thet’ll do.”
“Well, we have a plan,” she continued, “a good plan, I believe”; and she told him of her talk with Mr. Bayliss.
He sat silent for a long time after she had finished, smoking slowly, and looking at the hillside.
“I dunno,” he said at last. “I dunno. It’s a resky thing t’ send a boy out thet way. But mebbe it’ll turn out all right. As I understan’, it’ll take nine hunderd dollars t’ put it through.”
“Nine hundred,” she nodded.