Barry trotted down the walk and got into the car. “All right, Dad, here I am.”
Mrs. Morganson lived on the other side of Cloverfield, and after driving several blocks Mr. Garrison brought the car to a stop in front of a fine old white house that stood back among some magnificent trees. As they opened the door to get out of the car, the front door of the big house opened, and a man came down the steps and approached them. As the lamplight revealed him, Mr. Garrison murmured his name.
“Brand Curry! I wonder.... Good-evening, Mr. Curry.”
The rather chunky individual merely grunted and gave a short nod. He seemed out of humor and would have passed on, but Barry’s father hailed him.
“Just a moment, Mr. Curry. Have you been in to see Mrs. Morganson about the Bluff Lodge proposition again?”
Curry swung around and faced him abruptly. “It is none of your business what I went to see Mrs. Morganson about, Mr. Garrison.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” the lawyer returned evenly. “If it was about that hunting lodge, it is my business. But if you weren’t talking about that, it wasn’t.”
“I did go see Mrs. Morganson,” the man admitted defiantly.
“Well, that’s just what I thought, Mr. Curry. Why don’t you come to me? I am her representative, and she is not to be bothered with the details. Why is it that you don’t come to me?”
“Mr. Garrison, this is a free country, and I go where I like. I prefer to deal directly with Mrs. Morganson, that is all.”