“Who sent you?”
“I dunno his name. He said when we delivered the message we’d get paid a dollar. And we’re goin’ to git paid, too. Yes, sir. We’ll get paid, or else there’ll be a lawsuit.”
“Huh.... Say, who’s this message fer?”
“A feller by the name of Dunn. Jonah Dunn, or suthin like that. Know such a feller?”
I could have melted and run right there. It looked to me like the last man in the world we wanted to see was this Jonas P. Dunn, and here was Catty fixing things so we’d be taken to him. I scowled and started in to say something, but Catty grabbed my arm so hard he left marks on it, and says, “My cousin here hain’t very bright. You got to make allowances for him.”
“I wouldn’t say either one of ye was cut out to be college perfessors,” says the man. “Did a Mr. House send ye?”
“Dunno if he was house or barn,” says Catty.
“Give me the message.”
“Be you Mr. Dunn?”
“No. But I’m mate of his yacht.”