"'Tain't much. Sca'cely anythin' a-tall. I calc'late to be a-settin' in Grandma Penny's parlor at eight sharp. I won't keep you waitin' more 'n a second—unless somebody happens to be with me a-talkin' my arm off. If they hain't nobody with me, why, you walk right in. If they is somebody, why, you jest stand outside of the door a second, and they'll be gone. Then you come in. But don't come rompin' in if you hear voices. It's a mite of business, and 'twon't take but a second. Calc'late you kin manage that, eh?"
"Yes," she said, shortly.
"Promise?"
"Yes."
"G'-by, Sairy."
At five minutes before eight Scattergood Baines rapped at Grandmother Penny's door and asked to speak to Farley Curtis, "Tell him it's somethin' p'tic'lar reegardin' the Beatty estate," he said, and stepped into the parlor. Farley appeared almost instantly; dapper, his usual courteous, self-possessed self. Scattergood began a peculiar and roundabout conversation after the manner of a man who fears to broach a subject plainly. Farley showed his irritation.
"Mr. Baines," he said, "suppose you get down to business. I'm going away this evening."
"To be sure.... To be sure. It's overlappin' eight now, hain't it?" Scattergood paused, listening. He fancied he heard some one approach and halt just outside the door. He was certain that a chair creaked on the porch outside the window.... He cleared his throat and drew a big yellow envelope from his pocket.
"Calculate I'm ready for business, if you be.... Which d'you calc'late is most desirable—havin' half a loaf, or no bread?"
"What do you mean?"