The gentlemen filed out of the room.
“Gee, you’re a whizbang, Dorothy!” Bill exploded as soon as they were alone. “Some Christmas present for Stoker!”
“You’re not so bad yourself,” laughed the girl. “That kick of yours was worth just a million dollars!”
Five minutes later, the kitchen door of the Bolton’s house was flung open and a black face crowned with an aureole of woolly hair peered in. “Has yo’all heard de news, Liza?” panted Uncle Abe in great excitement.
“G’wan home, niggah, I’ze busy makin’ waffle fo’ de chilluns,” retorted the Bolton’s cook. “Golly, but dey sure is hungry!”
“Miss Dorothy done sol’ dat motah fo’ two million dollars. I wuz stickin’ roun’ outside an’ done hear de gen’men talkin’ ’bout it.”
“Lan’s sakes, but dat a pile er money,” said Liza pouring batter on to the hot waffle iron. “How come Marse Bill was able ter build dat engin’? I thought dat de plans was lost?”
“You sho’ has a one-track mind, Liza,” Uncle Abe observed contemptuously. “And dat track spells nuthin’ but kitchen. My young Missy found dem plans! She beat all dose big detecatives to it!”
“Do tell! Whar was dey?”
“In er book, Liza.”