“I ain’t got no think, Matilda. He can talk de legs off a iron pot. Dat’s one of my thinks. Ain’t never heard nuffin’ like it. Jes’ like one of dese patent-medicine fellers with a stand on de street corner.”
“Well, is dat all?” She had dropped her iron now and with her hands on her hips was looking at him curiously.
“Dat’s all. Unless I’m much mistuk, dat’s all dere is to him. Jes’ wind. De madam is sumfin’ better. She looks as if she might have been quality afo’ she struck him. But young mistiss is de real thing. How she can put up wid him is mo’ ’an I can understand.”
CHAPTER III
All the way to his office, Joe was planning for a better acquaintance with the girl on the first floor. He had had but a glimpse of the mother, but even that brief insight had convinced him that she was a woman of refinement, and must be handled with due regard for the conventionalities of life.
The father he had not seen, his eyes having been fastened on the trim figure of the girl in the close-fitting knitted jacket and tam-o’-shanter hat. He had heard more or less conversation in a high key, and had become aware of a strident voice soaring above the roar of the street, but he was too much occupied with the new arrival to give the incident further thought.
When Joe burst in, Atwater was in his shirt-sleeves, poring over a big drawing, showing the ground-plan of a large office building for which the firm were competing.
“By Jove, Sam, we’re in luck! Perfect stunner! Knocks cold anything you ever saw! Regular Hebe. Come here and I’ll tell you all about it.”
Sam moved aside his T-square and followed his partner into a small room, lighted by a punched-out skylight, which answered for their private office.
“Now, go on, Joe, and hurry up. What are you driving at? The Long Island woman has given us her cottage, hasn’t she? I thought that sketch of yours would fix her.”