“Don’t be foolish, Josiah.”
After a very light breakfast, Mr. McGowan excused himself from the table, saying he must do some work on his sermon before the church hour. As the door to the study closed the Captain pushed back his plate and chair. He slid the latter round the end of the table, and placed it by Miss Pipkin.
“For the lan’ sakes, Josiah! You ain’t going to make love to me this morning, be you?”
“I ain’t sartin, Clemmie. It depends on your partic’lar frame of mind,” he replied slowly, a quiet kindness in his old eyes.
“I don’t know as I feel like being made love-sick,” she said, but without the old spirit of stubbornness.
“All right, Clemmie,” he said resignedly. “I cal’late you know best. I’m going to spin you a yarn about what took place round these premises last night. That is, if you’re willing to listen.”
“Why, of course I’m willing to listen. Did that lawyer show up here again with his old mortgage?”
“No, you bet he didn’t. And what’s more, he won’t come prowling round again, either.”