For the moment Bob became again almost suspicious of her, she was such a “good fellow”! And Bob wasn’t revengeful; because he had suffered himself he didn’t wish the commodore any harm. Of course it would be rather a ghastly joke on the commodore if Mrs. Dan wasn’t such a “good fellow” as she seemed. But Bob dismissed that contingency. He was helpless, anyway. He was no more than a chip in a stream. The current of Mrs. Dan’s questions carried him along.
“And what did the pony Dan got, look like?”
“I think she had reddish hair.”
“How lurid! I suppose you all had a few ponies with the ponies?” Jocularly.
“Yes,” said the answering-machine.
“I suppose the ponies had names? They usually do,” she rattled on.
“Yes. They had names, of course.”
“What was Dan’s called?”
The orchestra was playing a little louder now—one of those wild pieces—a rhapsody!
“Don’t know her real name.”