Miss Van Patten reached under the table and found Aunt Philomela’s trembling hand.
“And you made it all up as you went along?” demanded the doctor, the tears starting in his eyes. “You did it off hand?”
“No,” broke in Barnes. “Truly she must be exonerated. She only repeated what I told her. She was quite forced into it.”
“Don’t spoil it,” pleaded the doctor, waving him back. “Don’t take her laurels! I’ve told her often enough that the only thing she lacked was imagination.”
But at this moment John entered, and Barnes raised a warning finger to his lips.
“Don’t let John know. It might get upstairs.”
“Mum’s the word,” agreed the doctor, trying hard to stifle his chuckles.
He whispered across the table,
“Aunty Schuyler—after dinner—more! More!”
But Barnes saw that it was high time to check the merriment. The little old lady looked to be upon the point of leaving. She took the situation far too seriously. So he deftly turned the doctor away from the subject to a theme he had long since discovered to be a vital one in the country,—the rights of automobiles on country roads.