“Not what you would call exactly,” he confessed, lamely.
“I see. You are keeping it a secret from both of them.”
He heard Oliver in the hall, speaking to Mrs. Grimes. It was no time to choose words, so he blurted out:
“Yes, and you’ll do me an everlastin’ favor, ma’am, if you’ll keep it secret from him for a week or two. He’s awfully touchy. It might spoil everything if he got wind of it.”
“Is she a blonde or a brunette?”
This was his chance. “It’s purty hard to tell these days,” he said, fastening his gaze on her hair in a most disconcerting manner.
She laughed outright, joyously, frankly. Oliver, coming out of the house at this juncture, paused in amazement at the top of the steps.
“See here, Uncle Joe, you quit your flirting,” he cried. “Next thing you know you’ll have a breach of promise suit on your hands.”
“Don’t get fresh!” exclaimed Mr. Sikes in some exasperation. Then, to cover his confusion: “What’s the news from your pa, Oliver? What’s he say in them telegrams?”
“They’re not from father, Uncle Joe,” said the young man, softening. “Jump in behind there. I’ll run you uptown before the storm.”