“Be calm, judge,” said I, soothingly, but scarcely able to restrain laughter. I was fully aroused to the cause of the profanity. They had been given a much longer ride than they anticipated. Besides, the ex-judge didn’t like my distrust of his influence over Colonel Whiteley.
“Damn it,” said Stuart, “why didn’t you drive us to Yonkers and done with it? Do you think that I’ve got too much time on my hands?”
“Never mind, gentlemen,” I replied, in a most conciliatory manner; “you’re here with your bones whole, and I’m ready for business. Of course, when you examine the case from my end of it, you’ll not blame me for being cautious, I know.”
“When I give my word to a man, it’s better ’n my bond,” said Colonel Whiteley; “and this man of yours drove us to hades and back, so it seemed.”
“Yes, and I wasn’t certain but that he’d shake my poor bones apart, at times, with his infernal square turns about corners. Anything follow him? Why, the devil with his cloven hoofs and wings thrown in couldn’t have kept us in sight,” growled Stuart.
“A drink will smooth you out, judge,” laughed I; “and we can’t get it here, so let’s go to Stetson’s.”
I directed Gus Fisher to take my buggy to the stables, and McGurk drove us to the restaurant in Central Park. There we talked business over a few dainties and a bottle of wine.
“By the way, Miles,” Colonel Whiteley was saying, “when did you get to town?”
“About a week ago, on the Anchor Liner Europa.”
“And you were in Scotland all the time?” he continued.