"Yes, more," and this time the color deepened in her cheeks. "I want you to hunt up Mr. Turner and tell him that you're going to take that much."
Mr. Westlake with a smile reached up and pinched his daughter's cheek.
"Very well, Hallie, I'll do it," said he.
She patted him affectionately on the bald spot.
"Good for you," she said. "Be sure you see him this morning, though, and before half-past nine."
"You're particular about that, eh?"
"Yes, it's rather important," she admitted, and blushed furiously.
Westlake patted his daughter on the shoulder.
"Hallie," said He, "if Billy only had your common-sense business instinct, I wouldn't ask for anything else in this world; but Billy is a saphead."
Mr. Westlake, thinking that he understood the matter very thoroughly, though in reality overunderstanding it—nice word, that—took it upon himself with considerable seriousness to hunt up Sam Turner; but it was fully nine-thirty before he found that energetic young man. Sam was just going down the driveway in a neat little trap behind a team of spirited grays.