"Well, you've got your nerve with you!" I snorted.
"I have, right here handy. I'm a friend of the Janneys, I'm a—" he stopped. His nerve was handy all right but he hadn't enough to tell me it was because of Esther Maitland he was so keen.
"Go on," I said sarcastic. "I'm interested to hear what you are now you've found out what I am."
"I'm almost a member of the household. I can help. I want to help—and I want to know."
"Maybe you do," I said. "We often want things in this world that we can't get. Don't think you have the monopoly of that complaint."
The motor rose over the crest of a hill, flashed by a farm and slid down an incline. Before us stretched a white line of road, with the forward car racing along it in a blur of dust.
"You mean you won't tell me?"
"You got me."
We suddenly began to slow up, the car swung off sideways from the roadbed, ran toward the bushes on the right, and came to a halt. Ferguson dropped against the back of the seat, stretched his legs and said:
"This is a nice shady place to stop in."