“If I could just be there,” Eve said soberly, “I’m sure I could make that old judge listen to reason!”
“Aunt Cal,” I said, “would pass on at the suggestion—a niece of hers in a police court!”
“I suppose so!” Eve sighed.
The morning’s mail brought an envelope addressed to me. It was from Millport, from the photographer where Hamish had taken my film to be developed. I called to Aunt Cal to come and look as I spread out the prints on the kitchen table.
“Look here we are in our bathing suits!” I said teasingly. For dear Aunt Cal went bathing in the days when girls wore ample costumes with full skirts trimmed with white braid and little puff sleeves and collars buttoned around their precious throats. We had come upon the picture of her in one in an old album, so I knew.
Aunt Cal took up the picture and scanned it stoically. But instead of the comment of disapproval I had expected, she only said, “I see you got the sail boats in too.”
“Yes, aren’t they pretty?”
She nodded. Then she said a funny thing. “Your young farmer friend shows up pretty good.”
“Michael, yes that’s him on the end.”
“Um. Didn’t you say it was Saturday that this car he’s in trouble about was stolen?” she continued still more unexpectedly.