"You could make the burglar a clean-shaven man," Mr. Hemingway suggested.
"I will," she said. "I will make him look like anybody you say."
"God forbid," said he. "I have no enemies. But, seriously, Miss Tennant, if you possibly can, will you do without a burglary, for the good name of Aiken?"
"I will do what I can," she said, "but I can't make promises."
When she had gone, one of the directors pushed open the door of Mr. Hemingway's office and tiptoed in.
"Well," said he, "for an old graybeard! You've been flirting fifty minutes, you sinner."
"I haven't," said Mr. Hemingway, twisting his mustache and looking roguish. "I've been discussing a little matter of business with Miss Tennant."
"What business?"
"Well, it wasn't any of yours, Frank, at the time, and I'm dinned if I think it is now. But if you must know, she came in to complain of the milk that your dairy has been supplying lately. She said it was the kind of thing you'd expect in the North, but for a Southern gentleman to put water in anything——"