“Yes, Judge, he told me, but I felt that if you understood the matter you would feel it wasn’t necessary to wait for the formality of Joyce being here. She doesn’t know much about business anyway and would naturally leave everything to me.”
“H’m!”
The Judge eyed the younger man thoughtfully, keenly, but said nothing more than that.
“You see,” Eugene hurried on blandly, “it’s about the house I’m especially in a hurry. We can’t do anything till the business is settled up of course, but I’ve had an offer for the house, an unusually good offer. The man wants to pay cash and get possession right away. It’s a man I met in the city in business relations, and he’s going to Europe and wants to leave his family here all safely fixed before he has to leave. Every day counts with him, and he’s especially anxious to get this house, and is willing to pay a good price if he can get the thing settled up at once. I thought perhaps you could put the matter through tonight for me so I could take advantage of this deal.”
“H’m! Does Joyce want to sell?” questioned the old man from his pillows, “Because if she does you better wire her to come on.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what Joyce has to do with it,” fumed Eugene. “It was my mother’s house wasn’t it? Naturally I—”
But the old man’s deep voice boomed out in stern and sudden interruption:
“Joyce has a great deal to do with it. The house belongs to Joyce.”
Eugene arose excitedly, his face growing suddenly very red, his voice raised far beyond the sick room quality:
“I don’t believe a word of it!” he shouted. “That’s a rank lie! My mother—!”