“Can you run a motor car?”
“No, but my pa can.”
“My God! You musn’t mention this to any one, not even your father. I’ll run the car myself. You go to the cobbler and by some excuse get the girl in the car—after that I’ll see to her.”
Bates narrowed his eyes.
“No, you won’t see to nothin’,” he growled surlily. “I don’t take a step till I know I get ’er. I’ll marry ’er all right, but she’s got to want to marry me first.”
“I don’t care what you do with ’er,” replied Morse morosely. “Marry ’er or not, just get her, that’s all!”
“The cobbler’s got a vixen of a wife,” complained Maudlin at length.
“Persuade her to go somewhere, can’t you?” snapped Morse.
“Yes, that’s easy,” drawled Maudlin, wobbling his head.
For a long time they sat talking and planning, until at length Morse put his hand in his pocket and handed the other man some money. Maudlin tucked it away with a grin.