“Because,” Auntie Sue answered, “I came away hurriedly, on a very important trip, for only a day, and it is necessary for her to stay and keep house while I am gone. The child must learn to cook, Homer, even if she is to inherit all your money.”
“I know,” answered the banker;—“the same as you make me work when I visit you. But your coming to me sounds rather serious, Auntie Sue. What is your trouble?”
The dear old lady laughed, nervously; for, to tell the truth, she did not quite know how she was going to manage to present Brian Kent's case to Homer T. Ward without presenting more than she was at this time ready to reveal.
“Why, you see, Homer,” she began, “it is not really my trouble as much as it is yours, and it is not yours as much as it is—”
“Betty Jo's?” he asked quickly, when she hesitated.
“No! no!” she cried. “The child doesn't even know why I am here. Just try to forget her for a few minutes, Homer.”
“All right,” he said; “but you had me worried for a minute.”
Auntie Sue might have answered that she was somewhat worried herself; but, instead, she plunged with desperate courage: “I came to see you about Brian Kent, Homer.”
It is not enough to say that the President of the Empire Consolidated Savings Bank was astonished. “Brian Kent?” he said at last. “Why, Auntie Sue, I wrote you nearly a year ago that Brian Kent was dead.”
“Yes, I know; but he was not—that is, he is not. But the Brian Kent your detectives were hunting was—I mean—is.”