Bulger followed him to the hall.
"Look out for Grandma, the Demon!" warned Bulger. "'F I was the old man I'd slip something in her tea."
"Who—who is she?" demanded Bean.
"Just his dear, sweet old mother, that's all! Talk you to death—suffergette! Oh! say!"
Reaching the street, his gloom was not at all lightened by the discovery of the flapper in the waiting car. She gave him the little double-nod and regarded him with that peculiar steely kindness he so well remembered. It was undoubtedly kind, that look, yet there was an implacable something in its quality that dismayed him. He wondered what she exactly meant by it.
"Get in," commanded the flapper, and Bean got in.
"Tell him where to go for your things."
Bean told him.
"I'm glad it's on our way. Pops is in an awful state. He swore right out at his own mother this morning, and he wants you there in a hurry. Maybe we'll be arrested for speeding."
Bean earnestly hoped they would. Pops in health was ordeal enough. But he remained silent, trusting to the vigilance of an excellent constabulary. The car reached the steam-heated apartment without adventure, however, and he quickly secured his suit-case and consigned the dog for an uncertain period to a Cassidy, who was brazenly taking more than a friendly interest in him. Cassidy talked bluntly of how "we" ought to feed him, as if he were already a part owner of the animal.