“I don’t go much on family,” said Mrs. Van, wisely. “I’ve seen some mighty mean skunks hangin’ around stage doors who were as blue-blooded as dogs in a show. Why, even your own family you can’t be too sure about! I had an old auntie who used to say she never went back of second cousins—’twasn’t safe.”
“Well, that’s true, too,” pronounced Matt. “Some don’t feel easy even with seconds.” He gathered up his dishes and followed Mrs. Van into the kitchen with them. Polly ate industriously, while Scott stalked to the window and stood lighting a cigarette.
“Mr. Scott,” she said, after a long pause, “are you worried about Jimmy Adams?”
“Yes, I am,” was the curt reply.
“Isn’t there a doctor in Conejo?”
“Yes, but he’s a dirty scoundrel; I’d hate to have him handle a case like this. We may have to, though, thanks to your gentleman friend.”
“You’re rather a rude person, aren’t you?”
“I reckon so. Anyhow, if he’s a gentleman, I’m afraid I’d never pass muster.”
“Still,” persisted Polly, pleasantly, “you will admit that he is agreeable?”
“Agreeable nothing!” growled Scott. “He’s a disreputable young varmint, and no decent girl ought to speak to him.”