"Why, I do think, Willie," said Mrs. Heth, "that rather than take all that trouble, I should simply have paid the ten cents from my own pocket and said no more about it."
But even Willie, perfect host though he was, did not see his way clear at the moment to explaining the banking system to a lady.
"You might call it sporting pride, ma'am," he said, patiently, and proposed a little tour of the rooms.
The tour, in the nature of the case, was a little one, almost a fireside tour, and soon over. Willie simply did not have the material to spin it out indefinitely. Then refreshments were hospitably insisted on: tea--muffins--something of that sort, you know--and Willie cried down his order through the telephone, which had already been duly admired--one in every room, etc. Next from a hidden cubby he produced siphon-water, glasses, and a black bottle of Scotch. Needed it, said he--digging two hours for ten cents out.
"Like the quarters, hey, Canning? Gad, may move again. Man across the hall--bigger rooms--wants to sublet. Like you to look at 'em sometime, Cousin Isabel. Say, Cousin Isabel, by the bye," he added, expertly putting ice into three glasses, "ran down that chap V. Vivian for you, just now. Fact. Old Sleuth Kerr--catches 'em alive. He's Armistead Beirne's nephew--just turned up here--what d'you think of that?"
"Mr. Beirne's nephew!" echoed Carlisle Heth, without the slightest strategy.
"Vivian? Who on earth, Willie?" demanded Mrs. Heth, puzzled; and looked, not at Willie, but at Carlisle.
"Don't you remember?--chap that wrote that fierce slush attackin' the Works, month or so ago? That's the bird.--Got rye right here, if you prefer it, Canning.--Walked a block with him and old Beirne just now. Remember Amy Beirne--eloped with some inventor fellow--what's his name--oh, sure, Vivian, haha! Lived in Alabama. Here's regards."
Mrs. Heth now recalled the name, and also having asked Willie, long since, to identify it. However, she thought the topic just a little inopportune at the moment.
"Ah, yes. Mr. Beirne's nephew--well! I hope you made this very mild, indeed, Willie? You know I rarely consent to.... He might be better employed, one would think, than vilifying the Works, but there's no accounting for tastes, as I always say."