“We all call him Mr. Dick in New York. Of course, you would not know that. Mr. Richard! How stupid of me. Mr. Richard, of course.”
Explanations followed, Jerry looming large as an explainer; but Phœbe was plainly unconvinced.
“I still insist,” she was firm, “upon calling Casey. But first I would count the silver.”
CHAPTER XV
THE LADY DETECTIVE
Any friend of Mr. Richard’s was welcome to “Red Jacket,” Mrs. Wells assured Jawn; and no questions asked; one could never tell when Phœbe Norris was joking and when she was serious; Phœbe Norris herself was never quite certain. When Mrs. Wells remonstrated mildly at her too inquisitive questions on Jawn’s past, Phœbe puzzled Mrs. Wells still further by remarking, “But I must act up to me part of lady detective, mustn’t I? It’s a movie play we’re in. The man with the box is concealed somewhere about, I’m sure. We’ll see the whole thing some evening at Cornwall’s Theatre, I’ll warrant ye!”
“All the world’s a movie,” agreed Jawn, “and men and women merely——”
“Merely fillum,” Phœbe shot in her interruption. “Some bein’ hair-breadth horrors and some, like you, Jawn, bein’ just ‘comics.’”
“Wait!” cried Jawn, striking an attitude.
“He’s got a limerick in him!” shouted Phœbe. “Hush!”
Mrs. Wells was disturbed. “He’s got a what?” she asked.