“I—I told you—” he faltered. “I—I told you—”
“You told me it had gone to Egypt. But I was suspicious, old man. Why, Miss Phipps, isn't it glorious? Look at him!”
Martha was looking. Her face wore a puzzled expression.
“Isn't it glorious?” repeated Cousin Gussie.
She shrugged. “I suppose it is,” she said. “Maybe it would be more so if I knew what it was all about. And Mr. Bangs doesn't look as if he found much glory in it.”
“Of course he doesn't. Serves him right, the rascal. You see, Miss Phipps, I am supposed to take care of his money for him, and, while I was away in the mountains, my secretary sent him a check for over fourteen thousand dollars, sent it to him by mistake. I never should have done it, of course. I know him of old, where money is concerned. Well, almost immediately after receiving the check, up he comes to our Boston office and—”
“Cousin Gussie! I—I protest! I—”
“Up he comes, Miss Phipps, and draws five thousand of the fourteen thousand in cash, in money, and takes it away with him. Then—”
“Cousin Gussie! Mr. Cabot!”
The tone in which Galusha spoke was so different from his usual one, and the fact of his addressing his relative as “Mr. Cabot” so astonishing, that the latter was obliged to stop even in the full tide of his enjoyment of the joke. He turned, to find Galusha leaning forward, one hand upon the center table, and the other extending a forefinger in his direction. The finger shook a little, but its owner's countenance was set like a rock. And now it was not crimson, but white.