Primmie departed and Martha, alone in the gathering dimness of the afternoon, resumed her thinking. It was an endless round, that thinking of hers—but, of course, it could end in but one way. Even to wish such things was wicked. For his sake, that was what Mr. Cabot had said. Ah, yes, but it was for his sake that she must remain firm.
A big drop of rain splashed, and exploded like a miniature watery bombshell, against the windowpane. Martha looked up. Then she became aware of a faint tinkling in the room below. The telephone bell was ringing.
She hurried downstairs and put the receiver to her ear. It was Mr. Beebe speaking and he wished to ask something concerning a message which had been left in his care by Primmie Cash.
“It's signed by that Mr. Galushy Bangs of yours,” explained Erastus. “I've got to 'phone it to the telegraph office and there's a word in it I can't make out. Maybe you could help me, Martha, long's Bangs isn't there. 'Tain't nothin' private, I don't cal'late. I'll read it to you if you want I should.”
He began to read without waiting for permission. The message was addressed to the Board of Directors of the National Institute at Washington, D. C., and began like this:
“Deeply regret necessity of refusing your generous and flattering offer to lead—”
It was just here that Mr. Beebe's ability to decipher the Bangs' handwriting broke down.
“I can't make out the next word, Martha,” he said. “It begins with an F, but the rest of it ain't nothin' but a string of kinks. It's all head and no tail, that word is.”
“What does it look like?”
“Hey? Looks like a whiplash or an eel, more'n anything else. It might be 'epizootic' or—or—'eclipsin''—or—The word after it ain't very plain neither, but I kind of think that it's 'expedition.'”