Hephzy nodded and then offered a solution.
“I don't doubt he did it on purpose,” she declared. “He knew neither you nor I was anxious to go to England. He knows we don't think much of the English, after our experience with that Morley brute.”
“No, he doesn't know any such thing. I've never told him a word about Morley. And he doesn't know you're going, Hephzy. I've kept that as a—as a surprise for him.”
“Well, never mind. I'd rather go to Amsterdam than England. It's nearer to France.”
I was surprised. “Nearer to France?” I repeated. “What difference does that make? We don't know anyone in France.”
Hephzibah was plainly shocked. “Why, Hosy!” she protested. “Have you forgotten Little Frank? He is in France somewhere, or he was at last accounts.”
“Good Lord!” I groaned. Then I got up and went out. I had forgotten “Little Frank” and hoped that she had. If she was to flit about Europe seeing “Little Frank” on every corner I foresaw trouble. “Little Frank” was likely to be the bane of my existence.
We left Bayport on Monday morning. The house was cleaned and swept and scoured and moth-proofed from top to bottom. Every door was double-locked and every window nailed. Burglars are unknown in Bayport, but that didn't make any difference. “You can't be too careful,” said Hephzy. I was of the opinion that you could.
The cat had been “farmed out” with Susanna's people and Susanna herself was to feed the hens twice a day, lock them in each night and let them out each morning. Their keeper had a carefully prepared schedule as to quantity and quality of food; Hephzy had prepared and furnished it.
“And don't you give 'em any fish,” ordered Hephzy. “I ate a chicken once that had been fed on fish, and—my soul!”