It took me some time to answer. “No,” is a short and simple word, but I found it tremendously difficult to pronounce. Yet I did pronounce it, I am glad to say. After all that I had said before I would have been ashamed to do anything else.
He did not appear surprised at my refusal.
“All right,” he said. “I'm not going to coax you. Just remember that the offer holds good and when you get ready to accept it, sing out. Well!” looking at his watch, “I must be going. My wife will think I've fallen into the bay, or been murdered by the hostile natives. Nerves are mean things to have in the house; you can take my word for that. Good-by, Paine. Thank you again for last night and the rest of it. Mabel will thank you herself when she sees you, I presume.”
He was on his way to the door when I recovered presence of mind sufficient to remember ordinary politeness.
“Your daughter—er—Miss Colton is well?” I stammered. “No ill effects from her wetting—and the shock?”
“Not a bit. She's one of the kind of girls they turn out nowadays. Athletics and all that. Her grandmother would have died probably, after such an upset, but she's as right as I am. Oh . . . er—Paine, next time you go shooting let me know. Maybe I'd like to go along. I used to be able to hit a barn door occasionally.”
He stopped long enough to bite the end from a cigar and strolled away, smoking. I sat down in the armchair. “Five thousand dollars!” . . . “Carver won't do.” . . . “I will have the Lane some time or other.” . . . “Five thousand dollars!” . . . “Next time you go shooting.” . . . “Friends!” . . . “Five thousand dollars!”
Oh, this was a nightmare! I must wake up before it got any worse.