“No,” said I, stubbornly. “No, Mr. Colton.”
“You mean it? Very well, I leave you in your Mother's hands. She will probably bring you to your senses before long. Mrs. Paine, you can handle him, I have no doubt. I am glad to have met you, and, with your permission, I shall call on you again. So will Mabel. As for you, young man, I thank you for last night's work. You will, perhaps, accept thanks if you refuse everything else. Good morning.”
He rose, bowed, and walked to the door. As he opened it he staggered, perceptibly. I thought, for an instant, that he was going to fall, and I sprang to his assistance.
“It's all right,” he said, gruffly. “This digestion of mine sets my head spinning sometimes. That doctor says I shall upset completely unless I rest. I told him he was a fool and I intend to prove it. Let me be. I can walk, I should hope. When I can't I'll call the ambulance—or the hearse. I'll find the way out, myself. Good-by.”
The door closed behind him.
“Roscoe,” said Mother, quickly, “come here.”
I turned toward her. She was looking at me with a strange expression.
“What is it, Mother?” I asked, anxiously.
“Roscoe,” she whispered, “I know him. I have met him before.”
“Know him! You have met Mr. Colton—before? Where?”