“But I tell you, Nat,” he shouted, “this has got to be stopped!”
“Let it go a day or so, S. K.,” I pleaded. “I ask only that--and then, if things don’t calm, you may do as you like. . . . But--because of that note I beg that you let it go for a couple of days, anyway. Please, S. K.!” I entreated, and really I made my voice shake.
After ten minutes of my nervous insistence he gave in. Then he sat down on the arm of a chair which faced me, and said: “Where are you going to put it to-night?”
“I don’t know,” I answered. “But I’ll hide it somewhere. There are plenty of places, and I’m not afraid. I thought perhaps I’d slip out the bottom drawer of the tall high-boy and put it on the floor, under that.”
“Um,” mused S. K. “Not bad. No one would think of looking there!”
“I thought not,” I agreed complacently.
Then he rang for Debson, and he came in and told us what he had heard in the night. And he did it well. I wondered whether I was all wrong, as I looked at him and heard his explanations. Then I thought of Jane’s confusion and the extreme doubt about anyone’s icing beer. The whole thing was confusing.
After that, I went off. I asked S. K. not to bother to come up with me, and I did it coldly, for he had been unpleasant. But he came.
“What was the matter?” I asked, as we waited for the door to open. He didn’t fence. He is always honest.
“I’ve been fiendishly cross, haven’t I?” he questioned, instead of answering.