“Oh, bother work,” said Mollie, crossly. “Who wants to work, anyway, when they might have a good time?”
“I guess he doesn’t want to,” Betty spoke up, gravely, and as though they realized that there was something behind her words they looked at her expectantly.
“Hand us the news, Betty,” commanded Roy.
“He’s drawing up a will for an old man who doesn’t seem to know his own mind,” replied Betty promptly. “As soon as he draws up a will he tears it up and sets to work making another one.”
“Lots of fun for Allen,” commented Grace. “I should think he’d tell the old man to get another lawyer.”
“Guess he’d rather do it himself,” said Betty, her eyes once more wandering to the door. “You see he thinks he’s got wind of some mystery connected with his crusty client, and you know what Allen is when he smells a mystery.”
“Regular old sleuth-hound,” agreed Will Ford, with a grin. “Always told Allen he should have been a detective instead of a no-’count lawyer. Don’t look at me that way, Betty. I promise never to do it again.”
As a matter of fact Betty had not looked at him at all, being too busy watching the door. But she did look at him now, just long enough to send him one withering glance.
“Well, all I have to say is,” said Mollie, indignantly, “that if Allen passes up my perfectly good party, just for the sake of drawing up a worthless old will, then all I say is——”
“Say it to my face, woman, say it to my face,” commanded a laughing voice, and Allen stepped into the room.