“Quick!” laughed Poppy, remembering that this was the enemy. “Get the teakettle.”
“A dose of hot water is what he deserves,” came stiffly from the fearless little old lady, as she planted herself, sort of belligerent-like, in front of the door.
Having successfully dragged himself up the mountain, like a heaving donkey engine, old fatty stopped on the top step to swab his bald spot and adjust his scowl.
“Well, madam,” he boomed at us out of his inflated stomach, “I’m here.”
“So I see,” says Mrs. Doane quietly.
“As I told you over the ’phone,” proceeded old dough-face in his ponderous, important way, “you are outside of your rights in coming here to live. The late owner of this place instructed me to close it after his death and keep it closed until the complete settlement of the estate. So I have come to see that his wishes are obeyed.”
Say, I wish you could have seen that little old lady swell up! As I watched her, grinning, all I could think of was a ruffled bantam getting ready to do its stuff. Boy, was my thought, if she ever socked her spurs into old goozleum the goo sure would run.
“I don’t believe,” came hotly, “that Corbin Danver ever told you to close this house against his relations. And I defy you to show me any writing to that effect.”
“I know my business, madam.”
“Then tend to it,” was the slap that old fatty got in the face.