"Now," ordered Cockney, "take your suitcases into the house."
The Professor looked at him admiringly. "I wish I could express myself like that. Sometimes I find the language of the lecture-room not exactly suited to buying oatmeal or getting a tooth filled. He means, Isabel, that we must be his guests, in spite of ourselves. On him be the blame."
Cockney burst into a laugh that startled the horses.
"I don't see why you shouldn't find old bones about here, Professor. We seem to have pretty nearly everything else anyone wants. We've opened a sanitorium." He nodded at Stamford. "Might as well add a seminary. From to-day the H-Lazy Z ranks as a public institution."
There was nothing offensive in the tone, but about the laugh was a suggestion of recklessness.
"Of course," stammered the Professor, "I'd be delighted if—if——" He cleared his throat. "General—I mean, Inspector Barker warned me not to suggest it, but I feel I owe it to myself and to the professional nature of my visit to express the hope that—that if there's any consideration——"
"If you suggest such a thing again," interrupted Cockney, angrily looking the Professor up and down, "I'll carry you down and drop you in the river."
The Professor, retreating before the blaze of indignation, tripped over the board edging of the gravel walk and fell.
"I meant no offence," he stammered, where he lay. "It's only my Eastern ignorance, you know."
Cockney reached down and jerked him to his feet.