“What is information generally for?” asked Tavia, verbally fencing with the man. “We want to know where we stand.”
“Do you mean you want to find out what sort of apartments they are—whether they are of high class?”
He was assuming a more and more defiant attitude, as he plainly saw that the girls, as he thought, were weakening.
“Something of that sort—yes,” answered Tavia. “You know we want to start right. But then, of course,” and she actually smiled, “we would like to know all the ins and outs. We are not at all business-like—I admit that—and we certainly did not mean to libel you.” Crafty Tavia! Thus, she thought she might minimize any unintentional indiscretion she had committed.
“Mrs. White doesn’t know much about business, either,” she went on. “She would like to, though, wouldn’t she, Dorothy?”
“Oh, yes—yes,” breathed Dorothy, scarcely knowing what she said. She was trying to think of a way out of the dilemma in which she and Tavia found themselves.
“I will give Mrs. White any information she may need,” said Mr. Akerson, coldly.
“But about the apartments themselves,” said Tavia. “She wants to know what income they bring in—about the new improvements—the class of tenants—Oh, the thousand and one things that a woman ought to know about her own property.”
“Rather indefinite,” sneered the man.
“I don’t mean to be so,” flashed Tavia. “I want to be very definite—as very definite as it is possible for you to be,” and she looked meaningly at the agent. “We want to know all you can tell us,” she went on, and, growing bolder, added: “We want to know why there is not more money coming from those apartments; don’t we, Dorothy?” and she moved over nearer to her chum.