“She wouldn’t, you know,” I said anxiously to Gringo.
“I track her,” said the good old dog. “She’s fighting for her friend. It’ll do him good.”
“And your brother-in-law,” said mistress furiously. “How many men would put up with your actions? It’s common talk, that you come home here staggering, night after night.”
The discomfited Carty at last got a word in. “But what has all this got to do with Bonstone’s going to town and making game of me?”
“He hasn’t gone to make fun of you,” cried mistress, “he’ll tell the story, and your boon companions will put their own interpretation on it. They’ll know it was you that debauched the hens. They know you bring bottles home.”
“Debauched the hens,” cried Master Carty, putting both hands to his head, and acting as if he were trying to lift himself up by his hair, “Good London! have I sunk as low as that?”
Mrs. Granton’s voice suddenly became compassionate. “Run to the telephone, dear Carty,” she said, “we can’t help loving you, in spite of your faults. Telephone Norman, telephone my husband—beg them to say nothing of the occurrence. Beg them to keep quiet. Tell them it was your bottle, that your friends will put their own construction on the story, no matter how innocently it is told. Fly to the telephone, like a good boy.”
Mistress glanced at the sofa. Her friend was with her. She was doing right. She urged Master Carty to the hall, she put the receiver in his hand, he called up Mr. Bonstone and my dear master. He faltered and stammered, and she supplied words. Finally, the campaign was over, and he came back to the table where Mrs. Bonstone, having revived by this time, was sitting ringing for fresh coffee.
Then didn’t the two women pet him! He was their own dear boy, no one should make fun of him, while they could protect him. No one must tell Grandmother, she would be so shocked, and Master Carty alternately beamed and glowered, and cast puzzled glances at us, as if he didn’t quite know whether to be flattered or disgruntled.
They begged him not to go in town that morning, to take them for a drive, and presently the two women with the children, Gringo and myself, were spinning over the beautiful country in our big touring-car, with Louis grinning happily as he conducted us.