“B.” interrupted Gladys.
“B. Edison lived here. This young lady's little sister is lost, and Mrs. Edison is a relative, and we thought—”
The man made another dart. “Don't care what you thought,” he shouted. “Keep your thoughts to yourself! Get out of here!”
“Do you know where Mrs. George B. Edison lives now?” asked Wollaston, courteously, but his black eyes flashed at the man.
“No, I don't.”
“No, we don't,” said the young woman in pink. “Do make them go, Tom.”
“We are perfectly willing to go,” said Wollaston. “We have no desire to remain any longer where people are not willing to answer civil questions.”
Maria all this time had said nothing. She was perfectly overcome with the conviction that Ida's cousin was not there, and consequently not Evelyn. Moreover, she was frightened at the little man's fierce manner. She clung to Wollaston's arm as they retreated, but Gladys turned around and deliberately stuck her tongue out at the man and the young woman in rose. The man slammed the door.
The three met on the stoop of the house two people in gay attire.
“Go up and see your friends that don't know how to treat folks decent,” said Gladys. The woman looked wonderingly at her from under the shade of a picture hat. Her escort opened the door. “Ten chances to one they had the kid hid somewhere,” said Gladys, so loudly that both turned and looked at her.