“Shoot them?”
“Drive them off, or use a Bean-shooter. Anything. But don’t yell at them. It distracts me.”
It was a Sacred trust. I, and only I, stood between him and his magnum opum. I sat down on the steps of our bath-house, and took up my vigel.
It was about five o’clock when I heard Jane approaching. I knew it was Jane, because she always wears tight shoes, and limps when unobserved. Although having the reputation of the smallest foot of any girl in our set in the city, I prefer Comfort and Ease, unhampered by heals—French or otherwise. No man will ever marry a girl because she wears a small shoe, and catches her heals in holes in the Boardwalk, and has to soak her feet at night before she can sleep. However——
Jane came on, and found me croutched on the doorstep, in a lowly attatude, and holding my finger to my lips.
She stopped and stared at me.
“Hello,” she said. “What do you think you are? A Statue?”
“Hush, Jane,” I said, in a low tone. “I can only ask you to be quiet and speak in Whispers. I cannot give the reason.”
“Good heavens!” she whispered. “What has happened, Bab?”
“It is happening now, but I cannot explain.”