Nan looked at him quickly, but was able to read nothing in his impassive face.
“I hope you two have been getting better acquainted,” Eaton remarked. “Mr. Farley and I have had a splendid talk; I never found him more amusing. One of the most interesting men I ever knew! What have you been talking about? The silence down here has been ominously painful!”
“Mr. Amidon has been telling me of the egg-throwing habits of the waitresses in my native town. Life here in the city is nothing to what it is down on the river. He’s almost made me homesick!”
“My dear Amidon,” said Eaton severely, “have you been telling that story—in a private house? I thought when I brought you here you’d be on your good behavior. I’m sorry, Nan; I apologize for him. Of course, he mustn’t come back; I’ll see to it that he doesn’t.”
“Don’t be cruel!” laughed Nan. “We got on beautifully!”
They heard Farley’s groans and mutterings as the nurse put him to bed, and it seemed necessary to refer to him again before the men left.
“You won’t mind, Nan,” said Eaton, “if I say that Mr. Farley told me the cause of your little difficulty; I know the whole story. I think he probably won’t mention it to you again. I asked him not to. Just go on as though nothing had happened. It was unfortunate, of course; but I’ve persuaded him that your conduct is pardonable—really quite admirable from your standpoint. If anything further arises in regard to it, I wish you’d communicate with me, immediately.”
Ignoring her murmurs of gratitude, he turned to Jerry.
“Amidon, at this point we shake hands and move rapidly up the street. And, Nan, you needn’t be troubled because Mr. Amidon heard the last echoes of your difficulty. He’s perfectly safe,—discreet, wise,—though you’d never guess it. You may safely assume that he heard nothing. We must have some golf, you and I. My game’s coming up!”
She went with them to the street door, where Amidon, in executing a final bow, nearly fell backward down the steps.