"Why, what can you be thinking about, James?" his wife asked.
"Thinking about going down town. I must go."
"Not tonight? Why, it's going to rain."
"Doesn't make any difference if it rains bearded pitchforks, I must go."
His wife took him by the arm: "James, you are keeping something from me—something has happened."
"No, nothing has happened. A friend of mine has a project on foot. I am interested in it, and I want to advise him not to go ahead with it."
"But he couldn't go ahead with it tonight," Eva spoke up.
"Yes he can. You don't know how rash he is; he's got no head at all when it comes to such matters. Let me get my umbrella."
"James," said his wife, looking into his eyes, "don't deceive us, tell us what it is."
"What noise was that?" he cried, leaning toward the window. "I heard something. Gracious!" he exclaimed, as the doorbell rang.