Maisie nodded. “I’ll try to undo the mischief, Dan. By the way, Uncle John told me something this morning that you ought to know. He’s up to his silly eyebrows in the rice market.”
“The double-crossing old idiot! I had begun to suspect he was up to some skull-duggery. I was on his trail and would have smoked him out in a day or two.”
“I imagine that is why he told Auntie and me about it. He wanted me to break the news to you, I think.”
Dan’s head hung low on his breast—the sad Abraham Lincoln look was in his face and in his troubled eyes. Tamea, looking up at him very soberly now, read the distress which, momentarily, he could not conceal; in a sudden burst of sympathy her arm started to curve around his neck.
“Oh, stop it, stop it, Tamea!” Maisie cried sharply. “Mr. Pritchard is not accustomed to such intimate personal attentions from comparative strangers.”
Tamea drew away from Dan quickly.
“Dress yourself!” Maisie commanded. “Julia, help her. Dan, run along and try not to worry.”
Tamea’s eyes flashed, but nevertheless she sat down and when Julia handed her a pair of black silken hose she commenced dutifully to draw them on.
“Much obliged for the tip, Maisie. I’ll start a riot in Casson and Pritchard’s office this very day. By the way, I think Mrs. Pippy is on her high horse. Please try to wheedle her down.”
“Mrs. Pippy has resigned, Dan.”