Although Grant’s decision was made at once he took some time for reflection before writing an acceptance. He was to enter Zen’s house on her invitation, but under the auspices, so to speak, of husband and parents. That was eminently proper. Zen was a sensible girl. Then there was a reference to that ancient squabble in the hay meadow. It was evidently her plan to see the hatchet buried and friendly relations established all around. Eminently proper and sensible.
He turned the sheet over and wrote on the back:
“DEAR ZEN,—Delighted to come. May have a couple of friends with me, one of whom you have seen before. Prepare for an appetite long denied the joys of home cooking.—D. G.”
It was not until after the child had gone home that Grant remembered he had addressed Transley’s wife by her Christian name. That was the way he always thought of her, and it slipped on to paper quite naturally. Well, it couldn’t be helped now.
Grant unhitched early and hurried to his house and the telephone. In a few minutes he had Linder on the line.
“Hello, Linder? I want you to go to a store for me and buy a teddy-bear.”
The chuckle at the other end of the line irritated Grant. Linder had a strange sense of humor.
“I mean it. A big teddy, with electric eyes, and a deep bass growl, if they make ‘em that way. The best you can get. Fetch it out to-morrow afternoon, and come decently dressed, for once. Bring Murdoch along if you can pry him loose.”
Grant hung up the receiver. “Stupid chap, Linder, some ways,” he muttered. “Why shouldn’t I buy a teddy-bear if I want to?”
Sunday afternoon saw the arrival of Linder and Murdoch, with the largest teddy the town afforded. “What is the big idea now?” Linder demanded, as he delivered it into Grant’s hands.