“That little red-headed, spindling, freckled, milk-fed mill-hand––”
“Funny, ain’t it? But there’s no telling what will catch the tired business man, is there, Ben?”
“Well, what does catch him?” demanded Stull angrily. “What’s the answer?”
“I guess she’s the answer, Ben.”
“Ah, leave the kid alone––”
“I’m going to have the car sent up here. I’m going to take her out. Go on to Saratoga if you want to. I’ll meet you there––”
“When?”
“When I’m ready,” replied Brandes evenly. But he smiled.
Stull looked at him, and his white face, soured by dyspepsia, became sullen with wrath. At such times, too, his grammar suffered from indigestion.
“Say, Eddie,” he began, “can’t no one learn you nothin’ at all? How many times would you have been better off if you’d listened to me? Every time you throw me you hand yourself one. Now that you got a little money again and a little backing, don’t do anything like that––”