“What is it?” she asked slowly.
“Nothing much—I ain't going to tell just yet. You'll come, won't you?”
“Why, I don't know———”
“Won't you?”
Mamie looked at him, hesitated, then laughed nervously, and nodded. She was a little frightened. Hunch grew almost boisterous in a sudden flow of good spirits, and he went away without a word which would make her understand.
They took the morning train. Mamie was herself again, and they appeared as quite a sober pair. Hunch, however, grew nervous as they came into Manistee. He hurried her into a trolley car, and sat stiff and silent while they skirted the flat shore of the lake and river. Finally, they got out and walked across the sand to a newly painted cottage next to a sand-hill.
Hunch looked at the house, and then at Mamie. She was puzzled,
“Well,” he said, “how do you like it?”
“What?” she said, though her eyes showed that she was beginning to understand.
“That there—the house. It's yours. I made it for you.” He was so excited that he was raising his voice.