She don’t gasp, or go up in the air, or throw any kind of a fit, like I expected. As she looks him over careful, from the sporty hat to the wide soled shoes, I notices her eyes twinkle.
“Hum! I thought as much!” says she. “Craig always could lie easier than he could tell the truth. Young man, you don’t look to me like a person called to hold orders.”
“Glad of it, Aunty,” says Dyke, with a grin. “I don’t feel that way.”
“And you don’t look as if you had broken down your health studying for the ministry, either!” she goes on.
“You don’t mean to say they filled you up with that?” says Dyke. “Hee-haw!”
“Huh!” says Aunty. “It’s a joke, is it? At least you’re not afraid to tell the truth. I guess I want to have a little private talk with you. Who’s this other young man?”
“This is Professor McCabe,” says Dyke. “He’s a friend of mine.”
“Let him come along, too,” says Aunty. “Perhaps he can supply what you leave out.”
And, say, the old girl knew what she wanted and when she wanted it, all right! There was no bunkoin’ her out of it, either. Mr. Mallory leads her out to his brougham and does his best to shoo her in with him and Mrs. Mallory and away from Dyke; but it was no go.
“I will ride up with Dyckman and his friend,” says she. “And I want to go in one of those new automobile cabs I’ve heard so much about.”