"I'm thinking of Winifred," said Carver, huskily. "She——"
"Calm your soul on that point—she never loved him. He was thought to be a friend of the family, but she found that he was just an old-fashioned knave. She and I have talked over this whole matter, and I know what I say is true. Shall I phone her the news?"
"Yes, if you will. What shall I do about the corpse?"
"Just turn the whole matter over to the coroner, and if any questions are asked, refer him to me. There is no longer any chance of publicity. A burial notice among the paid advertisements. That's best for him, and best for all. After you have made your report to the coroner beat it for home and go to bed."
"But that wonderful dog—I want him! We already love each other."
"Go get him and take him with you. But don't you ever tell your wife that he once belonged to so and so. Just say that the poor thing seemed to have no master so you picked him up and brought him home. Now that is no lie."
"You are a great old bird, Henry. I'll do as you say. No use to talk with Julie, I imagine, except about the booth."
"That's all," said Updyke, "go on about your business and I'll pick up the matter just where you left off."
"Tell Mary that she may stand a chance to get that quiet little dinner after all," laughed Carver.