If Ford Foster had been ready to "chaff" Dick Lee, or even Dab Kinzer, he knew enough to speak respectfully to the portly and business-like lady now before [him].
"IS YOUR NAME DABNEY KINZER?"
"Yes, madam," he said, with a ceremonious bow. "I wish to report to my father that I've found an acceptable house in this vicinity."
"You do!"
Mrs. Kinzer was reading the young gentleman through and through as she spoke, but she followed her exclamation with a dozen questions, and then wound up with:
"Go right home, then, and tell your father the only good house to let in this neighborhood will be ready for him next week, and he'd better see me at once. Get into the buggy, Dabney."
"A very remarkable woman!" muttered Ford Foster to himself as they drove away. "I must make some more inquiries."
"Mother," said Dabney, "you wouldn't let 'em have Ham's house?"
"No, indeed; but I don't mean to have our own stand empty." And, with that, a great deal of light began to break in on Dabney's mind.