Martha paused to laugh, dismally. There was another side. How about future calls from those turned down by Enos? He might lose his temper. All the worse for her.
“I’m most hopin’ nobody’ll come,” she faltered. “I ain’t so sure of gettin’ the best of this.”
However, the following morning saw her marching off smilingly, with Lucianna in high feather at the prospect of a long stroll.
Enos regarded their departure with complacence, expecting an undisturbed session. At the most, some small bill might be presented. He knew just how he would pay it; carelessly, with a jaunty, indifferent air, as if the amount was a trifle. This was his unvarying attitude of settlement—when he settled.
With newspapers and a pipe, it would be quite a holiday. He established himself comfortably, soon forgetting indebtedness in perusing the details of late murders.
Shortly after nine o’clock came a ring of the bell—a feeble peal—Enos went to the door.
The caller was a stranger to him,—a dapper, gentlemanly man whose pleasant face bore an embarrassed expression.
“I—I wish to see Mrs. Matchett,” he began.
“Out for a walk,” said Enos, a bit pompously. “Any message? I’m Mr. Matchett.”
“Well,” the man pursed his lips and hesitated. “I—I wanted to speak with your wife about an account. Something of her own, you know—er—wearing apparel. If I could get the money today it would be a great convenience.”