“I guess she is!” I replied.
“She hasn't got here yet—she has so many friends in the city. But she always wants US, and when she does come—!” With which my friend, now so far relieved and agreeably smiling, rubbed together conspicuously the pair of plump subjects of her “cure.”
“You feel then,” I inquired, “that she will come?”
“Oh, I guess she'll be round this afternoon. We wouldn't forgive her—!”
“Ah, I'm afraid we MUST forgive her!” I was careful to declare. “But I'll come back on the chance.”
“Any message then?”
“Yes, please say her nephew from Eastridge—!”
“Oh, her nephew—!”
“Her nephew. She'll understand. I'll come back,” I repeated. “But I've got to find her!”
And, as in the fever of my need, I turned and sped away.