"Well," said Kate, leadingly.
"I was just a-wonderin' about this hoss deal," began Loudon. "I think——"
"I know what you intended saying," Kate observed, calmly. "You see in it the fine Italian hand of Blakely."
"You always could talk high, wide, and handsome," said Loudon, admiringly. "How djuh guess it?"
"I know Sam Blakely. That's enough. He'd hesitate at nothing, no matter how vile or wicked it might be. Oh, don't look so eager. I can't prove it. It's my instinct, that's all. I hate him—hate him—hate him!"
Kate covered her face with her hands.
"They'll hear yuh in the kitchen," cautioned Loudon in a whisper.
Kate lowered her hands and looked at him wearily. When she spoke her voice was perfectly composed.
"No, they won't. Dorothy's over at Lil's. Don't worry, though. I sha'n't lose control of myself. Something came over me then. I won't do it again."
"Well, you think like I do, but I can't prove nothin', neither. Never have been able to prove nothin' against the 88. Say, does yore dad still believe like he used to about them cows?"