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The expressmen were carrying up another trunk now, and so conscious of the glittering eyes of mastery upon them that they carried it as though it were the Ark of the Covenant and they its chosen priests. Mrs. Brewster-Smith followed them with a firm tread, throwing over her shoulder to the stone Genevieve below, "Oh, my dear, little Eleanor and her nurse will be in soon.
I'm duly sworn in as extra guard and I'm not the only one, neither." "Did he come after you?" Miss Eliot indicated the ruffian at his side. "I seen the lady owner blew the bunch," that worthy remarked with a hoarse chuckle. "I wised Mike, all right. Whatcha goin' to do about it?" "Mrs. Brewster-Smith, the owner," Miss Eliot observed, "didn't seem to know that she had employed you. How about that?"
Brewster-Smith might have her limitations, but she was entirely aware of the appeasing effect of an open fire and a spread cloth even when no meal is in sight; she was adept in the art of enveloping tenderness and the extent to which it may be augmented by the pleasing aroma of ham and eggs and the coffee which she made herself.
Brewster-Smith cackled thin laughter. "That's what you get for interfering," she jeered, so angry with her hostess for this forced inspection of her source of income that she was ready to sacrifice the comforts of her extended visit to have the satisfaction of airing her resentment. "Poor soul!" said Geneviève. "Thirty a month!" Her eyes ran over the rows of crowded shacks.
Brewster-Smith, whose curiosity concerning her possessions had been aroused by the physical evidence of the same, balanced on a rut and surveyed her tormentor angrily. "I'm sure I don't know. I've told you before I don't understand such matters, and I see nothing to be gained by coming here." Geneviève pushed open a battered gate, walked up to the door and knocked.
Betty looked, and looked again and turned on him petulantly: "What foolishness are you up to now, Penfield Evans!" she whispered energetically. "Why under the sun did you drag me out to see Emelene and Alys Brewster-Smith dining with the Remingtons?
At ten minutes past four, the anxious Antis in the Remington living-room heard the candidate for district attorney running down the stairs, and even Mrs. Brewster-Smith was hushed. The candidate stopped, however, on the landing. They heard him lift the telephone receiver. He called a number. Then "Sentinel office?... Mr. Ledbetter, please.... Hello, Ledbetter! Remington speaking.
Brewster-Smith, what difficulties we are having with the owners as a class. The five biggest have formed an association. I suppose you've heard about it. They must have made an effort to interest you " he stopped short, remembering that her name appeared on the lists of the "Protective League."
"My dear girl," said Alys, "if you take that tone with your husband you'll never hold him never. Men won't stand for it. You're only hurting yourself." "What tone?" Genevieve inquired as she rose calmly and led the way to the drawing-room. "I mean" Mrs. Brewster-Smith slipped a firm, white hand across Genevieve's shoulders "you shouldn't try to force issues.
Brewster-Smith turned on her heel and walked away, teetering over the ruts and holes of the path. Genevieve looked distressed. "I'm sorry," she breathed, "I'm ashamed, but it had to come out. I I couldn't stand it any longer. I beg everybody's pardon. I'm sure, it was awfully bad manners of me. Oh, dear " she faltered, half turned, and, with a gesture of appeal toward Mrs.
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