B. personal,' and the boss and I burned them
yesterday morning early, right there in that grate in his room. That's
what I think of Mr. Ed Thatcher. A pearl necklace for my birthday ought
to be about right for that."
Harwood had been drinking this in as he opened and sorted his letters.
He paused and stared at her absently.
"You referred to a caller a moment ago--the gentleman who annoyed you so
much on the telephone. Was I to call him or anything like that?"
"He left a good many orders, but I think you were to eat food with him
in the frosty halls of the University Club almost at once. He's in a
state of mind. In love with the daughter of his father's enemy--just
like a Park Theatre thriller. Wants you to tell him what to do; and you
will pardon me for suggesting that if there's to be an elopement you
write it up yourself for the 'Courier.' I was talking to a friend of
mine who's on the ding-ding desk at the Whitcomb and she says the
long-distance business in that tavern is painful to handle--hot words
flying over the state about this Thatcher-Bassett rumpus. You may take
it from me that the fight is warm, and I guess somebody will know more
after the convention. But say--!"
"Um," said Harwood, whose gaze was upon the frame of a new building that
was rising across the street. He was thinking of Allen. If Marian and
Allen were subjects of gossip in connection with the break between their
fathers he foresaw trouble; and he was sorry, for he was sincerely
devoted to the boy; and Marian he liked also, in spite of her vagaries.
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