"Look out for Grandma, the Demon!" warned Bulger. "'F I was the old man
I'd slip something in her tea."
"Who--who is she?" demanded Bean.
"Just his dear, sweet old mother, that's all! Talk you to
death--suffergette! Oh! say!"
Reaching the street, his gloom was not at all lightened by the discovery
of the flapper in the waiting car. She gave him the little double-nod
and regarded him with that peculiar steely kindness he so well
remembered. It was undoubtedly kind, that look, yet there was an
implacable something in its quality that dismayed him. He wondered what
she exactly meant by it.
"Get in," commanded the flapper, and Bean got in.
"Tell him where to go for your things."
Bean told him.
"I'm glad it's on our way. Pops is in an awful state. He swore right out
at his own mother this morning, and he wants you there in a hurry. Maybe
we'll be arrested for speeding."
Bean earnestly hoped they would. Pops in health was ordeal enough. But
he remained silent, trusting to the vigilance of an excellent
constabulary. The car reached the steam-heated apartment without
adventure, however, and he quickly secured his suit-case and consigned
the dog for an uncertain period to a Cassidy, who was brazenly taking
more than a friendly interest in him. Cassidy talked bluntly of how "we"
ought to feed him, as if he were already a part owner of the animal.
The car flew on, increasing a speed that had been unlawful almost from
the start.
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