To-day
is Friday, and Friday is an unlucky day. I'd get rid of that sedan
before noon if I were you."
There was a long, fateful silence. Then in a singularly small,
quavering voice: "You think it best, Cardigan?"
"I do. Return it to No. 38 Redwood Boulevard, and no questions will
be asked. Good-bye!"
When Shirley reached home at noon, she found her car parked in front
of the porte cochere; and a brief note, left with the butler,
informed her that after thinking the matter over, Mrs. Poundstone had
decided the Poundstone family could not afford such an extravagance,
and accordingly the car was returned with many thanks for the
opportunity to purchase it at such a ridiculously low figure. Shirley
smiled, and put the car up in the garage. When she returned to the
house her maid Thelma informed her that Mr. Bryce Cardigan had been
calling her on the telephone. So she called Bryce up at once.
"Has Poundstone returned your car?" he queried.
"Why, yes. What makes you ask?"
"Oh, I had a suspicion he might. You see, I called him up and
suggested it; somehow His Honour is peculiarly susceptible to
suggestions from me, and--"
"Bryce Cardigan," she declared, "you're a sly rascal--that's what you
are. I shan't tell you another thing."
"I hope you had a stenographer at the dictograph when the Mayor and
your uncle cooked up their little deal," he continued.
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