Still, he seemed to consider that something more than mere apparent perverseness would become him.

“They get down ‘round m’ hands all the time.  Can’t think when they get down that way.  Bother me.  Take m’ mind off.  I won’t do it, that’s all.  I don’t care.  Not for anybody’t all!” He replaced the cuff beside its mate.  He seemed to be saying that he had settled the matter—­and no good talking any more about it.

Bean was silent and dignified.  His own air seemed to disclose that when once you warned people in plain words, you could no longer be held responsible.  For a moment they made a point of ignoring the larger matter.

“Say,” Breede suddenly exploded, “I wish you’d tell me just how many kinds of a—­no matter!  Where was I?  This reserve fund may be subject to draft f’r repairs an’ betterment durin’ ‘suin’ quarter or ’ntil such time as—­”

The telephone again rang its alarm.  Breede took the receiver and allowed dismay to be read on his face as he listened.

“Well, well, well,” he at length began, soothingly, “go lie down; take something; take something; well, send over t’ White Plains f’r s’more.  Putcha t’ sleep.  What can I do?” Again the throttling hand.

He ruefully surveyed his littered desk, then drew the long sigh of the baffled.

“Take telegram m’ wife.  Sorry can’t be home late, ‘port’n board meet’n’.  May be called out of town.”

The telephone rang, but was ignored.

“Send it off,” he directed Bean above the bell’s clear call.  “Then c’mon; go ball game.  G’wup ’n subway.”

“Got car downstairs,” suggested Bean.

“You got your work cut out f’r you; ‘sall I got t’ say,” growled Breede.

“’S little old last year’s car,” said Bean modestly.

XIII

As the little old last year’s car bore them to the north, some long sleeping-image seemed to stir in Breede’s mind.

“Got car like this m’self somewheres,” he remarked.

Bean was relieved.  He didn’t want the name of a woman to be brought into the matter just then.

“’S all right for town work,” he said.  “Good enough for all I want of a car.”

“’S awful!” said Breede, obviously forgetting the car for another subject.

“What can I do?  She says she’s got the right,” suggested Bean.

“She’d take it anyway. I know her.  Pack a suit-case.  Had times with her already.  Takes it from her mother.”

“Can’t be too rough at the start,” declared Bean.  “Manage ’em of course, but ’thout their finding it out—­velvet glove.”  He looked quietly confident and Breede glanced at him almost respectfully.

“When?” he asked.

“Haven’t made up my mind yet,” said Bean firmly.  “I may consult her, then again I may not; don’t believe in long engagements.”

Breede’s glance this time was wholly respectful.