She hurried away in response to her mistress’ hail.  Galusha said nothing to Miss Phipps. nor to any one else, but during the rest of that day he did a great deal of thinking.  Martha Phipps was worried, she was troubled, she had been crying; according to Primmie Horatio Pulcifer was responsible for her tears.  Galusha had never fancied Mr. Pulcifer, now he was conscious of a most extraordinary dislike for the man.  He had never disliked any one so much in all his life, he was sure of that.  Also he was conscious of a great desire to help Martha in her trouble.  Of course there was a certain measure of relief in learning that Pulcifer and not he was responsible for that trouble, but the relief was a small matter in comparison with the desire to help.

He could think of but one way in which Horatio Pulcifer could cause worry for Martha Phipps and that was in connection with some business matter.  Certain fragments of conversations occurred to him, certain things she had said to him or to Captain Hallett in his hearing which were of themselves sufficient to warrant the surmise that her trouble was a financial one.  He remembered them now, although at the time they had made little impression upon his mind.  But Raish Pulcifer’s name was not mentioned in any of those conversations; Captain Jethro’s had been, but not Raish’s.  Yet Primmie vowed that the latter had made Miss Martha cry.  He determined to seek Primmie and ask for more particulars that very evening.

But Primmie saved him the trouble of seeking her.  Miss Phipps and her maid left him alone in the sitting room as soon as supper was over and neither came back.  He could hear the murmur of voices in the kitchen, but, although he sat up until ten o’clock, neither Primmie nor her mistress joined him.  So he reluctantly went up to his room, but had scarcely reached it when a knock sounded on the door.  He opened it, lamp in hand.

“Why, Primmie!” he exclaimed.

Primmie waved both hands in frantic expostulation.

“Sshh! shh! shh!” she breathed.  “Don’t say nothin’.  I don’t want her to hear you.  Please don’t let her hear you, Mr. Bangs.  And please come right downstairs again.  I want to talk to you.  I’ve got to talk with you.”

More bewildered than he had before been, even on that bewildering day, Galusha followed Miss Cash down the stairs, through sitting room and dining room to the kitchen.  Then Primmie put down the lamp, which she had taken from his hand, carefully closed the door behind them, turned to her companion and burst out crying.

“Why—­why, Primmie!” exclaimed Galusha.  “Oh, dear me!  What is it?”

Primmie did not answer.  She merely waved her hands up and down and stood there, dripping like a wet umbrella.

“But—­my soul, Primmie!” cried Mr. Bangs.  “Don’t!  You—­you mustn’t, you know.”

But Primmie did, nevertheless.  Galusha in desperation turned toward the door.