AS WE approached our house, Mr. Millington, who was in his garage, and
Mr. Rolfs, who was on his porch, came to meet us. They looked at the
carriage with suspicion, but I assumed a careless, innocent look, well
calculated to deceive them. They came down to the carriage, and laid
their hands on it, and glanced into it. Mr. Rolfs, with ill-assumed
absent-mindedness, lifted the leather cover of the rear of the carriage
box and glanced in. I was glad we had put Chesterfield Whiting under the
seat.
“Shall I take in the--” Isobel began, but I cut her words short.
“No, I will take in your _wraps_,” I said meaningly, and then added:
“Well, good night, Millington; good night, Rolfs.”
They did not take the hint. They walked beside the carriage as I drove
to the stable, and although Mr. Prawley was able to do the work alone,
and I made some excuse to help him, Rolfs and Millington seemed eager to
help us.
“I worked two hours over my automobile,” said Millington, “and she is
knocking again as usual. To-morrow, I propose you and I and our wives
will take a little pig up to Port Lafayette--”
“Pig?” I said. “What do you mean by pig, Millington.”
“Did I say pig?” said Millington in great confusion. “I meant to say:
'take a little spin.'”
“John will think you think he is thinking of keeping a pig,” said Rolfs
accusingly to Millington. “He will think you are doubting his sanity.
John would no more keep a pig on this place--”
“Certainly not!” I cried. “The idea! Keep a pig!”
“Well, you know,” said Millington, and then stopped. “What is that
squeak?” he asked.