tea--muffins--something of that sort, you know--and Willie cried down
his order through the telephone, which had already been duly
admired--one in every room, etc. Next from a hidden cubby he produced
siphon-water, glasses, and a black bottle of Scotch. Needed it, said
he--digging two hours for ten cents out.
"Like the quarters, hey, Canning? Gad, may move again. Man across the
hall--bigger rooms--wants to sublet. Like you to look at 'em sometime,
Cousin Isabel. Say, Cousin Isabel, by the bye," he added, expertly
putting ice into three glasses, "ran down that chap V. Vivian for you,
just now. Fact. Old Sleuth Kerr--catches 'em alive. He's Armistead
Beirne's nephew--just turned up here--what d'you think of that?"
"Mr. Beirne's _nephew_!" echoed Carlisle Heth, without the slightest
strategy.
"Vivian? Who on _earth_, Willie?" demanded Mrs. Heth, puzzled; and
looked, not at Willie, but at Carlisle.
"Don't you remember?--chap that wrote that fierce slush attackin' the
Works, month or so ago? That's the bird.--Got rye right here, if you
prefer it, Canning.--Walked a block with him and old Beirne just now.
Remember Amy Beirne--eloped with some inventor fellow--what's his
name--oh, sure, Vivian, haha! Lived in Alabama. Here's regards."
Mrs. Heth now recalled the name, and also having asked Willie, long
since, to identify it. However, she thought the topic just a little
inopportune at the moment.
"Ah, yes. Mr. Beirne's nephew--well! I hope you made this _very_ mild,
indeed, Willie? You know I rarely consent to.... He might be better
employed, one would think, than vilifying the Works, but there's no
accounting for tastes, as I always say."
"Just water with a dash, ma'am. Oh, he's one of these slumming chaps,
seems--kind of a Socialist, y' know--"
"The Works?" queried Mr. Canning. "Ah, yes! Mr. Heth's--of course! Is a
cigarette permitted?..."
Carlisle, who had been gazing into the fire and acquiring information,
roused. "Oh, here's your tea, Willie!" said she. "How very good
it looks!"
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