"I must earn our expenses until we're safe," said she,
once more telling a literal truth that was yet a complete
deception.
"Why do you fret me?" exclaimed he. "Do you want me to be
sick again?"
"Suppose you didn't get the advance right away," urged she.
"I tell you I shall get it! And I won't have you--do as you
are doing. If you go, you go for keeps."
She seated herself. "Do you want me to read or take dictation?"
His face expressed the satisfaction small people find in small
successes at asserting authority. "Don't be angry," said he.
"I'm acting for your good. I'm saving you from yourself."
"I'm not angry," replied she, her strange eyes resting upon him.
He shifted uncomfortably. "Now what does that look mean?" he
demanded with an uneasy laugh.
She smiled, shrugged her shoulders.
Sperry--small and thin, a weather-beaten, wooden face
suggesting Mr. Punch, sly keen eyes, theater in every tone and
gesture Sperry pushed the scenario hastily to completion and
was so successful with Fitzalan that on Sunday afternoon he
brought two hundred and fifty dollars, Spenser's half of the
advance money.
"Didn't I tell you!" said Spenser to Susan, in triumph.
"We'll move at once. Go pack your traps and put them in a
carriage, and by the time you're back here Sperry and the
nurses will have me ready."
It was about three when Susan got to her room. Clara heard
her come in and soon appeared, bare feet in mules, hair
hanging every which way.
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