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"
"Oh," said she, "it's the commonest little story in the world. All
landladies can tell them to you by the hour. This man has been at Aunt
Jennie's nearly a month, and what's the color of his money she hasn't
the faintest idea. Such is the way our bright young men carve out their
fortunes--the true Gothic architecture! Possibly Aunt Jennie has thrown
out one or two delicate hints, carefully insulated to avoid hurting his
feelings. You know the way our ladies of the old school do--the worst
collectors the world has ever seen. So she telephoned me this
morning--I'm her business woman, you see--asking me to come and advise
her, and I'm coming, and after supper--"
"Well, what'll you do?"
"I'm going to talk with him, with the man. I'm simply going to _collect
that money_. Or if I can't--"
"What's the horrid alternative?"
"I'm going to _fire_ him!"
West laughed merrily. His face always looked most charming when he
smiled. "Upon my word I believe you can do it."
"I _have_ done it, lots of times."
"Ah! And is the ceremony ever attended by scenes of storm and violence?"
"Never.


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