The window by Aunt Polly's couch was open a little higher than usual and the words that greeted Northrup were:
"_I_ call it muggy, Mr. Maclin. That's what _I_ call it, and if the draught hits the nape of your neck, set the other side of the hearth where there ain't no draught."
This, apparently, the caller proceeded to do. Outside Northrup took a chair and refrained from smoking. He wanted his presence to be unsuspected by the caller. He was confident that Aunt Polly knew of his proximity, and he felt sure that Maclin had come to find out more about him.
From the first Northrup was aware of a subtle meaning for the call and he wondered if the woman, clicking her needles, fully comprehended it! The man, Maclin, he soon gathered, was no ordinary personage. He had a kind of superficial polish and culture that were evident in the tones of his voice. After having accounted for his presence by stating that he was looking about a bit and felt like being friendly, Maclin was rounded up by Aunt Polly asking what he was looking about at?
"To tell the truth," he said, as if taking Aunt Polly into his intimate confidence, "I was looking at the Point. A darned dirty bit of ground with all those squatters on it."
"We haven't ever called 'em that, Mr. Maclin. They're folks with nowhere else to live." Aunt Polly clicked her needles.
"They're a dirty, lazy lot. I can't get 'em to work over at the mines, do what I will."
"As to that, Mr. Maclin, folks as are mostly drunk on bad whiskey can't be expected to do good work, can they? Then again, if they are sober, I dare say they are too keen about those inventions of yours that must be so secret. Foreigners, for that purpose, I reckon are easier to manage."
Maclin shifted his position and put the nape of his neck nearer the window again and Northrup lost any doubt he had about Aunt Polly's understanding of the situation.
Maclin laughed. It was a trick of his to laugh while he got control of himself.
"You're a real idealist, Miss Heathcote; most ladies are, some men are, too, until they have to handle the ugly facts of life."
Peter was meant by "some men," Northrup suspected.
"Now, speaking of the whiskey, Miss Heathcote, it's as good over at my place as the men can afford, and better, too. I don't make anything at the Cosey Bar, I can assure you, but I know that men have to have their drink, and I think it's better to keep it under control."