"I haven't a doubt o' it. I'm ready for you, any time. Likewise _Mister_ Slawson. Only, I advise you, take it out on me. My husband might hurt you too much, if he got goin'."
As they were driving home through the waning light, Sam told Martha he faintly remembered hearing Ellen's knock on the door--"only he was too tired to get up."
"You were smart to hear it through your own snores," she returned pleasantly. "But when we get home, you must turn in, an' take a real sleep. I'll wake you when Buller comes."
Dr. Ballard had been absent a fortnight or more, and July was drawing to its close, when one afternoon Katherine heard the sound she had been longing for all these days, the familiar musical notes of his motor-horn.
Looking ahead expectantly, he spied her at once, and gave salute, as the car swept up to the porch, a silent military salute. Alighting, he passed directly upstairs to Madam Crewe's sitting-room.
Katherine followed after, drawn as if by the sense of something pending, something too interesting to miss.
Madam Crewe glanced around as the doctor entered.
Dr. Ballard took a chair without waiting to be invited and said lightly, as he seated himself facing his patient:
The old woman raised her chin. "Thank you, young man. You flatter me!"
"Not in the least," came the prompt retort. "I haven't come with any such intention. I've come--and I may as well out with it at once--I've come to tell you that I have found the reason for your dislike of 'the Ballard tribe.' I've discovered the case you have against us. I've been ferreting about among my grandfather's effects, and I've unearthed his Journal. Curious, isn't it, that a _bailiff_ should have kept a Journal?"
After a pause lasting several seconds, Dr. Ballard continued: "I presume you would feel seriously affronted if I were to take the liberty of supposing you might be interested."
"Well? And what then? What are you going to do about it?"
"I am going to read my grandfather's Journal aloud, now, here--I mean, that portion of it that relates to you."
Madam Crewe straightened to a military stiffness. "You are going to do nothing of the sort," she averred stoutly.
"I'll not permit it. I'll send Katherine from the room."
"Oh, no you won't. You are too just to do that. You have made certain charges against my grandfather; now, the only fair thing, is to give him a show--to let him state his case, from his side."