“Nine,” he corrected humbly. “I--I been busy, an’--” “And you haven’t called _anywhere_ else?” “Where else could I?” he asked in amaze. “There’s only one place I expected to call. That’s at the Standishes’. An’ they’ve got mumps, there. Besides, I kind of thought I’d wait until some of this noospaper talk quieted down before I went anywheres. That’s--that’s why I didn’t come here, either,” he went on, shamefacedly. “I knew it!” she declared. “I _knew_ that was it. I wondered if you could be so utterly silly. So I waited. And it seems you could. Aren’t you ashamed? It would have served you right if I hadn’t sent for you at all. _Why_ didn’t you come, Caleb? You surely don’t suppose all that newspaper nonsense made any difference to _me_, do you? Now stop looking at me as if I’d slapped you and promise not to be so bad any more. Promise!” “Look here!” blurted Caleb, at once relieved and puzzled, “How was I to know you wouldn’t just about hate me when you heard how I’d acted about those measly public buildin’s? An’ your father’s comp’ny too. Why, I--” “You don’t mean to say you thought I _believed_ any of the absurd story?” she cried, incredulous. “Why, Caleb Conover, I--” “It was true!” he protested vehemently, “All of it was true. It was me, an’ not your father that--” “It was neither of you, if there was anything wrong about the matter,” she decided with calm finality, “I don’t know business and I don’t know politics. But I do know you and I knew Dad. And neither of you could have done a low or dishonest thing if you had tried all day. If the papers choose to twist your business dealings upside down and try to make people think either of you defrauded anybody,--why, so much the worse for people who are stupid enough to believe such falsehoods. That’s all there is about it. I’ve seen cartoons of you garroting the city of Granite, and I’ve read editorials that called you ‘Brute’ Conover and I’ve waded through columns of articles abusing you. And it all made me angry enough to cry. But not at _you_, you old chum of mine. At the people who wrote such vile things and tried to make the public believe them. Now let’s talk about _me_. Are you glad I’m going away? Please be.” “Am I glad I’m not goin’ to see you for more’n two months?” corrected Caleb, “Not much I’m not. It gives me the blues ev’ry time I think of it.” “But you _are_ going to see me. I’ve thought it all out, and I’ve got your orders ready for you.” “You don’t mean to say you’re not goin’?” queried Caleb in dismay. “But you’ve got to, Dey. Just think how much you’ve wanted to, an’--” “Oh, I’m going,” she replied serenely. “I’ve promised Mrs. Hawarden. And, besides, I wouldn’t miss it for worlds. But you’re coming, too. Isn’t that nice?” She leaned back to watch his delight in her revelation. But he eyed her without a ray of understanding.