Calvin refused answer, she asked, "In this hotel, isn't it? Mrs. Hoswick made only a house-call to get you; you were with him, weren't you?"
"Yes."
"You're giving him coffee on a burner to keep it hot, and hot rolls under silver?"
"And eggs and bacon and wheat-cakes with syrup," Calvin continued, accusingly. "He made a good meal this morning."
And again she surprised him: "But you couldn't—nor could I. Did you sleep?"
"I haven't tried to."
"I went to bed, you know."
"Yes, I know."
"I heard her tell you; I heard her tell you I was asleep. Of course I wasn't. But I was lying quiet—it must've been for a couple of hours. I was trying to think it out—I was trying to think you out, Mr. Clarke, particularly. Of course, you're the person we've got to show. You're from the east, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"New England?"
"Massachusetts."
"Boston?"
"No; but near there," Calvin volunteered, to stop this.
"You talk, and I guess you think just like a man I worked for once who came from Boston; he was in the shoe business. Of course, working for him, I got to know him pretty well. He was—rooted, too, you bet."
"Rooted?" said Calvin.
"In his own ideas, wrong or right. He had an office out here—and a family. But his mind lived back there in Boston; and his children were all born there. His wife, she used to go back and forth. Are you married, Mr. Clarke?"
