the blonde slanting one at me from the comer of her eye, so I tossed her a grin between murmurs. I could have expanded easily, but my prospect was not in fact at all rosy, since what I had to do before twilight was get Wolfe and the luggage and plants to Crowfield, outride him into a hotel and a room thereof, unpack, find forage he would swallow without gagging, discuss the matter of my inability to restrain the car from crashing into a tree and get it settled once and for all, and probably sit for a couple of hours and listen to him sigh. I was preparing to remark to the niece that it was after five o'clock and if she was going to drive us to Crowfield we had better get started, when I heard a climax being reached by my employer. Pratt was inviting him to stay for dinner and he was accepting. I scowled at him, hoping vindictively that the food would be terrible, for it would only complicate matters and make him almost too much for one man to handle if we got to our destination long after dark. He saw me scowling and let his lids cover half his eyes, and I pretended he wasn't there and concentrated on the niece again. I had decided she was all right, wholesome and quite intelligent, but she looked too darned strong. I mean a girl is a girl and an athlete is an athlete, though of course there are borderline cases.
In reply to an invitation from Caroline I was explaining that I would love to take her on at tennis if I hadn't twisted my wrist negotiating the fence, which was a lie, when the second attacking party arrived. Its personnel, as it suddenly made an appearance at the end of the terrace, left it uncertain at first whether it was another attack or not. In front was an extremely presentable number, I would say 22 or 3, wearing a belted linen thing and no hat, with yellowish brown eyes and warm trembly lips and such a chin. Behind her was a tall slender guy, not much younger than me, in brown slacks and pull-over, and backing him up was an individual who should not have been there, since the proper environment for that type is bounded by 42nd and 96th Streets on the south and north, and Lexington Avenue and Broadway on the east and west. In their habitat they don't look bad, in fact they help a lot in maintaining the tone, but out in the country like that, still wearing a Crawnley town suit including vest and a custom-made shirt and a Monteith tie, they jar.
The atmosphere they created was immediate and full of sparks. Our host's mouth fell open. Jimmy stood up with his face red. Caroline exclaimed something. Lily Rowan twisted her neck to see and showed a crease in her brow. The girl got as far as the table which was littered with empty glasses, let her yellowish brown eyes go around, and said:
'We should have telephoned. Shouldn't we?'
That met denial. Greetings crossed one another through the atmosphere. It appeared that the bird in the Crawnley suit was a stranger to the Pratts, since he had to be introduced as Mr. Bronson. Wolfe and I had our names called, and learned that the girl was Nancy Osgood and the tall slender guy was her brother Clyde. Once more the clarion was sounded for poor Bert, whereupon there seemed to be an increase in the general embarrassment. Miss Osgood protested that they didn't want to intrude, they really couldn't stay, they had been to the fair and had only stopped in on their way home, on an impulse. Clyde Osgood, who had a pair of binoculars dangling on a strap around his neck, gazed down at Pratt in a fairly provocative manner and addressed him:
'We just got chased away from your pasture by Monte McMillan. We were only taking a look at your bull.'
Pratt nodded sort of unconcerned, but I could see his temples were tight. 'That darned bull's causing a lot of trouble.' He glanced at the sister, and back at the brother again. 'It's nice of you children to drop in like this. Unex- pected pleasure. I saw your father over at Crowfield today.'
'Yeah. He saw you too.' All at once Clyde stopped talk- ing, and began to turn, slow but sure, as if something had gripped him and was wheeling him on a pivot. He took four steps and was confronting the canvas swing, looking down straight at Lily Rowan.
'How are you?' he demanded.
'I'm fine.' She held her head tilted back to see him. 'Just fine. You all right?'
'Yeah, I'm great. '
'Good.' Lily yawned.
That simple exchange seemed to have an effect on Jimmy Pratt, for he took on added color, though as near as I could tell his eyes were aimed at Nancy Osgood, who was passing a remark to Caroline. Caroline was insisting that they stay for a drink. Mr. Bronson, looking a little weary, as if the day at the fair had been too much for him, had sat down. Clyde abruptly turned away from the swing, crossed back over, and got onto the edge of the chair next to Pratt's.
'Look here,' he said.
'Well, my boy?'
'We stopped in to see you, my sister and I.'
'I think that was a good idea. Now that I've built this place here… we're neighbors again, aren't we.'
Clyde frowned. He looked to me like a spoiled kid, with a mouth that didn't quite go shut, and moving as if he ex- pected things to get out of his way. He said, 'Neighbors? I suppose so. Technically, anyhow. I wanted to speak to you about that bull. I know why you're doing it… I guess every- one around here does. You're doing it just to be offensive to my father – you keep out of this, Nancy, I'm handling this-'
His sister had a hand on his shoulder. 'But Clyde, that's no way-'
'Let me alone.' He shook her off and went after Pratt again. 'You think you can get his goat by sneering at him, by butchering a bull that could top any of his in show competition. I'll hand it to you for one thing, you picked a good one. Hickory Caesar Grindon is a hard bull to put down. I say that not only on account of his record, but because I know cattle… or I used to. I wanted my father to buy Caesar – in 1931, when he was only a promising junior. And you think you're going to butcher him?'
'That's my intention. But where you got the idea that I'm doing it deliberately to offend your father – nonsense. I'm doing it as an advertisement for my business.'
'You are like hell. I know all about it… from the beginning. It's just another of your cheap efforts to make my father look cheap-you keep out of this, Sis!'
'You're wrong, my boy.' Pratt sounded tolerant. 'I don't do anything cheap… I can afford not to. Let me tell you something. I understand the best bull your father's got is getting pretty old. Well, if your father came to me and asked for that bull I bought, I'd be strongly inclined to let him have him as a gift. I certainly would.'
'No doubt! A gift!' Clyde was nearly overcome with scorn. 'Now I'll tell you. There was a lot of talk
