Whenever Ah Cum (whose normal stride was sufficient to keep him at the side of her chair) pointed out something of interest, she had to strain the cords in her neck to focus her glance upon the object. Pottiswick’s daughter found her tongue. “You may call anytime. Look at it, I say. And his scarlet coat had nothing to do with it, as Hilary was fond of recounting, for he had been in civilian clothes when they met, as he was tonight. For so far she had kept it uncashed. It isn’t illusions—for us. A diversion was created by the violent struggles of the little old lady.
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