"Do you live in Personville?" she asked first.
"No. San Francisco."
"But this isn't your first visit?"
"Yes."
"Really? How do you like our city?"
"I haven't seen enough of it to know." That was a lie. I had. "I got in only this afternoon."
Her shiny eyes stopped prying while she said:
"You'll find it a dreary place." She returned to her digging with: "I suppose all mining towns are like this. Are you engaged in mining?"
"Not just now."
She looked at the clock on the mantel and said:
"It's inconsiderate of Donald to bring you out here and then keep you waiting, at this time of night, long after business hours."
I said that was all right.
"Though perhaps it isn't a business matter," she suggested.
I didn't say anything.
She laughed—a short laugh with something sharp in it.
"I'm really not ordinarily so much of a busybody as you probably think," she said gaily. "But you're so excessively secretive that I can't help being curious. You aren't a bootlegger, are you? Donald changes them so often."
I let her get whatever she could out of a grin.
A telephone bell rang downstairs. Mrs. Willsson stretched her green-slippered feet out toward the
