He had expected visitors, but not this soon. Miss Beulah had wasted no time, he thought as he mentally girded himself for the skirmish. His face betrayed no emotion as he came from behind his desk, shook hands with Victor Cranston, and showed Miss Beulah and Essie Mae to their chairs. “What can I do for you this morning?” he asked. “I should think you would know that as well as anybody.” Miss Beulah’s lips were so pursed that her words all came out with rounded vowels. “I didn’t sleep a wink last night for fear that goat would come after me. And on top of that, she played that honky-tonk music until the Lord knows when. She’s a sin and disgrace to our little community. A dis-grace.” She stopped for breath and fanned herself with her fat hands. Essie Mae leaned over and patted her shoulder. “Lord, Beuler!” she said sympathetically. “Don’t get yourself so worked up. You’re liable to have a prostration attack.” Paul held himself in check throughout the speech.
