Tetlow shifted uneasily. "I don't know. She's not with us. I gave her a
place there--to get her away from Culver. But she didn't stay long. No
doubt she's doing well."
"I thought you cared about her," said Norman, who in estimating Tetlow's
passion had measured it by his own, had neglected to consider that the
desires of most men soon grow short of breath and weary of leg.
"Yes--so I did care for her," said Tetlow, in the voice of a man who has
been ill but is now well. "But that's all over. Women aren't worth
bothering about much. They're largely vanity. The way they soon take a
man for granted if he's at all kind to them discourages any but the
poorest sort of fool. At least that's my opinion."
"Then you don't come from her?" said Norman with complete loss of
interest in his caller.
"No. I've come--Fred, I hear you're in difficulties."
Norman's now deep-set eyes gleamed humorously in his haggard and
failed-looking face. "_In_ difficulties? Not at all. I'm _under_
them--drowned forty fathoms deep."
"Then you'll not resent my coming straight to the point and asking if I
can help you?"
"That's a rash offer, Tetlow. I never suspected rashness was one of your
qualities."
"I don't mean to offer you a loan or anything of that sort," pursued
Tetlow. "There's only one thing that can help a man in your position. He
must either be saved outright or left to drown. I've come with something
that may save you."
There was so much of the incongruous in a situation where _he_ was
listening to an offer of salvation from such a man as Billy Tetlow that
Norman smiled.
"Well, what is it?" he said.
"There's a chance that within six months or so--perhaps
sooner--Burroughs and Galloway may end their truce and declare war on
each other. If so, Galloway will win. Anyhow, the Galloway connection
would be better than the Burroughs connection."
Norman looked at Tetlow shrewdly. "How do you know this?" he asked.