"Yes, sir. There's a Mr. Young; he writes things. He's clever. They're
all clever down there. Well, Mr. Young's dead gone on Susan; but then,
he's the kind that's always dead gone on somebody. It's women with him,
you see, sir. Susan understands. It don't seem right she should,
somehow; but--well, Susan's always been different from most girls. At
least, I don't know many girls----"
"Never mind that," prompted Phil.
"No, sir. Talking about things like this always rattles me. I can't help
it. They kind of stick in my throat. Well, Mr. Young don't want to marry
anybody, but he's been making love to Susan--trying to. He had the wrong
idea about her, you see; and Susan saw that, too--saw he thought she was
playing him for a poor fish. So--her way--out she comes with it to him,
flat. And he gets sore and comes back at her with what he'd heard."
Jimmy's handkerchief was pulled out at this point; he mopped his brow.
"It don't feel right even to speak of lies like this about--any decent
girl," he mumbled.
"No," Phil agreed, "it doesn't. But there's nothing for it now. Get it
said and done with!"
"Yes, sir. Mr. Young told Susan he wasn't a fool; he knew she'd
been--what she shouldn't be--up here."
"Hunt's mistress, you mean?" snapped Phil.
"Yes, sir," whispered Jimmy, his face purple with agonized shame.
"And then?"
"Susan's a wonder," continued Jimmy, taking heart now his Rubicon lay
behind him. "Most girls would have thrown a fit. But Susan seems to feel
there's a lot to Mr. Young, in spite of all that rotten side of him. She
saw right away he believed that about her, and so he couldn't be blamed
much for getting sore. Anyway, he must have a white streak in him, for
Susan talked to him--the way she can--and he soon realized he was in all
wrong. But the _reason_ he was in wrong--that's what finished things
between Susan and Mr. Phar! I guess you won't blame me for wanting to
punch his head."
"No," I threw in; "I shouldn't blame you for wanting to punch mine!"
"Give us the reason, Jimmy," insisted Phil, his grave, Indianlike face
stiffened to a mask.
"Mr. Young didn't get that lie from Mr. Phar," admitted Jimmy, "but he
did take it straight to him, when he first heard it, thinking he ought
to know."
"Good God!" I cried. "Do you mean to tell me Maltby confirmed it?"
"Well," Jimmy hesitated, "it seems he didn't come right out and say,
'Yes, that's so!' But he didn't deny it either. Sort of shrugged his
shoulders, I guess, and did things with his eyebrows. Whatever he did or
didn't, Mr. Young got it fastened in his head then and there that
Susan----"
But this time Jimmy simply couldn't go on; the words stuck in his throat
and stayed there.
Phil's eyes met mine and held them, long.
"Hunt," he said quietly at last, "it's a fortunate thing for Susan--for
all of us--that I have long years of self-discipline behind me.
Otherwise, I should go to New York to-morrow, find Maltby Phar, and
shoot him."
Jimmy's blue eyes flashed toward Phil a startled but admiring glance.
"What do _you_ propose to do, Hunt?" demanded Phil.
"Think," I replied; "think hard--think things through. Wednesday morning
I shall leave for New York."