Two more hours passed before the lawyers and their client rose from
their seats about the long table. Even then the consultation was not at
an end. Sylvester and the Captain lunched together at the Central Club
and sat in the smoking room until after four, talking earnestly. When
they parted, the attorney was grave and troubled.
“All right, Captain Warren,” he said; “I’ll do it. And you may be right.
I certainly hope you are. But I must confess I don’t look forward to my
task with pleasure. I think I’ve got the roughest end.”
“It’ll be rough, there’s no doubt about that. Rough for all hands, I
guess. And I hope you understand, Mr. Sylvester, that there ain’t many
men I’d trust to do what I ask you to. I appreciate your doin’ it more’n
I can tell you. Be as--as gentle as you can, won’t you?”
“I will. You can depend upon that.”
“I do. And I sha’n’t forget it. Good-by, till the next time.”
They shook hands. Captain Elisha returned to the boarding house, where
he found a letter awaiting him. It was from Caroline, telling him of her
engagement to Malcolm Dunn. She wrote that, while not recognizing his
right to interfere in any way, she felt that perhaps he should know
of her action. He did not go down to supper, and, when Pearson came to
inquire the reason, excused himself, pleading a late luncheon and no
appetite. He guessed he would turn in early, so he said. It was a poor
guess.
Next morning he went uptown. Edwards, opening the door of the Warren
apartment, was surprised to find who had rung the bell.
“Mornin’, Commodore!” hailed the captain, as casually as if he were
merely returning from a stroll. “Is Miss Caroline aboard ship?”
“Why--why, I don’t know, sir. I’ll see.”
“That’s all right. She’s aboard or you wouldn’t have to see. You and me
sailed together quite a spell, so I know your little habits. I’ll wait
in the library, Commodore. Tell her there’s no particular hurry.”
His niece was expecting him. She had anticipated his visit and was
prepared for it. From the emotion caused by his departure after the
eventful birthday, she had entirely recovered, or thought she had. The
surprise and shock of his leaving and the consequent sense of loneliness
and responsibility overcame her at the time, but Stephen’s ridicule and
Mrs. Corcoran Dunn’s congratulations on riddance from the “encumbrance”
shamed her and stilled the reproaches of her conscience. Mrs. Dunn,
as always, played the diplomat and mingled just the proper quantity of
comprehending sympathy with the congratulations.
“I understand exactly how you feel, my dear,” she said. “You have a
tender heart, and it pains you to hurt anyone’s feelings, no matter how
much they deserve to be hurt. Every time I dismiss an incompetent
or dishonest servant I feel that I have done wrong; sometimes I cry,
actually shed tears, you know, and yet my reason tells me I am right.
You feel that you may have been too harsh with that guardian of yours.
You remember what you said to him and forget how hypocritically he
behaved toward you. I can’t forgive him that. I may forget how he
misrepresented Malcolm and me to you--that I may even pardon, in
time--but to deceive his own brother’s children and introduce into their
society a creature who had slandered and maligned their father--_that_
I never shall forget or forgive. And--you’ll excuse my frankness,
dear--you should never forget or forgive it, either. You have nothing
with which to reproach yourself. You were a brave girl, and if you are
not proud of yourself, _I_ am proud of you.”
So, when her uncle was announced, Caroline was ready. She entered the
library and acknowledged his greeting with a distant bow. He regarded
her kindly, but his manner was grave.
“Well, Caroline,” he began, “I got your letter.”
“Yes, I presumed you did.”
“Um-hm. I got it. It didn’t surprise me, what you wrote, because I’d
seen the news in the papers; but I was hopin’ you’d tell me yourself,
and I’m real glad you did. I’m much obliged to you.”
She had not expected him to take this tone, and it embarrassed her.
“I--I gave you my reasons for writing,” she said. “Although I do not
consider that I am, in any sense, duty bound to refer matters, other
than financial, to you; and, although my feelings toward you have not
changed--still, you are my guardian, and--and--”
“I understand. So you’re really engaged?”
“Yes.”
“Engaged to Mr. Dunn?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re cal’latin’ to marry him?”
“One might almost take that for granted,” impatiently.
“Almost--yes. Not always, but generally, I will give in. You’re goin’ to
marry Malcolm Dunn. Why?”
“Why?” she repeated the question as if she doubted his sanity.
“Yes. Be as patient with me as you can, Caroline. I ain’t askin’ these
things without what seems to me a good reason. Why are you goin’ to
marry him?”
“Why because I choose, I suppose.”
“Um-hm. Are you sure of that?”
“Am I sure?” indignantly. “What do you mean?”
“I mean are you sure that it’s because you choose, or because _he_ does,
or maybe, because his mother does?”
She turned angrily away. “If you came here to insult me--” she began. He
interrupted her.
“No, no,” he protested gently. “Insultin’ you is the last thing I want
to do. But, as your father did put you in my charge, I want you to bear
with me while we talk this over together. Remember, Caroline, I ain’t
bothered you a great deal lately. I shouldn’t now if I hadn’t thought
‘twas necessary. So please don’t get mad, but answer me this: Do you
care for this man you’ve promised to marry?”
This was a plain question. It should have been answered without the
slightest hesitation. Moreover, the girl had expected him to ask it.
Yet, for a moment, she did hesitate.
“I mean,” continued Captain Elisha, “do you care for him _enough_?
Enough to live with him all your life, and see him every day, and be to
him what a true wife ought to be? See him, not with his company manners
on or in his automobile, but at the breakfast table, and when he comes
home tired and cross, maybe. When you’ve got to be forbearin’ and
forgivin’ and--”
“He is one of my oldest and best friends--” she interrupted. Her uncle
went on without waiting for her to end the sentence.
“I know,” he said. “One of the oldest, that’s sure. But friendship,
‘cordin’ to my notion, is somethin’ so small in comparison that it
hardly counts in the manifest. Married folks ought to be friends, sartin
sure; but they ought to be a whole lot more’n that. I’m an old bach, you
say, and ain’t had no experience. That’s true; but I’ve been young, and
there was a time when _I_ made plans.... However, she died, and it never
come to nothin’. But I _know_ what it means to be engaged, the right
kind of engagement. It means that you don’t count yourself at all, not a
bit. You’re ready, each of you, to give up all you’ve got--your wishes,
comfort, money and what it’ll buy, and your life, if it should come to
that, for that other one. Do you care for Malcolm Dunn like that,
Caroline?”
She answered defiantly.
“Yes, I do,” she said.
“You do. Well, do you think he feels the same way about you?”
“Yes,” with not quite the same promptness, but still defiantly.
“You feel sartin of it, do you?”
She stamped her foot. “Yes! yes! _Yes_!” she cried. “Oh, _do_ say what
you came to say, and end it!”
Her uncle rose to his feet.
“Why, I guess likely I’ve said it,” he observed. “When two people care
for each other like that, they _ought_ to be married, and the sooner the
better. I knew that you’d been lonesome and troubled, maybe; and some
of the friends you used to have had kind of dropped away--busy with
other affairs, which is natural enough--and, you needin’ sympathy and
companionship, I was sort of worried for fear all this had influenced
you more’n it ought to, and you’d been led into sayin’ yes without
realizin’ what it meant. But you tell me that ain’t so; you do realize.
So all I can say is that I’m awful glad for you. God bless you, my dear!
I hope you’ll be as happy as the day is long.”
His niece gazed at him, bewildered and incredulous. This she had _not_
expected.
“Thank you,” she stammered. “I did not know--I thought--”
“Of course you did--of course. Well, then, Caroline, I guess that’s all.
I won’t trouble you any longer. Good-by.”
He turned toward the door, but stopped, hesitated, and turned back
again.
“There is just one thing more,” he said solemnly. “I don’t know’s I
ought to speak, but--I want to--and I’m goin’ to. And I want you to
believe it! I do want you to!”
He was so earnest, and the look he gave her was so strange, that she
began to be alarmed.
“What is it?” she demanded.
“Why--why, just this, Caroline. This is a tough old world we live in.
Things don’t always go on in it as we think they’d ought to. Trouble
comes to everybody, and when it all looks right sometimes it turns out
to be all wrong. If--if there should come a time like that to you and
Steve, I want you to remember that you’ve got me to turn to. No matter
what you think of me, what folks have made you think of me, just
remember that I’m waitin’ and ready to help you all I can. Any time I’m
ready--and glad. Just remember that, won’t you, because.... Well, there!
Good-by, Good-by!”
He hurried away. She stood gazing after him, astonished, a little
frightened, and not a little disturbed and touched. His emotion was so
evident; his attitude toward her engagement was so different from that
which she had anticipated; and there was something in his manner which
she could not understand. He had acted as if he pitied her. Why? It
could not be because she was to marry Malcolm Dunn. If it were that, she
resented his pity, of course. But it could not be that, because he had
given her his blessing. What was it? Was there something else; something
that she did not know and he did? Why was he so kind and forbearing and
patient?
All her old doubts and questionings returned. She had resolutely kept
them from her thoughts, but they had been there, in the background,
always. When, after the long siege, she had at last yielded and said
yes to Malcolm, she felt that that question, at least, was settled. She
would marry him. He was one whom she had known all her life, the son of
the dearest friend she had; he and his mother had been faithful at the
time when she needed friends. As her husband, he would protect her and
give her the affection and companionship she craved. He might appear
careless and indifferent at times, but that was merely his manner. Had
not Mrs. Dunn told her over and over again what a good son he was, and
what a kind heart he had, and how he worshiped her? Oh, she ought to be
a very happy girl! Of course she was happy. But why had her uncle looked
at her as he did? And what did he mean by hinting that when things
looked right they sometimes were all wrong? She wished Malcolm was with
her then; she needed him.
She heard the clang of the elevator door. Then the bell rang furiously.
She heard Edwards hasten to answer it. Then, to her amazement, she heard
her brother’s voice.
“Caroline!” demanded Stephen. “Caroline! Where are you?”
He burst into the room, still wearing his coat and hat, and carrying a
traveling bag in his hand.
“Why, Steve!” she said, going toward him. “Why, Steve! what--”
He was very much excited.
“Oh!” he exclaimed, “you’re all right then! You are all right, aren’t
you?”
“All right? Why shouldn’t I be all right? What do you mean? And why are
you here?”
He returned her look of surprise with one of great astonishment.
“Why am I here?” he repeated.
“Yes. Why did you come from New Haven?”
“Why, because I got the telegram, of course! You expected me to come,
didn’t you?”
“_I_ expected you? Telegram? What telegram?”
“Why, the--Good Lord, Caro! what are you talking about? Didn’t you know
they telegraphed me to come home at once? I’ve pretty nearly broke my
neck, and the taxicab man’s, getting here from the station. I thought
you must be very ill, or something worse.”
“They telegraphed you to come here? Who.... Edwards, you may take Mr.
Warren’s things to his room.”
“But, Sis--”
“Just a moment, Steve. Give Edwards your coat and hat. Yes, and your
bag. That will be all, Edwards. We sha’n’t need you.”
When they were alone, she turned again to her brother.
“Now, Steve,” she said, “sit down and tell me what you mean. Who
telegraphed you?”
“Why, old Sylvester, father’s lawyer. I’ve got the message here
somewhere. No, never mind! I’ve lost it, I guess. He wired me to come
home as early as possible this morning. Said it was very important. And
you didn’t know anything about it?”
“No, not a thing. What can it mean?”
“_I_ don’t know! That’s the bell, isn’t it? Edwards!”
But the butler was already on his way to the door. A moment later he
returned.
“Mr. Sylvester,” he announced.
* * * * *
Captain Elisha scarcely left his room, except for meals, during the
remainder of that day and for two days thereafter. He was unusually
silent at table and avoided conversation even with Pearson, who was
depressed and gloomy and made no attempt to force his society upon
his friend. Once, passing the door of the latter’s room, he heard the
captain pacing back and forth as if he were walking the quarter-deck of
one of his old ships. As Pearson stood listening the footsteps ceased;
silence, then a deep sigh, and they began again. The young man sighed
in sympathy and wearily climbed to his den. The prospect of chimneys
and roofs across the way was never more desolate or more pregnant with
discouragement.
Several times Captain Elisha descended to the closet where the telephone
was fastened to the wall and held long conversations with someone. Mrs.
Hepton, who knew that her newest boarder was anxious and disturbed, and
was very curious to learn the reason, made it a point to be busy near
that closet while these conversations took place; but, as the captain
was always careful to close the door, she was disappointed. Once the
mysterious Mr. Sylvester called up and asked for “Captain Warren,” and
the landlady hastened with the summons.
“I hope it’s nothing serious,” she observed, feelingly.
“Yes, ma’am,” replied the captain, on his way to the stairs. “Much
obliged.”
“It is the same person who was so very anxious to get you the other
night,” she continued, making desperate efforts not to be left behind in
the descent. “I declare he quite frightened me! And--you’ll excuse
me, Captain Warren, but I take such a real friendly interest in my
boarders--you have seemed to me rather--rather upset lately, and I _do_
hope it isn’t bad news.”
“Well, I tell you, ma’am,” was the unsatisfactory answer, given just
before the closet door closed; “we’ll do the way the poor relation
did when he got word his uncle had willed him one of his suits of
clothes--we’ll hope for the best.”
Sylvester had a report to make.
“The other party has been here,” he said. “He has just gone.”
“The other party? Why--you don’t mean--_him_?”
“Yes.”
“Was he alone? Nobody along to look after him?”
“He was alone, for a wonder. He had heard the news, too. Apparently had
just learned it.”
“He had? I want to know! Who told him?”
“He didn’t say. He was very much agitated. Wouldn’t say anything except
to ask if it was true. I think we can guess who told him.”
“Maybe. Well, what did you say?”
“Nothing of importance. I refused to discuss my clients’ affairs.”
“Right you are! How did he take that?”
“He went up like a sky-rocket. Said he had a right to know, under the
circumstances. I admitted it, but said I could tell him nothing--yet. He
went away frantic, and I called you.”
“Um-hm. Well, Mr. Sylvester, suppose you do see him and his boss. See
‘em and tell ‘em some of the truth. Don’t tell too much though; not who
was to blame nor how, but just that it looks pretty bad so fur as the
estate’s concerned. Then say you want to see ‘em again and will arrange
another interview. Don’t set any time and place for that until you hear
from me. Understand?”
“I think so, partially. But--”
“Until you hear from me--that’s the important part. And, if you can,
convenient, I’d have the fust interview right off; this afternoon, if
it’s possible.”
“Captain, what have you got up your sleeve? Why don’t you come down here
and talk it over?”
“‘Cause I’m stickin’ close aboard and waitin’ developments. Maybe there
won’t be any, but I’m goin’ to wait a spell and see. There ain’t much up
my sleeve just now but goose-flesh; there’s plenty of that. So long.”
A development came that evening. Mrs. Hepton heralded it.
“Captain,” she said, when he answered her knock, “there’s a young
gentleman to see you. I think he must be a relative of yours. His name
is Warren.”
Captain Elisha pulled his beard. “A young _gentleman_?” he repeated.
“Yes. I showed him into the parlor. There will be no one there but you
and he, and I thought it would be more comfortable.”
“Um-hm. I see. Well, I guess you’d better send him up. This is
comfortable enough, and there won’t be nobody but him and me here,
either--and I’ll be more sartin of it.”
The landlady, who considered herself snubbed, flounced away. Captain
Elisha stepped to the head of the stairs.
“Come right up, Steve!” he called.
Stephen came. His uncle ushered him into the room, closed the door, and
turned the key.
“Stevie,” he said, kindly, “I’m glad to see you. Take off your things
and set down.”
The boy accepted the invitation only to the extent of throwing his hat
on the table. He did not sit or remove his overcoat. He was pale, his
eyes were swollen and red, his hair was disarranged, and in all respects
he looked unlike his usual blasé and immaculate self. His forehead was
wet, showing that he had hurried on his way to the boarding house.
The captain regarded him pityingly.
“Set down, Stevie,” he urged. “You’re all het up and worn out.”
His nephew paid no attention. Instead he asked a question.
“You know about it?” he demanded.
“Yes, Stevie; I know.”
“You do? I--I mean about the--the Akrae Company and--and all?”
“Yes. I know all about all of it. Do set down!”
Stephen struck his closed fist into the palm of his other hand. He wore
one glove. What had become of the other he could not have told.
“You do?” he shouted. “You do? By gad! Then do you know what it means?”
“Yes, I know that, too. Now, Stevie, be a good boy and set down and keep
cool. Yes, I want you to.”
He put his hands on his nephew’s shoulders and forced him into a chair.
“Now, just calm yourself,” urged the captain. “There ain’t a mite of
use workin’ yourself up this way. I know the whole business, and I can’t
tell you--I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I feel for you. Yet you
mustn’t give up the ship because--”
“Mustn’t give up!” Stephen was on his feet again. “Why, what are you
talking about? I thought you said you knew! Do you think that losing
every cent you’ve got in the world is a _joke_? Do you think that--See
here, do you know who this shareholder is; this fellow who’s going to
rob us of all we own? Who is he?”
“Didn’t Mr. Sylvester tell you?”
“He said that there was such a man and that he had the estate cinched.
He told us about that note and all the rest. But he wouldn’t tell the
man’s name. Said he had been forbidden to mention it. Do you know him?
What sort of fellow is he? Don’t you think he could be reasoned with?
Hasn’t he got any decency--or pity--or--”
He choked, and the tears rushed to his eyes. He wiped them angrily away
with the back of his glove.
“It’s a crime!” he cried. “Can’t he be held off somehow? Who _is_ he? I
want to know his name.”
Captain Elisha sadly shook his head. “I’m afraid he can’t, Stevie,” he
said. “He’s got a legal right to all ‘Bije left, and more, too. It
may be he won’t be too hard; perhaps he’ll ... but there,” hastily. “I
mustn’t say that. We’ve got to face the situation as ‘tis. And I
can’t tell you his name because he don’t want it mentioned unless it’s
absolutely necessary. And we don’t, either. We don’t want--any of us--to
have this get into the papers. We mustn’t have any disgrace.”
“Disgrace! Good heavens! Isn’t there disgrace enough already? Isn’t
it enough to know father was a crook as well as an idiot? I’ve always
thought he was insane ever since that crazy will of his came to light;
but to steal! and then to leave a paper proving it, so that we’ve got to
lose everything! His children! It’s--”
“Now hold on, boy! Your dad didn’t mean to take what didn’t belong to
him--for good, that is; the note proves that. He did do wrong and used
another man’s money, but--”
“Then why didn’t he keep it? If you’re going to steal, steal like a man,
I say!”
“Steve, Steve! steady now!” The captain’s tone was sterner. “Don’t speak
that way. You’ll be sorry for it later. I tell you I don’t condemn your
father ha’f so much as I pity him.”
“Oh, shut up! You make me sick. You talk just as Caro does. I’ll never
forgive him, no matter how much she preaches, and I told her so. Pity!
Pity him! How about pity for _me_? I--I--”
His over-wrought nerves gave way, and, throwing himself into the chair,
he broke down completely and, forgetting the manhood of which he was so
fond of boasting, cried like a baby. Captain Elisha turned away, to hide
his own emotion.
“It’s hard,” he said slowly. “It’s awfully hard for you, my boy. I hate
to see you suffer this way.” Then, in a lower tone, he added doubtfully.
“I wonder if--if--I wonder--”
His nephew heard the word and interrupted.
“You wonder?” he demanded, hysterically; “you wonder what? What are you
going to do about it? It’s up to you, isn’t it? You’re our guardian,
aren’t you?”
“Yes, Stevie, I’m your guardian.”
“Yes, you are! But no one would guess it. When we didn’t want you, you
wouldn’t leave us for a minute. Now, when we need you, when there isn’t
a soul for us to turn to, you stay away. You haven’t been near us. It’s
up to you, I say! and what are you going to do about it? What are you
going to _do_?”
His uncle held up his hand.
“S-shh!” he said. “Don’t raise your voice like that, son! I can hear you
without that, and we don’t want anybody else to hear. What am I goin’ to
do? Stevie, I don’t know exactly. I ain’t made up my mind yet.”
“Well, it’s time you did!”
“Yes, I guess likely ‘tis. As for my not comin’ to see you, you know the
reason for that. I’d have come quick enough, but I wa’n’t sure I’d
be welcome. And I told your sister only ‘tother day that--by the way,
Steve, how is she? How is Caroline?”
“She’s a fool!” The boy sprang up again and shook his fist. “She’s the
one I’ve come here to speak about. If we don’t stop her she’ll ruin us
altogether. She--she’s a damned fool, I tell you!”
“There! there!” the captain’s tone was sharp and emphatic. “That’s
enough of that,” he said. “I don’t want to hear you call your sister
names. What do you mean by it?”
“I mean what I say. She _is_ a fool. Do you know what she’s done? She’s
written Mal Dunn all about it! I’d have stopped her, but I didn’t know
until it was too late. She’s told him the whole thing.”
“She has? About ‘Bije?”
“Well, perhaps she didn’t tell him father was a thief, but she did tell
that the estate was gone--that we were flat broke and worse.”
“Hum!” Captain Elisha seemed more gratified than displeased. “Hum!...
Well, I kind of expected she would. Knowin’ her, I kind of expected it.”
“You did?” Stephen glared in wrathful amazement. “You expected it?”
“Yes. What of it?”
“What _of_ it? Why, everything! Can’t you see? Mal’s our only chance. If
she marries him she’ll be looked out for and so will I. She needn’t have
told him until they were married. The wedding could have been hurried
along; the Dunns were crazy to have it as soon as possible. Now--”
“Hold on, Steve! Belay! What difference does her tellin’ him make? Maybe
she hasn’t mentioned it to you, but I had a talk with your sister the
other mornin’. She thinks the world of Malcolm, and he does of her. She
told me so herself. Of _course_ she’d go to him in her trouble. And
he’ll be proud--yes, and glad to know that he can help her. As for the
weddin’, I don’t see that this’ll have any effect except to hurry it up
a little more, maybe.”
Steve looked at him suspiciously, but there was no trace of sarcasm in
the captain’s face or voice. The boy scowled.
“Ugh!” he grunted.
“What’s the ‘ugh’ for? See here, you ain’t hintin’ that young Dunn was
cal’latin’ to marry Caroline just for her money, are you? Of course you
ain’t! Why, you and he are the thickest sort of chums. You wouldn’t chum
with a feller who would play such a trick as that on your own sister.”
Stephen’s scowl deepened. He thrust his hands into his pocket, and
shifted his feet uneasily.
“You don’t understand,” he said. “People don’t do things here as they do
where you come from.”
“I understand that, all right,” with dry emphasis. “I’ve been here long
enough to understand that. But maybe I don’t understand _you_. Heave
ahead, and make it plain.”
“Well--well, then--I mean this: I don’t know that Mal was after Caro’s
money, but--but he had a right to expect _some_. If he didn’t, why, then
her not telling him until after they were married wouldn’t have made
any difference. And--and if her tellin’ him beforehand _should_ make a
difference and he wanted to break the engagement, she’s just romantic
fool enough to let him.”
“Well?”
“_Well?_ If she doesn’t marry him, who’s going to take care of her?
What’s going to become of _me_? We haven’t a cent. What kind of a
guardian are you? Do you want us to starve?”
He was shouting again. The captain was calm. “Oh,” he said, “I guess
it won’t reach to the starvation point. I’m a pretty tough old critter,
‘cordin’ to your estimate, but I shouldn’t let my brother’s children
starve. If the wust comes to the wust, there’s always a home and plenty
to eat for you both at South Denboro.”
This offer did not appear to comfort the young gentleman greatly. His
disgust was evident.
“South Denboro!” he repeated, scornfully. “Gad!... South Denboro!”
“Yup. But we’ll let South Denboro alone for now and stick to New York.
What is it you expect me to do? What are you drivin’ at?”
Stephen shook a forefinger in his guardian’s face.
“I expect you to make her stick to her engagement,” he cried. “And make
her make him stick. She can, can’t she? It’s been announced, hasn’t it?
Everybody knows of it! She’s got the right--the legal right to hold him,
hasn’t she?”
His uncle regarded him with a quizzical smile. “Why, ye-es,” he
answered, “I cal’late she has, maybe. Course, there’s no danger of his
wantin’ to do such a thing, but if he should I presume likely we could
make it uncomfortable for him, anyhow. What are you hankerin’ for,
Steve--a breach-of-promise suit? I’ve always understood those sort of
cases were kind of unpleasant--for everybody but the newspapers.”
The boy was in deadly earnest. “Pleasant!” he repeated. “Is any of this
business pleasant? You make her act like a sensible girl! You’re her
guardian, and you make her! And, after that, if he tries to hedge, you
tell him a few things. You can hold him! Do it! _Do_ it!”
Captain Elisha turned on his heel and began pacing up and down the room.
His nephew watched him eagerly.
“Well,” he demanded, after a moment, “what are we going to do? Are we
going to make him make good?”
The captain paused. “Steve,” he answered, deliberately, “I ain’t sure as
we are. And, as I’ve said, if he’s got a spark of decency, it won’t be
necessary for us to try. If it should be--if it should be--”
“Well, _if_ it should be?”
“Then we can try, that’s all. Maybe you run a course a little different
from me, Stevie; you navigate ‘cordin’ to your ideas, and I do by mine.
But in some ways we ain’t so fur apart. Son,” with a grim nod, “you rest
easy on one thing--the Corcoran Dunn fleet is goin’ to show its colors.”