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"Then you do believe in divorce?" "To-day I happen to." "Duane, is that your attitude toward everything?" "Everything except you," he said cheerfully. "That is literally true. Even in my painting and in my liking for the work of others, I veer about like a weather-vane, never holding very long to one point of view." "You're very frank about it." "Why not?" "Isn't it a a weakness?"
Duane inferred just that from the interrupted remark. There was something wrong about the Mayor of Fairdale. Duane felt it. And he felt also, if there was a crooked and dangerous man, it was this Floyd Lawson. The innkeeper Laramie would be worth cultivating. And last in Duane's thoughts that night was Miss Longstreth.
He talked soothingly to Miss Ruth, made light of the adventure, said she must learn to have nerve out here where things happened. "Can I be of any service?" asked Duane, solicitously. "Thanks; I guess there's nothing you can do.
Do you think I could endure the empty nonsense of a New York winter if I did not present to it a surface like a sounding-board and let Folly converse with its own echo while, behind it, underneath it, Duane Mallett goes about his own business." Astonished, not clearly understanding, she listened in absolute silence. Never in all her life had she heard him speak in such a manner.
The way of it was this: as they came up from breakfast and stood at the tent-door discussing the question whether they would go to the early meeting, Mrs. Duane Smithe passed, glanced up at them carelessly, then looked back curiously, and at last turned and came back to them. "I beg pardon," she said, "but isn't this Miss Erskine? It surely is!
Those who had writhed under the attacks of Duane, a former resident of Ireland, but lately driven from India for violating the liberty allowed to the press, hoped for sweet revenge. Others wanted retribution against Callender, setting up at Richmond an abusive press such as had caused him to be driven from Scotland not long before. The list of lesser offenders among the alien writers was long.
He hastened on eastward; Duane went west, slowly, more slowly, halted, head bent in troubled concentration; then he wheeled in his tracks with nervous decision, walked back to the Plaza Club, sent for a cab, and presently rattled off up-town. In a few minutes the cab swung east and came to a standstill a few doors from Fifth Avenue; and Duane sprang out and touched the button at a bronze grille.
"Duane doesn't care how many piglings you shoot; he wants to go out alone and get that old grandfather of all boars, the one which kept you on the mountain for the last three days " "My boar!" she cried indignantly. "I won't have it! I won't let him.
Duane believed that he would be compelled to take to this hard going. One thing was certain he had to go round the village. The river, however, was on the outskirts of the village; and once in the willows, he would be safe. Dust-clouds far ahead caused his alarm to grow. He watched with his eyes strained; he hoped to see a wagon, a few stray cattle. But no, he soon descried several horsemen.
"So that's it!" burst out Duane, a light breaking in upon his bewilderment. "You want me for ranger service?" "Sure. That's it," replied the Captain, dryly. "Now to hear what that service is to be. I've been a busy man since I took this job, and, as you may have heard, I've done a few things.
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