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Warwick, if he were the largest defaulter ever self-banished, was in no danger of extradition at Pinney's hands. It was with many injunctions, and upon many promises, that at last he told Pinney where Mr. Warwick was living, and furnished him with a letter which was at once warrant and warning to the exile. Pinney took the first train back toward Quebec; he left it at St.
"Such as going and asking a man's family whether they think he was burnt up in a railroad accident, and trying to make copy out of their emotions? Thank you, I prefer ruin. If that's your scoop, you're welcome to it." "They're not obliged to see you," urged Pinney. "You send in your name and " "They shut the door in your face, if they have the presence of mind." "Well! What do you care if they do?
If it hadn't been yours, don't I know that you'd have given it back to me at once?" "It isn't that," said the man, who was so much older and frailer than Pinney had expected to find him. "But are they well? Is it bad news?" "No!" Pinney exulted. "They're first-rate. You needn't be afraid to read the letter!"
If I had any mystery, or mere privacy that I wanted to guard; and I thought Pinney was on the scent of it, I shouldn't have any more scruple in setting my foot on him than I would on that snake."
Pinney should stay quietly at Quebec, while Pinney went about, looking up his man, if that was necessary. "And then," he said, "if I find him, and all goes well, and I can get him to come home with me by moral suasion, I can butter my bread on both sides. There's a reward out for him; and I guess I will just qualify as a detective before we start, so as to be prepared for emergencies "
"He would have both our portraits in, and your father's and mother's, and my mother's; and your house on Commonwealth Avenue, and our meek mansion on Pinckney Street. He would make it a work of art, Pinney would, and he would believe that we were all secretly gratified with it, no matter how we pretended to writhe under it." He laughed and laughed, and then suddenly he stopped and was very grave.
"Yes, fancy Pinney getting hold of a fact like that and working it up with all his native delicacy in the Sunday edition of the Events!" Pinney was a reporter of Maxwell's acquaintance, who stood to Louise for all that was most terrible in journalistic enterprise. "Don't!" she shrieked. Maxwell went on.
Pinney shared these, as far as the baby would permit; and she made the silent refugee at home with her. She had her opinion of his daughters, who did not come to him, now that they knew where he was; but she concealed it from him, and helped him answer Suzette's letters when he said he was not feeling quite well enough to write himself.
You ought to know Pinney, Miss Hilary, if you want the true artistic point of view." "Is he a literary man?" "Pinney? Did you read the account of the defalcation in the Events when it first came out? All illustrations?" "That? I don't wonder you didn't care to read his letter! Or perhaps he's your friend " "Pinney's everybody's friend," said Maxwell, with an odd sort of relish. "He's delightful.
The incident turned Pinney rather sick. He went out on the platform of the car for a little breath of air, and some restorative conversation with the brakeman. When he came back, Northwick was sitting where he left him. His head had fallen on his breast. "Poor old fellow, he's asleep," Pinney thought. He put his hand gently on Northwick's shoulder. "I'll have to wake you here," he said.
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