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Updated: June 6, 2025
If ever he got a good chance at him it would be curtains for the guy from Arizona, he swore savagely. Beatrice, just back from riding with Bromfield, stood on the steps in front of the grilled door and stripped the gloves from her hands. "I'm on fire with impatience, Bee," he told her. "I can hardly wait for that three weeks to pass. The days drag when I'm not with you."
Bee Whitford was a modern young woman, practical-minded, with a proper sense of the values that the world esteems. Clarendon Bromfield was a catch even in New York. He was rich, of a good family, assured social position, good-looking, and manifestly in love with her. Like gravitates to like the land over. Miracles no longer happen in this workaday world.
In the seventeenth century it was played in the streets of London, much to the annoyance of the inhabitants, who had to protect their windows with hurdles and bushes. At Bromfield, in Cumberland, the annual contest on Shrove Tuesday was keenly fought. Sides having been chosen, the football was thrown down in the churchyard, and the house of the captain of each side was the goal.
He looked up from the newspaper spread on the desk before him, and then he stood up, making an indifferent feint of not knowing that he knew Bromfield Corey by sight. "Good morning, Colonel Lapham," said the son, and Lapham waited for him to say further, "I wish to introduce my father." Then he answered, "Good morning," and added rather sternly for the elder Corey, "How do you do, sir?
"I don't in the least know what's going to become of me when I die; and yet I sleep well," replied Bromfield Corey, putting his newspaper aside. "Ah! but this is a very different thing." "So much more serious? Well, what can you do? We had this out when you were here in the summer, and you agreed with me then that we could do nothing. The situation hasn't changed at all."
H. P. Wardell, the kennels being at Ludlow race-course, Bromfield. The leading pack in the Kingdom for the last sixty years, at any rate, has been the Carlisle when in the hands of Mr. J. C. Carrick, who was famous both for the sport he showed and for his breed of Otterhound, so well represented at all the important shows.
What idea did this fellow have in the back of his head. Did he intend to do bodily violence to him? Without any delay Bromfield reached for the telephone. The large brown hand of the Westerner closed over his. "I'm talkin' to you, Mr. Bromfield. It's not polite for you to start 'phoning, not even to the police, whilst we're still engaged in conversation."
Whitford," answered Clay with his quick, boyish smile. "No use in spillin' a lot of dictionary words." "Why didn't you tell us?" "It was nothin' to brag about." Bromfield came to time with a thin word of thanks. "We're all greatly in your debt, Mr. Lindsay." As the days passed the malicious jealousy of the New York clubman deepened to a steady hatred.
"You've ce'tainly relieved my mind," murmured Clay lazily. "What's yore own notion of what I ought to do to you, Bromfield? You invited me out as a friend and led me into a trap after you had fixed it up. Wouldn't a first-class thrashin' with a hawsswhip be about right?" Bromfield turned pale. "I've got a weak heart," he faltered. "I'll say you have," agreed Clay.
He guessed that this was a belated attempt on the part of Miss Whitford's fiancé to overcome the palpable dislike he had for her friend. If so, the impulse that inspired the offer was a creditable one. Lindsay had no desire to take in any of the plague spots of the city with Bromfield. Something about the society man set his back up, to use his own phrase.
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