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And Dorothy was much stronger and able to attend to the housekeeping. Bronson was quite willing. He realized that he was busy most of the time, writing. He was not much of a companion except at the table. So Dorothy wrote to her friend, who was in Los Angeles and had already planned to drive East when the roads became passable.
Later Bronson brought his breakfast and the mail. "You'd better stay in bed, Mr. Derry." "I think I shall. How is Dad?" "The nurse says he is holding his own." "I am glad of that." Bronson, feeding warm milk and toast to Muffin, ventured an opinion, "I am not sure that I like the nurse, sir." "Why not?" "She's not exactly a lady, and she's not exactly a nurse." "I see."
I see you are mending something." "Just fittin' a new pad to this pack-saddle. I was figurin' to light out to-morrow." "So soon? That's too bad. But, then, we can visit at dinner this evening. Dorothy said she expected you. I believe it is almost ready." "I don't know, Miss Weston. It's like this " "And I know Mr. Bronson meant to ask you. He has been quite busy. Perhaps he forgot." "He "
When Bronson opened his door to the thin sunlight and the crisp chill of the morning, he chuckled. He had made too many camps in the outlands to be surprised by an unexpected gift of game out of season. His neighbor was a ranger, and all rangers were incidentally game wardens. Bronson believed heartily in the conservation of game, and in this instance he did not intend to let that turkey spoil.
"Yes, I can," responded Blair, "but hell! he might have gotten well. Doc Bronson said Red had a chance. I could have borrowed enough money to get him out west. Red wouldn't take it." "And he ran off exposed himself to cold and starvation over-exertion and anger," added Lane. "Exactly. Brought on that hemorrhage and croaked. All for nothing!" "No, Blair. All for a principle," observed Lane.
They had worked for months at their mine, in secret, and then Rutheford had come with pack horses into Bradleyburg, ostensibly for supplies. He had been a guest at the Bronson cabin and had reported that all was well with his generous partner. And the next night he had disappeared. Weeks were to pass before the truth was known.
"Put on your front page, for instance, an item like this: 'George Bronson, colored, aged twenty-nine, a resident of Thompson Street, was caught cheating at poker last night. He was not murdered. There you tell what has not happened. There is a variety about it. It has the charm of the unexpected. Then you might say: 'Curious incident on Wall Street yesterday.
She arranged a little tray with two glasses and a plate of biscuits. Then she crossed the room towards the bookcase. Bronson reached up his hand and touched the button which controlled the lights on the third floor. He saw Hilda raise a startled head as the faint click reached her. She listened for a moment, and he withdrew himself stealthily up and out of sight.
But none had time to answer him. Kenneth scooted down the hall and thumped at the instructor's door. There was no answer and Kenneth unceremoniously shoved it open. The study was in darkness. "Mr. Bronson!" he cried. "Mr. Bronson!" There was no reply, and Kenneth recollected that very frequently Mr. Bronson spent Sunday night at his home.
"I think," the other twin backed her up virtuously, "with poor mother sick and all, you might respect her wishes. You know what she said about calling Ina a vamp." And Skeet drawled innocently, "That it hit too near the truth to be funny wasn't that it?" Through the open window had followed a half dozen more of the Blossom Festival crowd, Barbara and Bronson Vandeman among them.
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