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He was of a purity so blameless that he was reputed crack-brained by the caffe-gossip that in Venice turns its searching light upon whomever you mention; and from his own association with the man Ferris perceived in him an apparent single-heartedness such as no man can have but the rarest of Italians.
He was a man in the early thirties, graceful and powerful of build, with a handsome face. "It is my husband you wish to see? I am Mrs. Ferris." "Then General Quintard is dead?" His tone was one of surprise. "His death occurred over a year ago, and my husband now owns the Barony; were you a friend of the general's?" "No, Madam; he was my father's friend, but I had hoped to meet him."
These telegrams copied in his manifold book, into which he had carelessly thrust Hugh's dispatch, he picked up a letter in Arthur Ferris' well-known hand-writing. It seemed to be a few frank words following his telegram, and was dated from Jersey City. Randall Clayton's brow grew grave as he followed these seemingly candid lines: "We parted in anger, old chum and comrade.
A lassie of the Salvation Army invited him to rise up and follow Christ; he retorted by urging her to lie down and take a rest. Then, as if premonition had laid strong hands upon him and twisted him about, he turned, and looked upward into the fresh, rosy face of Barbara Ferris. Their eyes met.
On Thursday morning the girl spoke to Burton as they came out of the dining room. She was going to take Drake out to the edge of town for a practise run, she said. Would he care to go along? He had seemed to be so interested in Drake. He had Ferris hire a car. One of the women of the house went with them.
We should have gone West together at once, and faced old Hugh." The young lawyer's eyes were filled with tears as he read the rest of Clayton's statement, evidently prepared to offset any attempt on his life. But he was ready to battle within the enemy's lines, with a calm and unmoved face, when he met Arthur Ferris at four o'clock.
Wiggling all over with happiness he sought to lick the chubby face pressed so tight against his ruff. From that instant Chum had a divided allegiance. His human god was Ferris. But this fluffy pink-and-white youngster was a mighty close second in his list of deities. Dorcas looked on, trembling with fear; as her little sister romped with the adoring dog.
By the time Chum could limp around on the fasthealing foreleg, he and Link had established a friendship that was a boon to both and a stark astonishment to Ferris. Link had always loved animals. He had an inborn "way" with them. Yet his own intelligence had long since taught him that his "farm critters" responded but dully to his attempts at a more perfect understanding.
The young girl hurried to meet her, lifted her arms for what promised an embrace, and with firm hands set the elder lady's bonnet straight with her forehead. "I'm always getting it on askew," Mrs. Vervain said for greeting to Ferris. "How do you do, Don Ippolito? But I suppose you think I've kept you long enough to get it on straight for once. So I have. I am a fuss, and I don't deny it.
"Though you gentlemen would look upon each other as enemies were you to meet on the ocean, here, I trust, you will be friends," said Mr Ferris. The officers bowed politely.
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