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Dorian turned his eyes to the darkened doorway. Mr. Jack Lamont stood there with a cynical expression on his face. His hat was tilted back on his head, and a half-smoked cigarette sagged from his lips. The genial warmth of the room seemed chilled by the newcomer's presence. "G'day, gentlemen," said Mr. Lamont. "Mr. Trent, here, is afraid, I understand." The men arose.
"G'day, sir," said he, bowing low "here's a man wants advice. He's had an accident, his wife's having a holiday at the King's expense." The conductor glanced rather contemptuously at the rag and bone man's big shabby figure. But the inn-keeper winked one eye, and said, "I mustn't forget the beer-man." He went behind the desk and wrote on a slate, "100."
The lawyer-ranchman appeared to cringe, yet he held to his position and even attempted an ingratiating smile as he rasped out a half-whispered, "G'day." Lennon gave him a curt nod and bent down to peer into the deep entrance. Carmena did not glance around. If she heard him, she gave no heed.
Bristow, over on the other side from here he's got a big drove of hawgs." "Well, mebbe so," said the man; "but hawgs is a heap more apt to be feedin' on high ground, seems like to me. Well, I'll be gittin' along towards town. G'day, squire." And he slapped the lines down on the mare's flank and jogged off through the dust. He could not have suspected anything that man couldn't.
I know you're busy with a multitude of details, but you mustn't forget your dear friends at the old church home." Babbitt shook off the affectionate clasp Sheldy liked to hold hands for a long time and snarled, "Well, I guess you fellows can run the show without me. Sorry, Smeeth; got to beat it. G'day."
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