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"Yes, Mr. Ross," said Peter, ignoring Kenny Crubach, "but at times the voice of Providence cannot be misunderstood, and it will not do for the elders of the church to be speaking soft things when the Lord is speaking in judgment and wrath." Donald was silent, while Straight Rory assented with a heartrending "Aye, aye," which stirred Yankee's bile again. "What's he talkin' about?
At the wistaria ladder Kenny sighed. "Must you?" he asked. "I mean, Joan, can't you steal in by the door?" "It's better not," said Joan, one hand already on the vine. "Hughie would scold if he knew. For the wood is lonely. And he would talk so much of rain and snow. Now I can come and go as I please." She caught her cloak up and fastened it to insure the freedom of both her hands.
He's at Finlake, Pennsylvania, barely conscious in the hands of a country doctor." The brilliant industrious young surgeon on the other end gasped and whistled. He worked and played at heavy pressure. "Kenny, old man," he said, "nothing is impossible. Almost this is. But it's you and Brian and that's enough, I'll meet you at quarter of eleven. I'll go thoroughly prepared.
Dumfounded, Kenny turned away and gathered up his letters. "Mystery," he said, shaking his head, "is the spice of delight. But I like it diffused. A bit more and I'll be knowing for sure that I'm dreamin'." "It's as simple as the letters," said the girl, smiling. She drew a letter from the pocket of her gown and held it out to him. He read the address with frank curiosity.
"I know," pursued Kenny elaborately, "that it's unfortunate I haven't wrecked my own life when I'm an accidental success at wrecking Brian's. I'm full of cobwebs. I damn irrefutable things and I've forced Brian to a profession of sunsets to gratify my vanity. Can you personally, Garry, think of anything else?" "Sit down!" said Garry. "You're about as logical as a lunatic "
With the old man's eyes upon him, hungry and expectant, as if he clutched at the thought of companionship, Kenny reluctantly found a chair for himself and sat down. Pity made him gentle. Year in and year out, he remembered with a shiver, Adam Craig sat huddled here in his wheel-chair listening to wind and rain, sleet and snow, the rustle of summer trees and the wind of autumn.
"There are times," said Adam queerly, "when you've an open-hearted, understanding way about you. I believe you even know why I get drunk." "Yes," said Kenny, "I think I do." Adam dropped hack limply in his chair. "It's because," he whispered, "I've got to sleep!" Startled at his manner, Kenny remembered the fairy mill and wondered. Kenny began his truth crusade the next night.
Life after all, reflected Kenny irritably, was a matter of adjectives and any man was at the mercy of his biographer. He himself could have told that story of Adam and Cordelia Craig until no man could have called it commonplace and unromantic. Afterward Kenny thought that Nellie must have ambled into the doctor's barnyard and turned herself, for he had no memory of guiding her.
Fahr seemed to feel that you were off with the heathen somewhere paintin' 'em all up into pictures." Kenny found the studio in a soulless state of order and blamed it instantly upon Garry. Fifteen minutes later, gorgeous in his frayed oriental bathrobe and his Persian slippers, he banged on the wall and evoked a muffled shout of greeting. As usual Garry might or might not be in bed.
Of course! his costume was that worn by Peter Kenny earlier in the evening; and as between Peter and himself, of the same stock, the two were much of a muchness in physique; both, moreover, were red-headed; their points of unlikeness were negligible, given a mask.
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