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Updated: May 19, 2025
"How so?" demanded McIntyre. "Well, if he couldn't get air and you hadn't discovered him at once, he'd have died," explained Ferguson. "If you did find him immediately the person who knocked him down must have made a lightning escape." "Air does get in the casket in some way," broke in Kent. "It wasn't so bad inside.
Every eye watched him admiringly as he moved about, here and there, during those two weeks. Folks said you could hardly tell whether he thought most of Arabella or the doctor or old John McIntyre. Certainly he spent much of his time with the dark watchman, and it was beautiful to see the light his presence brought to John McIntyre's deep eyes. But he did not by any means neglect Arabella.
She stood alone, except for several elaborately dressed women and their companions some yards away who were indulging in noisy talk as they hurried along. At that moment the McIntyre limousine stopped at the curb and the chauffeur opened the door. "Take me home, Harris," she ordered. "And then come back for Mrs. Brewster and father. I don't feel well hurry."
That was the beginning of a new life for both of them. The boy came almost every evening now, and as John McIntyre grew stronger he often read on, as absorbed as his listener, until the hour was late. Then, instead of going home, Tim would curl up snugly in bed behind his friend, and sleep until he was awakened in time to start for school.
"Say! ain't that coon ever goin' to get done shootin' off?" he broke in wearily, in the midst of a long speech from Eliphaz the Temanite. John McIntyre did not hear. He had come to the answer of Job, words that found an echo in his own bitter heart: "I was at ease, but He hath broken me asunder; He hath also taken me by my neck and shaken me to pieces, and set me up for His mark.
"I insist on an answer to my questions in the limousine this morning. How came your handkerchief in Jimmie's possession, and why did you go to the police court and, yet keep your presence there a secret?" "Jimmie must have picked up the handkerchief when in the McIntyre house," she answered sullenly. "I presume he forgot to provide him self with one in his make-up as burglar.
"Exactly. Prospecting is the word," said McIntyre. "The Fort end of your field won't be bad in one way. You'll find the people quite civilised. Indeed, The Fort is quite the social centre for the whole district. Afternoon teas, hunts, tennis, card-parties, and dancing parties make life one gay whirl for them. Mind you, I'm not saying a word against them.
Colonel McIntyre returned Kent's bow with a curt nod, and then Clymer pushed forward a chair. "Sit down, Kent," he began. "You have already handled several confidential affairs for the bank in a satisfactory manner, and I have sent for you to-day to ask your aid in an urgent matter. Before I go further I must ask you to treat what I am about to say as strictly confidential." "Certainly, Mr.
Kent's whistle stopped abruptly, and clutching the paper in both hands, he devoured the short account printed under the scare heads: "While masquerading as a burglar on a wager, James Turnbull, cashier of the Metropolis Trust Company, was arrested by Officer O'Ryan at an early hour yesterday morning in the residence of Colonel Charles McIntyre.
"That rouge belongs to Margaret Brewster." McIntyre promptly changed the conversation. "Have you had your breakfast?" he asked. "Yes; Grimes took the tray down some time ago." Helen watched her father fidget with his watch fob for several minutes, then asked with characteristic directness. "What do you wish?" "To see that you have proper medical attention if you are ill," he returned promptly.
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